Text and pictures Stephen Smith
Source: This article was taken from the May 2011 issue of Country Life
To visit Sterkfontein Dam, on the border of the Free State and KwaZulu-Natal, is to escape to a flyfishing utopia, and yet there’s not a trout to be seen

When I grew up in the Kwazulu-Natal Midlands, with a flyfishing father and grandfather, flyfishing meant fishing for trout, usually with a sinking line and a traditional wet fly. But when my flyfishing role models shuffled off this mortal coil I turned instead to the coast, throwing flies like Lefty’s deceivers and Crazy Charlies to a more varied quarry. trout disappeared off my fishing radar, and with them went the rivers and lakes of my youth. occasionally I’d drive past a mountain stream and feel a nostalgic urge to throw a fly, but after the kingfish of the ocean, trout seem a little, well, pedestrian.
Years passed, my trout-fishing kit grew dusty or disappeared. Luckily, though, the fishing deities are kind and patient, which is why I find myself back on the edge of a lake, flyrod in hand, skulking behind a clump of grass and waiting for a fish to cruise by.

Sterkfontein dam, on the very top of the Drakensberg escarpment and bordering both the Free State and KwaZulu-natal, has become one of South africa’s premiere flyfishing destinations, where fishermen stalk the skittish smallmouth yellowfish.
Rob Scott, a school friend and now a professional fishing guide, points to the clear water below us where dozens of yellowfish are gliding over the gravel bed. “those three fish are feeding, or ‘cruising’, as we call it. You can tell by the way they are swimming closer to the surface and zig-zagging as they look for food.”
After a couple of backcasts I place my dry fly, in this case a kaufmann’s Stimulator, as delicately as I can about a metre in front of the trio, but I’ve done something too obvious and they disappear into deeper water. the water below us is now empty, almost instantly, save for a solitary barbel chilling on the lakebed.
Rob laughs. “You’ve spooked them. Wait a while and they’ll be back. then watch for more cruising fish and try again. presentation is key.” he walks off to have a crack at another spot and I settle in, waiting to cast again.

Rob and his fishing buddy and partner in Tourette Fishing, Keith Clover, have been fishing Sterkies for the past six or seven years and now know the dam well enough to get consistent, sometimes spectacular, results. not easy considering Sterkfontein has a shoreline of over 100km and the yellowfish themselves are notoriously finicky.
I wait for a new pack of fish to emerge. a solitary feeding fish swims into view and I put the fly in front of it. this time there’s no frenzied panic to get away, and the fish casually saunters up to the fly, circles it, raises an eyebrow and carries on going. it’s a bit frustrating, this.
I leave my raised vantage point and wade waist-deep into the tepid water. that’s one improvement over fishing for trout, anyway. the yellowfish season is in mid-summer, not mid-winter. I can’t see any fish from my current position, but I know they’re there so I throw my fly out. nothing. then I see a fish rising a bit further away and cast to it. the fly lands, composes itself, and then disappears with a splash as my arm is pulled straight and my reel begins to whir.
Smallmouth yellowfish are often compared to the famous bonefish of the ocean, referring to the speed, length and power of their runs, and five minutes later I’ve experienced it for myself. Irritatingly, there’s no one around to watch me land my first yellowfish, or to take a photo. So I gently remove the fly from its whiskered mouth and slip it back into the water.
Then I wander over to where the others are fishing, just in time to see Andre Vorster, the most enthusiastic fisherman ever to don waders, land a lovely fish, golden in the morning light and with a body mass index heading towards obese. it’s his first of the morning, while Keith has been steadily hauling them in and releasing them a little further on.

On a normal trip with paying clients Keith and Rob are consummate professionals, not fishing themselves but making sure that their clients get stuck into as many fish as possible and learn at the same time. “South Africans haven’t really caught on to guided fishing,” says Rob. “they don’t understand why they should pay someone to take them fishing. But we have spent a lot of time on the water learning where the fish are and what works. these days people want to get results from their limited time, and the best way to do this is with a professional guide.”
With that we get back on to the rubber duck and head for another of Keith and Rob’s regular spots. here the water reaches to the feet of the sandstone mountains surrounding us, and narrows into an inlet where a river flows, spawning fish running upstream until they can go no further. Before we reach the bank we spot cruising fish and it’s easy to see why this particular bay is a favourite of tourette’s.

This is proper sight-fishing, the high banks allowing anglers to pick the fish they want and cast to it, watch it take the fly, and then enjoy the fight. Within minutes we’ve spotted a few groups of feeding fish. Andre scampers down to the water’s edge, trying to keep low and out of sight. he spooks them and suddenly the water below us is empty. Stalking these piscatorial will-o’-the-wisps is more than half of the battle.
But by lunch time we’ve all managed to catch at least one decent fish, Keith and Andre both landing five pounders. We braai ‘wors on the bank for lunch, and chat about the fishing. “Sterkfontein is a world-class sight-fishing destination,” says Keith. “the water is clear, there are lots of fish, and they are very willing to take a dry fly.”
I ask if you can catch yellows on nymphs too, and Rob says, “You can, but personally I’d rather catch one fish on dry fly than a bunch on nymph.” he has a point.
After lunch a storm arrives on the scene, the change in atmospheric pressure putting the fish down and off their food. We try a few more spots, but it’s the same everywhere. it seems that even with a guide you’re still at the mercy of the weather.
More on the quaint town of Harrismith | More on the Eastern Free State area |