Deep sea fishing expedition in Cape St Francis

It’s not often that one is guaranteed of catching a fish, so when the legendary tuna fisherman Tim Christy makes this promise to my friend, whom he dubbed The Lady Angler, my curiosity is piqued.

I have fond memories of fishing with my dad, but the process was a laborious one – learning to cast, baiting up with smelly fingers, watching the tackle splash, and then waiting, patiently, for a fish to commit suicide.

Invariably, the result was an empty cooler box and although the conviviality of the excursion overrode the disappointment of a fishless dinner, I yearned to find an easier way.

So we set off at dawn on a customised excursion with Christy’s company, Cape St Francis Safaris. Although staying in a cottage on the Kabeljouws River, we leave land from the elegant harbour, upwind from Jeffreys Bay on the idyllic Eastern Cape coastline.

Sceptic that I am, I refuse to bring along the suggested cooler box. Why tempt fate? Rocko Coco, the local seal, is loafing at the harbour entrance; a good omen, I think. We pass a battalion of chokka boats, Christy’s white gold, ready for the season to open in July and provide calamari to local and international palates.

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Scatterlings of cormorants dry their wings at the portal to the sea where that South African invention, the cement dolosse, makes a jagged fortress, creating a formidable bulwark against the moodiness of the ocean.

A soft grey dawn is soon met by the wintry sun, with the promise of a glorious day. Soon we are out on open water – the strapping 24-year-old skipper Jacques Raubenheimer is at the wheel, dressed scantily in light clothing and flip-flops.

He seems perfectly at ease, despite the rollicking waves which at first are mild, rising later in the morning. The Lady Angler, AKA Margie Tromp, is on her first deep-sea fishing expedition. She has had sailing experience in Greece and soon finds her sea legs. I totter close to the boat’s railings, feeling my way. As the boat lists I let my body rock with the rhythm, taking turns for each butt cheek to meet the cushion on the deck.

I am happy to report that neither The Lady Angler nor I get seasick. Raubenheimer teaches us how to fish at sea. He calls it Making a Drop. And it really is as easy as that. He baits up the hook with a frozen sardine, then drops the sinker and baited hook overboard, letting it sink, while the reel roars gently as it unspools the fishing line.

Sometimes the reef is 30m, sometimes deeper. It is important to feel the pulse of the rod by keeping a finger on the line of the reel. Fisherper- son Tromp immediately gets a bite. The top of her rod bends down. She reels in like mad. “It’s a big one!” shouts Raubenheimer, as we catch the first glimpse of its gleaming body below the surface.

It’s a Carpenter fish, intricately patterned with red stripes over its silver scales. “One more drop,” declares Raubenheimer, as he refreshes our hooks with sardines, mine nibbled expertly by sensible deep-sea creatures. My turn soon comes and I catch a small but lovely Red Stumpnose. It is too beautiful to keep and I am happy when Raubenheimer throws it back as it is undersized.

He watches it flip upright and swim off. “Part of my role is to protect the species and make sure they swim off strongly – to give another fisherman an opportunity to catch this fish when it is bigger.” We drift over a deeper reef and Tromp pulls out two crimson Red Romans, beautifully painted in the deep with an iridescent sheen.

Our companions are seabirds – young Albatross circle our boat with their iconic wings etched against the sky and a Petrel pops down next to us, waiting to scavenge spare bait, like a waif waiting for a takeaway bag. Its patience is.

Humpback whale off Cape St Francis. Fisherman’s companion. rewarded, when Raubenheimer throws half a sardine overboard and it swoops to grab it.

We settle into the rhythm of the swells as waves, some as high as one metre, rock our boat Christy’s family has a long history on the coast, starting in KwaZulu-Natal with sardine netting and over the past 20 years building up the St Francis Bay port, the only privately-owned harbour in the country.

Christy is dedicated to evolving tourism in the Eastern Cape, and despite the latest setback of water restrictions, tourists still find the pristine beaches and clean seas a magnet. We stay in a cottage supplied with rainwater and so are not subject to the water-shedding that residents experience.

Soon we are in the deepest channel, a whale highway, where Humpback whales that have given birth in Mozambique migrate along the Cape coast en route to the Antarctic.

Being mammals, they suckle their young until they are strong enough to brave the freezing waters of the South Pole. At first, all we can see is spume – froth blown up by three whales in the distance. Christy has a licence to go nearer. They rise to the surface and we see their gnarled heads breach the water, awed to see a tail-flick above the waves. Wow moments.

These are gentle giants and they seem not to fear us.