Spear fishing in the Zambezi

From Great North Road

By Philip Pain.

More growing up in Nkana-Kitwe: Spear fishing in the Zambezi

Forty years ago in 1965 life was starting to change for my group of friends and myself. The end of 1964 we had all written C.O.P. and in 1965 Kitwe Boys High School changed from G.C.E. to the Cambridge Certificate. Most of my friends and me convinced our parents that the best place for us would be NORTEC where G.C.E. was still being taught. For most of us, this was a disaster as by this stage in our lives we were now in possession of drivers licences and had access to some form of transport. (Mine was a 125 BSA)

Riding past Holdsworths.

Photo of me riding past Holdsworths - (Times of Zambia)

With transport came independence, parties and sessions. (And wisdom, you were so cleaver that grown ups had a hard time teaching you anything.) All of a sudden, life had moved into a grown up world where lectures were given and it was up to you as an individual to follow up and learn.

As you can guess without the threat of the headmaster’s office a lot of us began to slide and several of us never completed the year. Another factor against us was that it was the first time that we were back in a co-ed system since primary school; concentration was difficult to say the least for the red blooded young men.

By Easter, our group had started to break up. Winkie Walker's girlfriend Pat had moved down to Johannesburg and he followed close behind and stayed with his uncle and aunt in Kenilworth, one of the suburbs of Johannesburg. Winkie started his apprenticeship with the Jo'burg cooperation and later when Syd van Zyl and I started our appieship in Pretoria, we picked up our friendship again. (A time in my life, I could write a book about.)

As Easter approached Syd and I had been talking to some guys, who had returned from a fishing trip to Kariba and told us how clear the water was and they were sure that a person could spearfish without any problem. This suggestion got our imagination going and we decided that we should plan a trip to Kariba over the Easter weekend. After hunting around, we managed to borrow all the necessary equipment that we needed including two spear guns. (Difficult to find in a place so far from the sea)

The next obstacle was to tell our folks that we were going on a camping trip but not revealing where exactly where we were going as we knew we would run into opposition at the slightest suggestion of Kariba. My girlfriend at the time decided that she wanted to join us and told her parents that she was staying at one of her friends for the weekend.

Syd's mom's car was a VW beetle 1200, with a tiny back window. She allowed us to use her car for the weekend with all the promises that we would take great care of it. (Mrs. van Zyl if you are still around I guess it is time I said thanks.)

Our adventure started on the Thursday afternoon straight after school, with the car having been pre packed we were on our way to Kariba as soon as we could get away. The trip to the dam wall was uneventful and after having a good look around including a drive to the bottom of the wall, we set off for a place we had been told about.

About half way between the dam wall and the turn off from the main road to Chirundu we were told of a dirt road that would take us down to a village on the Zambezi River where there was a wonderful place to camp and fish. We were also told that the villagers were friendly and helpful and we would be quite safe there, so after our exploration at the wall we set off to find the road we were told about and which we found as dusk was setting in.

Turning off the main road, we turned onto what was not a road but a track. And to make the trip more interesting was that the fact that the beetle had a six-volt system with headlights comparable to two candles.

All was going well until we hit a very sandy patch and got stuck in the sand, the more we tried to get out the deeper the wheels dug in until the engine was laying flat on the middle manitjie. After trying all the tricks we could think of to get unstuck, we decided that we would wait for daylight so that we could better see what we were doing.

Now Syd and I decided that as the sand was nice and soft we would take our blankets and settle comfortably under the stars. We had settled down for about a half hour talking nonsense as one does at such times, when we heard some strange sounds coming from the bush around us. Taking my hunter's lantern (One of those red lanterns with a chromed light and took one of those 6 volt batteries that had a tapered spring as one of the terminals.) I switched it on and shone it into the bush around us, well after seeing all the eyes that were glowing in the light and looking in our direction, Syd and I decided that we would give up our comfort in the sand and sleep in the car. During the night Syd would switch on the headlights for a few seconds and we would marvel at how alive the bush was with animals.

Very early the next morning we were awoken by two armed blacks. With all kinds of strange thoughts going through our minds, we got out of the car to find out that they were game wardens that had heard the noise we were making during the night and had come and investigate. After introducing ourselves and telling them what we were up to, they helped pick up the back of the VW so that we could get some branches under the wheels and get out of the sand.

During our conversation with these guys, they told us how lucky we had been during the night. The area of soft sand they explained to us was caused by an elephant path crossing the track where we had got stuck and we were very fortunate that no elephants had passed that way during the night. (I can just imagine being rolled around in Mrs. van's car and later trying to explain where the dents came from.)

We arrived at our destination and set up camp some distance from the village and on investigation found the water to be crystal clear with visibility of about fifteen meters. It wasn't long before Syd and I were all kitted up and in the water, but we had one problem in that of the two spear guns one was not much better than a toy but still worked well. We decided that we would take turns to use the powerful gun and always swim together.

It was while I had the use of the powerful gun that I spotted a fish at the limit of the area we had decided to fish in, this was where the river got very deep and although the water was clear there was almost a dark wall as the bottom went out of sight and the light did not penetrate. Taking a pot shot and not expecting to have a hit I fired at the fish and to my surprise nailed it, and nail it is the correct word, to a submerged tree trunk.

After trying unsuccessfully to retrieve the spear by pulling on the line, I offered Syd the powerful gun. He accepted and didn't question why I was giving up the gun before my time was up. After we had swapped guns, he realised what had happened and started to call me names.

I don't know why he was so upset after all, he now had the powerful gun and a kill on the spear, all he had to do was dive down to the edge of the dark area and pull the spear out of the log. Besides, I was keeping a lookout for him. After several deep dives Syd managed to get the spear loose and retrieve the fish. We had never see a fish like this before, it was bright silver and had the shape of a barble.

After asking the locals about it, they told us a story about this fish. Apparently, these fish kill crocs and then feed on the crocs. They showed us the dorsal and pectoral fins, which were very hard and sharp, not only on the tips but they also, had a serrated edge as sharp as the best carving knife. This I found out by rolling the fish over with my foot and getting a sliced toe for my effort. What we were told happens is like this, if a croc catches this fish it will extend these fins as it is being swallowed and then lodges itself in the crocs throat. It will stay lodged in the throat until the croc dies, after which it will then start feeding on the croc. (Maybe someone has more info on this fish.)

Across the river, which must have been a kilo wide at that point, was a large tree house at the waters edge on the Rhodesian side. This was occupied by a group of people who had a motorboat. It was about the second day that we were there that the people with the boat went for a cruse up river and returning later that day and came across to our side of the river to tell us to stay out of the water as a short distance upstream they had counted about fifteen crocs laying on the bank.

We thanked them and were sitting discussing the matter when we heard a commotion coming from across the river, the boat had lost its prop and someone was over the side diving trying to find it. This was too much for Syd and I and we started shouting for them to get out of the water because there were crocs upstream. We found this so funny that we were rolling on the ground in fits of laughter; I think if they ever found their prop, they would have come back and wound our necks in.

The seed had now been planted and the thought of crocodiles was always in the back of your minds. This did not keep us out of the water but we stayed a lot closer to the bank than before.

The best adrenalin rush I had ever had up to that stage in my life occurred while swimming over an area of water plants and I saw a massive tail sticking out of the plants. (I discovered that I can run on water, unfortunately I had to go over Syd to get to the bank.) While in my haste to get out the water I looked back and the tail in the grass decided to move on and I saw the biggest barble I have ever seen in my life swim away. Syd was still trying to get his goggles back onto his face while I was standing on the bank. (Lucky for us it wasn't a croc)

After this incident, we were a little cautious to get back in the water and decided to do some exploring downstream. We were still quite a distance from our camp when we noticed this croc lurking in the water some distance from the side. Well we did what all young men would do, and that is to throw stones at the thing.

After a couple of throws, we had a direct hit and the croc disappeared only to reappear a short time later a little further down stream. We spent quite some time enjoying ourselves with several direct hits with the croc disappearing only to surface a short while later.

After tiring of this sport, we went back to camp only to find out that one of Syd's flippers had drifted off. In those days flippers were made out of black rubber and we used to keep them in the water to stop them perishing.

Now I want you to imagine a flipper floating upside down. The heel is the crocs nose and the two tips of the fin are its eyes, some croc! No wonder it came back so we could throw more stones at it.

Panic now set in as the equipment was all borrowed. We then went back down stream and found our croc again. We decided that it was too far from the bank to swim to and retrieve the flipper so Syd went to the village to get help while I stayed tracking the flippers progress. A short while later Syd came down the river in a dug out canoe with one of the chaps from the village and retrieved the "croc." As a token of appreciation, we gave the villager a packet of sugar for his effort.

The next day the chap from the village arrived with a basket full of fish, which they had netted and presented it to us. As we were leaving that same day we accepted the fish hoping to take them back to Kitwe with us, this didn't work out because as the day wore on the smell of the fish got stronger and stronger and we finally had to stop and give them away.

The trip back was uneventful with us hitting the sand patch where we got stuck at full throttle and made it through without any problem.

The spear fishing was great fun with a lot of bream speared, we had a lot of shots at shoals of tiger but they were too fast and would all turn the instant as you pulled the trigger. The best we ever got was a few raking shots which dislodged a few scales.

While sitting here at my computer writing this story, I shudder to think how stupid we were at that age. We were invincible, or so we thought.

The breeding dam at the croc farm on Kariba.

The breeding dam at the croc farm on Kariba -- 2005 Reunion

After the visit to the croc farm during the reunion and seeing the size of some of those crocodiles I realise just how lucky we were that we didn't end up wedged under some ledge getting nice and tender for supper. The trauma our parents would have gone through had we not come home, they did not even know where we were. But I suppose what we did was mild compared to letting your kids loose in one of the big cities these days.

Cheers.