2000fish's Blog – Steve Wozniak's hunt for fish species

DATELINE: FEBRUARY 2, 2023 – STILLBAI, SOUTH AFRICA

We were up early on February 2. We had an hour drive to Stillbai, where we would meet Zander’s friend, Eckard Nel, and fish on his boat for the day. Drives with Zander were always great, because when we weren’t talking about fishing, we had his amazing iTunes playlist. I discovered such gems as the Bad Wolves cover of “Zombie” and Kaleo’s “Broken Bones,” but one song that really jumped out at me was “Impi” by Johnny Clegg.  

Initially, it just seemed like a catchy song, with some definite African roots, but when I researched it, I was amazed. Johnny Clegg, a white South African, was a noted musician and anti-apartheid activist who brought Zulu language, culture, and legend into his music. “Impi,” which can mean “war” or “army,” retells the battle of Isandlwana. In the late 19th century, colonial Britain, expanding into South Africa, came into conflict with the Zulu people. Imagine that. When diplomacy failed to settle the increasing demands of the British, they sent an invasion force, some 1800 strong, with modern firearms and artillery. On January 22, 1879, they were met by around 10,000 Zulu warriors, armed mainly with spears. Although Zulu casualties were horrific, they wiped out most of the British column and sent the few survivors scrambling south in defeat. While movies such as “Zulu” give mainly the British side, this rare victory of an indigenous culture over a colonial army is still celebrated in the region.

When we got finished debating the merits of Michael Caine’s performance in the film, we were already at Stillbai and looking out over the water. Conditions looked perfect, although it was hard to get me and Dom away from the dock, because it was loaded with interesting little tropical species.

The Stillbai boat ramp.

Abuzz on three Red Bulls, I pestered Eckard with a list of every fish I could think of, including the elusive pajama shark. He kept patiently answering “Yes, we get those from time to time.” I was cautiously optimistic. 

Eckard launching “The Muffin Man.” I never did ask why he named it that – he didn’t look like someone who sold muffins. He looked like someone who could bench press a car. And “Cape Crusader and the Muffin Man” sounds like a superhero duo that could revive the Marvel universe. We want at least a cameo by Deadpool.

We motored down the coast about five miles, and anchored in around 50 feet. We set up medium-sized rigs with cut baits and freespooled to the bottom. Eckard and Zander had told us to expect seabreams, small sharks, and other assorted reef fish, but they had undersold the whole thing substantially. 

From that very first drop, all hell broke loose. My first fish was an absolute wonder that I had only seen in books and did not expect to catch here. It was a red stumpnose, a glorious red and white creature that made the whole day worthwhile already. But there was much more to come, and quickly.

Perhaps my favorite fish picture since the swallowtail anthias.

I will be the first to admit Dom’s was bigger. But an hour later, I would strike back.

My second catch was a spiny dogfish species that I had gotten in 2006, but my third bite, on a bass-size casting rig, pulled down hard and gave a determined, bottom-hugging fight. Zander and Eckard smiled at each other, because they knew it was a good-sized pajama shark. It surfaced, and while I like to remember that I was calm and collected, let’s face it – I (practically?) wet myself.

Neither guide had ever seen an adult so excited about a small shark.

They dutifully brought it on board without laughing at me out loud, and a preliminary weighing told me it was more than big enough to be a world record. I bellowed in triumph – and my pants would dry eventually.

They have deceptively sharp teeth. Do NOT put this in your pants.

Nicely curled up in the bottom of the boat, waiting for a bare foot to get too close.

Next up was the Koester, a grouper-like creature that often appears in great numbers.

I was thrilled with the first one. But I caught 12 of them.

I went through a few assorted breams I had caught in 2006, then hooked up something that took off and pulled out quite a bit of line. I stayed with it, and as it surfaced, I was pretty sure it was a starry smoouthhound, the same kind I had caught with Roger Barnes in Southern England.

But it wasn’t – it was a whitespotted dogfish, and a new species. (I found out later that Dom got one of these off the rocks earlier in the week.)

We moved spots a couple of times, and had just settled onto a slightly deeper reef. Zander had rigged up a bait and dropped it to the bottom, and headed to the back of the boat to chop up mackerel with Eckard. His rod went OFF – from zero to screaming in a split second. I jumped up and he told me to grab it. I hooked the fish and held on for dear life as it peeled line and tried to dig into the rugged bottom. I was only working with 30 pound braid, so I had to be careful, but after a few tense minutes, I got it out of the rocks and started steering it toward the boat. Zander and Eckard exchanged glances and got the net. 

As the fish got higher in the water column, it looked pink and rockfish-shaped. There is indeed a rockfish species in South Africa, but they live deeper and don’t fight this hard. I made two final reel-and-lifts, and Zander grabbed – a red steenbras.

Holy $#%&.

At perhaps eight pounds, it was a small one, but it was a red steenbras, a fish that had been on my mind for 17 years. They were both astonished – this species doesn’t come in shallow that often, and I celebrated like I’d won the Stanley Cup. For the Red Wings. In overtime. Dom gave me a high-five, but I also know he desperately wanted to get one. Still, he had the striped galjoen and the redfinger, and I didn’t, so this seems fair.

Through the course of the afternoon, fishing stayed hot – a lot of bream, more pajama sharks, and even a small bronze whaler for me. (A species Dom wanted bad that I had caught many times. I felt awful.)

A larger pajama shark. It coughed up an octopus, so Marta was right.

A few minutes later, Dom had a big pulldown and a breakoff, which I presumed was a small bronze whaler. But moments later, Eckard pulled up a gully shark – a species Dom wanted in the worst way – and it had Dom’s broken-off leader in its mouth. 

Two of the breams were new species for me – the dageraad and the blue hottentot. That took me to seven for the day, and we still had a couple of hours left before we would head to port. Eckard kept moving us to different reefs and structures, and Dom was running up quite a list himself, notably lacking a red steenbras.

The dageraad. If I had know what it was at the time, it would have been a record.

The blue hottentot.

As it got late, one particular patch seemed jammed with pajama sharks. Dom and I each got a couple, and then Eckard reeled up a shark that looked different. I gave it a glance – it was a leopard cat shark, much rarer than the pajama, so I was determined stay in this spot, overnight if necessary. (Marta would fully support me staying as long as necessary.) Luckily, no one had to camp out – we all got one in less than five minutes, and again, they were big enough to fill the open world record. (Note – Dom has never wanted to do all the paperwork for world records, as it takes away from fishing time, but he caught at least six fish that would have qualified during the South Africa trip. Both of his catsharks were bigger than mine.)

The leopard catshark, another natural enemy of the octopus.

These would be our last fish of the day and of that segment of the trip. So, in a single day, I had added eight species and two records, taking the total for the Cape to 17 species and three records – far exceeding what I could have reasonably hoped for. We had truly saved the best for last.

The gang celebrates. That’s my celebration face.

Zander and Eckard were superstars, and we all took a night off steak and ate local pizza, which was great. It’s pizza, for God’s sake, and pizza is almost always great, and safe to eat, except in Japan, but that’s another story. (Summary – I thought “pizza” would be a vanilla option on Hokkaido with Phil Richmond, but the Japanese version was not what I expected. I don’t think there were tomatoes or cheese involved, and whatever those black things were, they were not olives or mushrooms.) After we got home, Zander, who was nowhere near tired, took Dom out for a late night shark/ray thing while I slept.

The good news is that I was up to 2135 lifetime, and the even better news was that we still had seven days of fishing left, most of it in boats, and all of it in a region I had never visited. I was just getting used to being out of the office, and we were on a roll.

Steve