Beneath the tall pine
A tall, solitary pine tree grew beside the lake. From the sun-dappled waters beneath its branches, I caught my first trout with a fly. It was a little over thirty years ago now. The pine grew a little way from the water's edge of 'B2' dam in the Usutu Forest of Swaziland. We really ought to have been a little more creative with the name of the dam. It was a rainbow trout about a pound in weight. The successful fly was a tadpole imitation called a "Taddy". I remember the surprise of the trout's violent pull. I had been trying with a fly at the same spot for a week with mounting frustration. I remember being close to the point of giving up. I recall the onset of panic at the realisation that the fly line which lay at my feet in a crumpled heap could not be reeled in. The line in my hand - a turquoise coloured floating Shakespeare - had come to life. The trout wanted to run but I held on for dear life and somehow my tippet endured. It was only a pound in weight...
