With winter rains swelling our rivers, our thoughts turn to fly fishing. This ode to fly fishing appeared in our third issue of Stellenbosch Visio.
Fly fishing or medicine? As a student at Stellenbosch University, Tom Sutcliffe sometimes had difficulty remembering which subject would earn him a degree.
At times one’s fortunes in life hang on the thinnest of threads. I was at an English-speaking private school on the outskirts of Johannesburg where two unrelated events changed the course of my life.
The first was a chance visit when I was nine years old to Kamberg, where the Mooi River runs close by the foothills of the Drakensberg. I remember a cobalt-blue sky, the towering buttresses of the grand mountains and an emerald-tinged, fast-flowing stream running waist- deep over brightly lit pebbles. I was the lucky guest of a man kind enough to take me fishing for the day. He caught a few brown trout on a beautiful split cane fly rod and, with their butter-yellow bellies and black and red spots, they were the loveliest fish I had ever seen.
Then he made a long cast downstream and handed me the rod. He told me to wait for the fly to sink and then to slowly retrieve the line. Moments later there was a strong tug and I was fast into my first-ever trout. I landed it and for weeks afterwards I was the proudest kid in school and retold the story so often I was eventually instructed to drop the subject.
But from that one brief moment I was a fly fisher – and have remained one all my life.
The second event was rather sad. Midway through our matric year our much-respected Afrikaans teacher, Meneer Mynard, died suddenly and was replaced by Meneer Gryffenberg from Upington, who had studied at Stellenbosch University and seemed not much older than us boys.
By then I had thought I would like to study medicine and had been provisionally accepted at Wits medical school on my midterm marks.
As long as I could find time in my studies for some trout fishing in the vicinity of Dullstroom, it seemed that my life was mapped out for me.
Then one evening Meneer Gryffenberg put on a slide show for us matric pupils and I attended, somewhat reluctantly. The slides were of the Upington district and Augrabies Falls, but he ended with a few pictures of Stellenbosch, a town, it seemed, with narrow streets lined by rows of neat, white cottages laced with the shadows of large oak trees. There was a photograph, too, of the Eerste River, looking upstream from the bridge alongside Paul Roos school. The water seemed crystal-clear. On a whim I said: “Verskoon my, Meneer, maar is daar miskien forelle in daardie stroompie?”
His answer transfixed me. He said there were plenty of trout and that some students caught them with fly rods.
My life’s map suddenly changed. I broke the news to my parents that I wanted to study medicine at Stellenbosch, applied and was accepted. Early the following year, 1961 to be exact, I was on a train leaving Johannesburg’s Park Station with a small bunch of first years and just enough seniors to put us through our paces every time the train stopped at a station. Initiation had begun, but none of it took my mind off the imminent prospect of trout.
Once into university life I realised that I had a few problems. Firstly, there was a lot of work and little time to fish, and secondly, I had no fly tackle. Then by chance I met a student who was repeating chemistry for the year in order to get his degree in forestry. With only one subject to worry about, he had plenty of time to fish and was happy to teach me what he knew. Many days we would hive off to fish the Eerste River high up in the Jonkershoek Valley where, with its fynbos-lined banks and surrounding mountains, it is the prettiest trout stream on Earth. When the year ended my friend donated his rod and line to me. I realise now that it was pretty basic tackle, but his generosity back then seemed overwhelming.
It seemed that I was doing a master’s degree in fly fishing and a part-time course in medicine.
Tom Sutcliffe
The next year I was put in Huis Helderberg, where the Eerste River runs along the edge of the residence grounds and in summer I could fish to my heart’s content. It seemed that I was doing a master’s degree in fly fishing and a part-time course in medicine. My lecturers agreed with that assessment and I failed anatomy terribly and had to repeat the year. I recall the oral exam as one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. The external examiner asked me to name a few features on a human skull she was holding in her hand. I couldn’t name a single one. In the end she looked up forlornly and said: “Can I assume that you are at least aware this is a human skull?”
But I was back again fishing the next year, though perhaps not with quite the devout dedication I had applied previously.
On one occasion I was fishing where the gardens of houses flow down to the banks of the river. A man mowing his lawn caught my eye and I waved him a greeting. He asked after my luck. I had two nice trout in my creel [basket] and offered them to him. He accepted gladly and invited me to join him and his wife for tea in their colourful garden. We chatted a while and I then slipped off quietly and carried on fishing. It was a full 40 years later that I came to learn that I had once had tea with Mr and Mrs Anton Rupert. I met the great man through his brother Koos, who at a sadly late stage in his life suddenly became a seriously passionate fly fisher.
And it was in Stellenbosch that I just might have become the first professional fly fisher in South Africa. I happened to meet Dave Rawdon, the owner at that time of the famous and beautiful Lanzerac Hotel. I was sitting in the Lanzerac pub having a beer after fishing the water below the hotel when he walked in. He, too, enquired about my luck and after a brief discussion we agreed that any time I had four trout I could gladly exchange them for a pint of beer. But they had to be the size of a dinner plate, no bigger and no smaller. I had a few cold ones on that deal, I can assure you.
Eventually, and to the surprise of more than a few, I graduated from Stellenbosch in medicine – and in fly fishing!
Post Script
Author Tom Sutcliffe peacefully passed away in April 2024. Click here to read a tribute to his remarkable life.