The Gentleman Magazine Issue 2 | April/May 2017 | Page 67

The 5am wake up call came and we were greeted at breakfast by George, who ran the day's activities. In addition to fishing, visitors could go on safari by vehicle or on foot, exploring the thick brush of the Zambia bush and seeking a glimpse of the wildlife that inhabited it. Committed to my fishing challenge, I decided to stick to fishing and set out with Will as my partner on a two person boat with our guide Justin. Narrowly missing these beasts as I cast my lure, I am stuck dumb at how close we were to these animals, and one foul movement could be our last. I realised the perspective I had whilst fishing, and although I was consumed with finally feeling that coveted tug on my line, perched on the boat yards away from such revered animals was somewhere I hadn't quite realised I would be and I was all the more thankful for it. It didn't take long for me to realise the difference between chalkstream flyfishing in the English countryside and tigerfishing on the fly in the Zambezi. We headed in for lunch at noon, and six hours of casting a 7wt rod was beginning to wear. I started alternating between a fly rod and spinning rod with a copper spoon lure, thankful for the range of angling options and beginning to succumb to the power of my natural surroundings. As we drifted silently down the river, we would cast toward the banks, aiming for the drop off at the base of the shoreline where the tigerfish would sit and wait for prey to swim past. Standing on the banks, watching us with mounting curiosity were the same waterbuck, elephants and kudu I saw from the lodge when we first arrived. The hours on the river seem to fly, literally, as our casting became hypnotic and methodical in their pursuit of a fish, broken only by a sudden grunt from a hippo or a crocodile's splash into the river. The tireless chase proved fruitful for everyone including me, which featured the largest fish caught on the trip, a 12lb tiger caught on a lure after a breathless fight. Elated by my success, I was determined to achieve the same on the fly. I pleaded with the guides to let me stay on the river as late as possible, which brought us to a small bay area with pools separated by "structures" or fallen trees and overgrown brush where tigers liked to lurk and surprise their prey. Justin and Mwenya, another guide, guided me out of the boat and directed me to a series of pools where I could stand, bankside, and cast my fly rod. Behind me lay the stretch of African wood where those beasts were no doubt shielding themselves from the day's heat. Glancing at the fading sun I knew I didn't have a lot of time to land a tigerfish on the fly before I was someone's supper. With Justin and Mwenya standing guard near me, I spotted my prey and cast furiously at a small but fiesty tiger, who nudged my fly with fervent curiosity, but not enough to take. Trying to not think too much about the crocodile sand tracks that swirled around me, I kept casting. No time to change my fly, my heart raced, utterly alive from physical rigor and fear each cas