Memorable moments: The Uilenkraal miracle

When I was a kid, my father took me on my very first fishing trip during one of our camping holidays at Uilenkraal. My dad was a man of precision and patience, and he treated the art of angling with a kind of sacred reverence.

I, however, was a disaster. I did everything technically "wrong." I chose the wrong sinker, my hook-setting technique was non-existent, and my casting was so weak the bait practically landed on my own toes. To make matters worse, I couldn't stop talking—shattering the quiet, meditative atmosphere my father lived for.

I was a walking encyclopedia of how not to fish.

But the universe has a wicked sense of humor. Within five minutes of my pathetic, short-range cast, my rod doubled over. After a chaotic struggle, I hauled in a massive, beautiful Steenbras.

My father stared at the silver prize flapping on the sand, then looked at his own perfectly rigged, expertly cast, and profoundly empty lines. He didn't catch a single thing for the rest of the day.

My dad spent the drive home explaining the "physics of the current," but I knew the truth: that Steenbras just wanted me to shut up as much as he did.