As a kid my dad and I bonded over polony and simba chip sandwiches and flask coffee (which I of course thought was gross but endured cause daddy was drinking it) at 4 in the morning while we set up fishing lines and baited our hooks. I have photos of me at around age 2 with my very first fishing rod and proudly standing next to a catch that was lengthier than I was tall. At age 5 or so I won my first competition but due to a technicality (aka I was a girl and not of age) I wasn’t given the title, didn’t stop me from enjoying fishing though or from moving on to getting my provincial colours.
This weekend was one of the western province fishing competitions (this one I photographed instead of competed in though due to finances – sadly there are no sponsors for fishing and it’s a ridiculously expensive sport) and for the first time (since our trip to jozi when he was 2) I took Fysh fishing. And this mamma is so damn proud to admit that despite not catching anything bar a few crabs and losing a couple hooks to the deep dark recesses of the berg river mouth Fysh absolutely loved it! We didn’t spend HOURS fishing like I’m used to but considering my 4 year old sat enthralled for 3 hours straight I’d say it was mission accomplished. He even got the hang of casting, well sort of, and has asked to go fishing again this weekend.