The One that Got Away

Every fisherman has a story; a sad tale of lost glory, missed victory, of the mystical unicorn-of-the-deep that got away. The fish we didn't catch. Only my tale is of a fish I did catch.

Winter in the Western Cape may call for most to stay indoors, bundled up with mugs of steaming hot chocolate and fuzzy slippers. But to a fisher person like myself, it calls to gear up and get on the still waters.

Every year Husband and I book one weekend per month for the winter season up in the mountains to spend some time on our favorite fly fishing dams. Last year was no different than any, except that we had a lot less luck than usual with weather. The weekends that we weren't fishing seemed glorious, and yet every single time we went on a fishing trip, Armageddon descended. 

Rain is one thing, but when the Cape of Storm’s very best gale force winds howl and torrential downpours strike, it makes for an unpleasant, fruitless fishing expedition. Having had one too many of these weathered out weekends, we decided to push our luck and book just one more weekend late spring, in hopes that the water not be too warm for the fish’s wellbeing, and the weather just right for the fisherman's prosperity. We desperately needed to catch fish after such a long wet-wintery drought.

Everything turned out perfect. Weather played along beautifully, and the crystal clear waters were as cold as they were glass-like. Fat, energetic rainbow trout swirled in the shadows, blissful at their game of hunting. But perhaps my long fishless winter left me a bit sluggish in my casting abilities, because try as I might, I still couldn’t catch a single one that day.

Finally, after hours of persistence, changing technique, switching flies, even trying to trawl my line unethically without Husband noticing, I finally caught a fish. And a good one too! She fought me gallantly, making me work for her right to the very last moment when I finally managed to get her into my net. Fortunately, the sheer length of the fight gave Husband enough time to get back to me from his spot across the dam, and he took the most amazing photo of me rocking my 3kg trout in the water, giving her a little breathing time to recuperate before she lurched and shot off with an irate swish of the tail. 

It was ideal, the most perfect Kodak moment ever! The evening light was just right. Fish lay effortlessly in my hands as I cupped her belly just beneath the surface, her spots glistening in the twinkly water, her pink stripe gleaming. My surroundings of reflective dusky blue and mountainous background complimented the happiest smile under my dove-grey Akubra hat. Even my nails could be seen in all their French-tipped glamour, peaking out from my sun gloves, giving the whole thing an elegant Audrey Hepburnesque cast. If this was a movie, this was the winning shot. The perfect combination of woman and nature and fish. I couldn't WAIT to get a hold of that photo to put it on my Facebook page, my fridge, and have it blown up and framed along side the many of Husbands perfect moments on our mantle at home.

Except I never got the photo. Husband, a few minutes later, in a moment of appreciation, decided to try take a one-handed picture of the moon rising into the beautiful sky, and promptly dropped the camera into his lap, through his legs, into the float tube, and out the bottom, down to the depths of the deep, dark water. There lies my photo in its watery grave, never to be seen again. I could have cried - I nearly did cry! I was infinitely more upset about my lost captured moment of success than Husband was about loosing his camera.

Truth be told, I never actually saw the photo, and so have no idea if it was anywhere near the award-winning image I have just described. But there in lies the tragic beauty of my fly fishing tale - the one I will tell for years to come around the dregs of the campfire when the last of the coals are shaking their final glow off for the night. The one I will mournfully regale, how I lost the very best fly fishing photo ever taken.

The one that got away.

Love, lust and fairy-star-dust,

Cherry Blossom

I Want To Go Fishing!

When I tell people that my husband takes me fly fishing, I usually get faced with disbelief from men and pitying side-glances from women. Some go so far as to say ‘Oh, you poor thing’ while nodding knowingly and sympathetically.

When I protest and explain that I love to fly fish – that it started out as his hobby but has become mine too – they nod even more and give me the ‘wink wink nudge nudge don’t worry I know you are only doing it to keep him happy’ look.

It’s then that I have to pull out my favorite photo (conveniently saved on my cell phone) of my fish and me. A beautiful Atlantic salmon caught in Scotland on one of the fly-fishing trips Husband dragged me on.  (Please note the sarcastic use of ‘dragged’)

So lets just get this straight – I love to fly fish and I want to go fishing!

The season is upon us for catching still water trout in the Western Cape, and I cannot WAIT for our first weekend away.

But it’s not only the catch-and-release that I love so much, it’s not only the thrill of glorious sessions out on the water, wondering what beauty I will or won’t catch next, the exhilarating tug of possibilities on the fly line, surrounded by mountains and crisp fruit tree blossom – there is so much more to it than that.

Here are my top 5 things I love about fishing besides fishing:

1. Road trips

Usually when we go fishing, we have to travel a little way to get there. Road trips are full of great pad-kos, awesome radio, my very own DJ skills while hubby drives and fun conversation. Discussions that tend to begin with work, issues at home and daily bla-bla-bla, often shift once we lose radio signal to other, way more interesting things. You just can’t have a 45 min sing along with your significant other anywhere other than in a car and not be horribly embarrassed and/or admitted to a psyche ward. It’s pure magic, and one of the best ways to spend a Friday afternoon, if you ask me.

2. Weekends away

Do I even need to explain this one? Going away, staying in remote bungalows in the middle of the mountains with nothing but a sky full of stars to look at at night? Yes please! Not to mention the romantic nature of open fireplaces, tiny beds and zero cell phone reception – a weekend fishing is the most romantic get away there is!

3. Fresh air

Maybe it’s just me, but living a fast paced city life has a way of making me feel suffocated at times. Even though I love it, I need to get away from it all once in a while to be able to breathe, and what better way to do that than with my favorite human being in the whole world? A walk to the Woolies on the corner together in town with its car fumes, drain covers and overflowing dumpsters just doesn’t have the same charm as a walk, hand in hand, to the edge of the water in the dusk, surrounded by croaking frogs hidden in the reeds, and the air sweet with pine.

4. Braais and the Fires of Truth

Standing around a braai having a drink (or three) while the meat sizzles is a birth right for most South Africans. We love it! But daily life doesn’t always allow for too many leisurely braai’s in a row, and usually involves big groups of friends or family getting together. While Master Chef ignites my weekday aspirations, I love a good old, fuss free, eat when it’s done and not a moment sooner kind of dinner arrangement for two. We make a point of braaing on our fishing weekends, rain or shine, and we let the fire burn big and bright late into the night, enticing the most in-depth one-on-ones a marriage could possibly handle. It’s at these ‘fires of truth’ with my husband that I feel like we are dating for the first time all over again, diving into each other’s minds and swimming around, revelling.

5. The Pink Hunter Boots

Yes, it’s about the clothes. I love that I get to dress up like a stuffy Downton Abbey countess in her tweeds and wellingtons, and still be looked at by my husband as though I am the most beautiful woman in the world. And the fact that my wellies are pink makes it all the more enjoyable for me.

So to answer those questions and ease any suspicions - yes, fly fishing is definitely one of my favorite pastimes, no it’s not just because he loves it, and hell yea I am super excited for our next up-coming trip!

Love, lust and fairy-star-dust,

Cherry Blossom

Confessions of a Lady Angler

"I got you an early birthday gift," he said, standing in the kitchen with the look of a small-time gambler who has just bet his house, car and kids on a hunch. I knew Husband had been to the fishing shop that afternoon, and so as he went to fetch said gift, I rolled my eyes at my sister, "He can't give me fishing stuff for my birthday? Surely not!"

My husband taught me to fly fish when I first met him. I joke that it was a pre-requisite to being proposed to, but none was more surprised than I to find that not only did I enjoy this new sport, but I wasn't too bad at it either. Call it my Scottish heritage, call it beginners luck - whatever forces were at play those 5 years ago, I picked up that fly rod and something magical happened in me. I became a fly fisher. Only I did not realize it till now.

A little slow on the uptake, perhaps, as I have found myself un-able to pass any body of water without looking into its blue, reflective depths wondering what fish swim beneath that surface: The first sign of a fisherman, they say. My father's many jokes about me having become a 'fishwife' have somehow floated over me, not quite the right twitch, the right colour, the right bug for me to have a go. Ha, ha, yes Dad. A fishwife. The significance gone undetected. After all, I have just been playing at fly fishing, haven’t I? I have happily gone along with Husband on many a fishing expedition, armed with my girly distractions: Pink fishing jacket, pink fishing hat. Even went scouting shoe stores for the perfect pink Hunter fishing wellingtons. 

I have followed Husband, fumbling with my line, learning to choose and tie on my own flies, slowly but surely getting more and more decked out so as not to need as much of his help - fly jacket, zinger, clippers, fly release tool for easy handling. (I always catch-and-relelase - letting them go, un-hurt, a little fitter for the next fight next season. I call it 'gym for fish'.)

I have been river fishing, still water fishing, even tried a day at estuary salt-water fishing with him and the other fishermen. I have fished in Dulstroom, in Gouritz, on Eilandspad, Holsloot, up in the Wittedrift mountains, on the chalk streams in England and in the Highlands of Scotland. I have fished enough to be able to say, with my own personal ichthyology, that fresh water salmonids (specifically trout and grayling) and South African Yellows are my favorite. I have frequented many a fishing shop and bought many a fishing thing, and can hold my own when chatting to enthusiasts about float tubes, spey casting, 2 weights and wooly buggers. But that didn’t make me a fisherman, I thought. Merely the wife of one. The journey has always been one I have attested to Husband, his passion, me just tagging along for the ride - albeit an incredibly enjoyable ride - in my pink gear. I never really thought of myself as an actual fisher women, just one who fishes with her partner.

"Here it is," he said, hopefully, pulling the mystery gift out from under his jacket. Pink. Tube. SAGE! I could not contain my excitement! I had to swallow my words to my sister as the rush for what was in that tube forced me forward, all fumbling and disbelieving and a smile so big it hurt my face. The rod inside was even more gorgeous that I could have imagined! A beautiful pearly pink Sage 5 weight called the 'Grace'. 

I pulled her out of her sheath and knew in that moment: Not only was this the absolute perfect gift for me, not only was I the luckiest woman in the world...but...

It hit me like a beaded fly, bulleted into the back of my head on a gusty day. I am a fly fisherwoman. I am an angler!

Love, lust and fairy-star-dust

Cherry Blossom

In Love with Love

"Bianca: There's a difference between like and love. Because, I like my Skechers, but I love my Prada backpack.
Chastity: But I love my Skechers.
Bianca: That's because you don't have a Prada backpack!"

...10 Things I Hate About You

Love is a word I use a lot. Not because I can’t distinguish between like and love. I just love to love. I love to fall in love. It's something I do very often, and on many different platforms. 

There is, of course, my ultimate Love, Husband, and I am a lucky girl because he's one of those men you can fall in love with over and over again. 

Then there's the obvious shoe Love I have - this one is easily quenched with a bit of scouting, shopping or even just gathering pictures off the internet of beautiful creations that I couldn’t actually wear (or buy). 

Some of my Loves need no explanation. Some of my Loves should never be explained. (Don’t even attempt to understand them because even I don’t get it...ahem...like this song)

But then some Loves come into my world in a whirlwind of romance! Complete with wining, dining, butterflies, bubbles and all things intoxicating! I Love Jennifer Lawrence – serious girl crush. I'm crazy in Love with my giant cat and his purr-filled snoring! I Love CrossFit. I Love watching Husband cast out a fly line with expert ease, uncurling it onto the water with delicate precision. Or even better, when I make the perfect cast myself! (or as close as I am going to get at this point, that is) A new Love came to me in the form of a pink ‘Sage’ fly fishing rod he bought me, and I know this one is going to stand the test of time because I just keep thinking about it. I have even been mulling over the name Sage in my brain so much so that it has become the first name of one of the characters in my latest manuscript in progress.

Another Love arrived as a book. It was Love at First Read, and I wrote a blog post dedicated to the fiery fling we had, even though the reading was over too quickly. Isn’t that just the way it goes? The thing with books, however, is that they are never jealous when you find the next one, the new one, the one that keeps your bed warm as you lie in it reading on your kindle. (I Love my kindle!) And so, in the very happy after glow A Girls Guide To Fairy Tales left me, I found another Love of a book. This one involves vintage teacups! I'm hooked :)

And this week, my newest Love was a moment, sitting in a coffee shop with a dear friend. I fell, not only for the honey and cinnamon banana French toast, but while we were talking about loves (a pink scarf, an unpublished book, an upcoming wedding) I spotted a ceramic bowl amongst the shop decor that was filled with little matching ceramic ducklings, and fell instantly head over heels in love with that moment, right there and then.

The Loves that I love the most are the ones that are worth it. Don’t you just love that kind of Love?

Love, lust and fairy-star-dust

Cherry Blossom

But...does it come in Pink?

The answer, ladies, is yes, yes it does.

I am a girly girl. I am not ashamed of this. In fact, I tend to revel in it at any given opportunity. High heels, pearls, lipstick and Chanel, I embrace my inner (and outer) femininity with full-fluff fervor! This is why it came as a surprise to everyone around me that I like to fly fish. Trust me, none was more surprised than I! Who would ‘a thought that I could trade in my Choo's for gum boots, hand over my glittery clutch purse for a trout-skin fly box, hang up my Italian designer jeans for quick-dry waders and an Akubra hat??? Not I! I was the last person in the world who would touch a slimy fish, let alone end up loving the creatures as though they were my pets!

But thankfully, my willingness to try almost anything once (FOMO perhaps?) and my eagerness to join Husband in his favourite pastime, outweighed my need for a fragranced, mud-free existence. I did what Husband asked, took the fly rod, and POOF became an avid fly fishing woman! But in pink Hunter boots, of course.

Never one to leave a gesture un-rewarded, Husband did me proud last week. He found and bought me the most exquisite pink fly fishing rod I could have imagined! It is a SAGE (that's like the Louis Vuitton of fishing rods, for those who don't know) and is pearly pink with diamondy silver etchings. Each line on the rod sparkles like the ring on my finger.

This rod is called the 'Grace' and was introduced by Sage as an initiative to raise funds to support a charity for women with breast cancer. In the words of 'SAGE' themselves: 

IMPROVING QUALITY OF LIFE FOR WOMEN WITH BREAST CANCER

The GRACE rod is the next generation pink rod offering from Sage and is available exclusively in an 8’6", 5 weight model which features all new cosmetics. A portion of the sale of each GRACE rod will go to Casting for Recovery; a non-profit organization dedicated to giving women powerful tools to overcome the challenges of breast cancer.

So not only is it beautiful and pink, but its purchase has helped someone out there. I love that my rod has purpose, far beyond me catching a few fish. AND she looks good, lets be honest ;)

 Husband did good :) Cherry Blossom happy!

Love, lust and fairy-star-dust

Cherry Blossom

Snow Stone

I found a pretty rock. A white, sparkly, quartz crystal rock. I was walking with Husband a few weekends ago by one of our favorite fishing lakes and noticed for the first time that the ground is literally littered with these shimmery bits of stone, like frozen pieces of sun-kissed snow slopes, all glittery and white. I am a HUGE fan of snow and the gleaming wonderland that snow covered mountains bring us, and so this stone is right up my alley! It reminds me so much of a gorgeous, pure white, opulent Alpine slope in the sun. And I found it right here, in Sunny South Africa!

I guess I have never seen these 'snow' stones there before because whenever we go to this particular lake, we go to fish, and my mind is focused on that. So much so that I guess I never thought to look down. This time, though, we had a sort of strange fishing weekend away - in that we didn’t fish at all. Life changes, work stresses and some big hurdles to be cleared kind of hijacked our weekend, and so we rather went walking along side the water, tucked away so neatly in the beautiful farmland and mountain slope surroundings, to talk and to think. The sky was a perfect winter blue and the wind was ice-cap chilled. A few sprinkles of snow had made a first seasonal appearance on mountains near by, trickling down in melted streamletts to green patches that made me think of the highlands of Scotland. It was a perfect moment in a perfect day outside, while inside us, a perfect storm raged down.

After I picked the pretty rock up, and admired it briefly with Husband before he moved on, I had my own little moment with it and decided to slip it into my pocket.

As we walked and talked about the problems ahead, about the figurative mountain he was facing, and therefore as his wife, I face alongside him, I clutched the gleaming rock in my hand in my pocket for the rest of the walk. I couldn't help feeling that there was something special about this rock. It gave me an instant hope. I saw in it a glittery future, and felt as I wrapped my fingers round it that the solid hard surface made me feel strangely grounded. It fit perfectly into the palm of my hand, big enough to hold on to but not too big to get in the way. Just a token, a symbol, a simple piece of something beautiful and pure. A piece of the earth that was exactly what it was.

It has been next to my bed back home ever since and I find myself looking at it, picking it up and holding it quite often. I even think about it when I am not at home. In fact, this weekend while I was a 2 hour flight away, I wished that I had brought it with me. For what reason, I don’t know. I just know that I love this little stone and feel better that it is now with me. I feel that I should keep it close to me for a very, very long time.

Love, lust and fairy-star-dust

Cherry Blossom