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