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

A Cinderella Moment

Could the glass slipper have been flat?

As any well-seasoned high-heel enthusiast will know, there comes a time when a girl needs to step down from her perch and set her feet on solid ground to take a breather. It does wonders for the soul, not to mention gives you a break from all that fabulousness. But just as veg’ing out on the couch does not necessarily mean you have to wear grease-stained sweats and Crocs (eww!), the more discerning of fashionista’s need not come down to earth in anything less than utterly gorgeous foot attire.

Up until now, my usual uniform of trusty south-of-the-ankles non-heel wear has been a combination of sandals and ballet flats. But by chance, something far more fabulous came to me in the form of Coast and Koi, much like fate leading the princess to the ball where her sole-mate awaits.

And my fairy-god-mother? The elegant and stylish Caryn Wilensky.

When I met Caryn, she whisked me off to her chandelier-lit treasure trove of a showroom with roof-to-floor, wall-to-wall racks of hand-stitched shoes. I tried on everything in my size. And I mean everything. I couldn’t not – each one was more alluring than the last!

Once on your feet, the look and feel of these gems are a testament to Caryn’s background in the fashion, and footwear, industries. Starting out as a buyer for Holtrenfrew overseas where her days revolved around top international fashion brands, her eye for design is evident in every pair of proudly South African shoes she now showcases. But the perfect fit and comfort comes from her time as the CEO of a ballet-shoe factory. Once she saw the need for well-designed flat foot wear in South Africa, her mission was clear, and Coast and Koi was born.

Each shoe is hand made locally and stitched together with the utmost care. They are unique, all designs being a once off and only in a few sizes, and there is something for everyone. They range from pointy to stripy, Mary-Jane to moccasin, sling-back to slip on, Henry the 8^th to the girl next door. From the sensible ballet pumps to the knee-high leopard print boots, to the cute cat-faced slippers, this range kept me occupied, entertained and trying on for ages.

I have never been so excited by flat-soled shoes before! Caryn invited me to the Cape Town Design Indaba where all her best was on display. One pair could only be described as ‘The Dorothy’, bringing visions of the Wizard of Oz skipping to the fore of my mind. Just down that yellow brick road, a pair of capped ankle booties that would go beautifully with a little floral-print dress revealed themselves. It was hard not to get distracted by the baroque inspired lace-ups or the baby-pink boots with satin bows, but my heart settled on the ones that, for me, were the belle of the ball: a pair of coral slipper-style beauties, as unique as they are comfortable.

As much as I am trying not to over-indulge in my materialistic nature right now, I am pretty sure a pair or two of Coast and Koi’s will find their way into my wardrobe over the next few months. After all, why wear plain black synthetic flats for a night out dancing when you could wear classically styled, genuine leather two-toned delights inspired by Coco Chanel? Am I right? Right.

Love, lust and fairy-star-dust

Cherry Blossom

(go check it out at www.coastandkoi.com)