Camping, eels, and heavy rain

Mountain View Farm, Eastern Cape Province, South Africa c.1964

The four of us, my brother and me, and Charles and David Hayes, had camped several times on Mountain View farm each year since I was thirteen.  When I was 17, we thought we would try something new and camp “up river” where the Elands River passed through a narrow valley in a series of pools before spilling out into a long rocky section.  It was still summer, so the freezing cold nights of our winter wouldn’t be on the agenda.  The possibility of rain was greater however.  Our new camp in Rocky Valley was a fairly long hike from the farm house, over a spur and along a narrow trail, so we packed only what was essential.  We took a fly-sheet this time and no tent.  We also took some of the fishing tackle we would need to catch eels.  There were six of us on this trip as friends Dougie Anderson and Mike Viljoen had joined us.

We had to cross the river in a very rugged rocky section, jumping across small cascades and pools.  We realized that if the river rose it would be difficult to return by the same route but how likely was that?  Crossing the river at this point was the remainder of an old pipeline which had been used to pipe water to the valley below. There were five or six concrete columns spanning the river and across the top, about 12 feet above the rocks, was a steel I-beam which looked to be about six inches wide that had supported a pipe. The pipe that must have been there at one time had long since been removed for use elsewhere.  Sections of a rusted and broken handrail ran alongside the steel beam.  We figured that, in an emergency, we would be able to cross the rocks on the 12 foot high “bridge” but didn’t ever think we would actually have to do that.

A hundred yards or so after the river crossing we set up a really nice camp in a shady space next to a deep dark pool in the river.  The valley was narrow here and steep hills rose up on either side of the river.  This camp would soon be named “Texas.”  A few of the group had brought “Texan” cigarettes with them, so we christened our new camp in honor of their choice of cigarettes.

Eel fishing was something new.  To catch eels we had to catch live frogs to use for bait. At the end of a long length of nylon cord we tied a swivel and then a 12 inch long piece of stainless steel tracer with another swivel at its end.  To this a large, very sharp, hook was attached.  After setting up camp we hiked downstream to fish for large-mouth bass. In some of the clear pools we could see them lurking in the deep shady areas.  A couple of good bass lures (a ‘jitterbug” and “hula popper” among them) soon landed us three or four pan-size fish for dinner.

Back at camp we collected wood and made a nice fire and soon we were ready to cook our fish.  We would generally fillet the fish in two halves, and put the two scaly sides together.  Then we wrapped the two sides of each fish in aluminium (aluminum) foil with a little butter on the fleshy sides.  These foiled-wrapped bass were then placed on the hot coals and covered with more hot coals.  After ten or fifteen minutes we took them from the fire, peeled away the foil, leaving the two scaly skins stuck together, removed the tender, juicy and flavourful meat.  These baked fish meals were something I will always remember with relish. 

As everyone knows, the best time to catch frogs is at night.  After a gourmet fish dinner we headed for the rock pools of the river with our torches (flashlights).  Frogs don’t move very well when blinded by the light of a torch and it didn’t take long to catch half a dozen of the slippery amphibians.  Back at camp, with our bucket of frogs we baited the eel lines by tying the frogs onto the hooks with nylon fishing line.  They were still kicking when we threw the lines into the dark pool, tied the cord lines to a tree or stump and went back to the fire. This is not the sort of fishing that requires a lot of concentration. We would check the lines in the morning.

The following day we pulled in the lines and found we had caught a few eels. I can’t actually recall why we were fishing for them.  They were incredibly strong and had twisted the stainless steel tracers into tight knots. They were also still very much alive and had swallowed the bait whole.  We had to chop their heads off to kill them and then we decided to try and cook them by wrapping them in foil and baking them as we had the bass.  That wasn’t a great success.  Eels are boney and not very tasty. The fact that I can’t remember how they tasted is probably a good indication that they tasted pretty bad.

Later that day we were visited by all of the Whitehead cousins from Mountain View and from Forest Glade, a few miles up the valley.  Jennifer Whitehead from Mountain View and her first cousins Elmarie, Yvonne and Marlene from Forest Glade, came hiking up the river to our camp on a hot sunny day.  They often brought us something special to eat.  One of my favorites was caramel, made by boiling a can of sweetened condensed milk until it turned to caramel.  We always had a good time with the girls.  They were friendly, sociable and fun to visit with.  By the afternoon they had gone home.  The skies clouded over and towards evening we knew we were in for a pretty good thunderstorm.

It began to rain and we hunkered down by the fire, hoping it would blow over in an hour or so.  A few hours later it was still raining with increasing thunder and lightning and with the persistent rain we could see, and hear, the river beginning to rise.   By about 9:00 p.m. we were drenched and getting cold and we knew we would have to get out of camp and cross the river while we still were able.  After tucking a few essentials into our backpacks and covering the food and sleeping backs with a fly-sheet we left Texas – at least for the night – not entirely sure where we would go.  The first challenge would be crossing the river with the pools now too deep to jump across and the rocks made slippery from the rain.  It soon became obvious that we would have to cross by climbing up on the old steel beam, high above the rocks and crawl the 50 yards or so on our hands and knees.  It was, by now, raining really hard and the idea of being soaking wet, holding on to a metal beam, high above a rocky river, with lightning flashing above us wasn’t too appealing.

The soaked, cold, bedraggled six eventually made it across. The darkness made it easier because visibility was so bad we couldn’t see the rocks below us and when the lightning flashed I instinctively closed my eyes.  After what seemed an eternity the six of us were safely on the muddy trail leading down the valley. It didn’t take long to decide we would have to head for the farmhouse at Forest Glade. It was about a mile closer than Mountain View and in those conditions a mile less was significant. I don’t remember what time we arrived at the farmhouse but it was probably around midnight.  The house was in darkness when our totally drenched bunch of 16 and 17 year old campers knocked on the door.  

Soon Mrs. Whitehead, her older daughters and their cousin Jennifer, had us wrapped in towels and standing in front of a roaring fire.  Hot cups of tea lifted our spirits and our wet clothing was peeled away (down to the bare essentials anyway).  We were miraculously warm again after several hours of shivering in the cold.  Before too long we were all sleeping on the living room floor, wrapped in blankets and warm hospitality.

In the morning hot coffee was followed by a wonderful breakfast of sausages, eggs and scones, with farm produced honey.  The sun came out and another beautiful day lay ahead of us.  Our arrival at Forest Glade in the dead of night, in a heavy storm, and sleeping on the floor, was the topic of conversation for many years.  This

adventure from my youth happened 50 years ago and I recently received an e-mail from Jennifer Eldridge (nee Whitehead) who recalled the weekend when the Forest Glade farmhouse was filled to capacity with everyone sleeping on the floor.  Such are the enduring memories from one’s childhood and teenage years.