rehab in the hills

Lovely little fishing trip. Am wonderfully rejuved.

Two very different road trips were had on the way down. In two very different cars. The Big T mobile - my vessel of transportation – and its other passengers and I played drinking games for the four hour trip-duration.
The other car, clearly didn't.

We arrived at the impressively twee Duck & Trout restaurant in Dullstroom for dinner, where such drunken behaviour and my swigging merrily from my squeezie bottle wasn't encouraged. “What is this?” (A pizza.) “Why is it here?” (You ordered it.) “But what is it? (A pizza). “Why is it here?” (You ordered it.)
The other passengers had already passed out in their respective meals.

I tried my hand at fishing. Peas-style.
Fishing takes patience and perseverance. Since I have none of either, fishing in it's traditional form isn't for me.

But my mouth was still watering every time I saw the fin of a fat, would-be-so-great-griddled-and-drizzled-in-garlic-butter-and-a-twist-of-lemon trout, I just had to catch me a big guy for dinner. I put waders on, drew Big T's net and stalked them from the side of the river bank. The water was gin clear and the little fuckers were skittish.
I'd stalk, charge and pounce on a flock (? herd? school? shoal) of them with the net. Hurling myself with reckless abandon into the icy cold water, waders not even working anymore.

A true fisherman doesn't mind getting wet for her dinner.

Eventually picked a spot where they were spawning– feeling like a Survivor contestant - getting quite feverish about that smoked trout I was infatuated with. Stood in the water for an hour in one position - not moving, catatonic, net in position.
Nothing.

I did better than the dude who caught his hook in the bushes and still thought the fish were biting, though.

My poen was starting to ache from the freezing water on my jeans, and I gave up. By Sunday, I was craving trout so bad, I didn't know what to do with myself. I ate some on the way home eventually.

People got goofed, one person rugby tackled the fridge. We ate so much I wonder whether I'll fit into my Durban July outfit next weekend.

Fantastic weekend, so very chilled and beautiful. We were on the foothills of the Drakensberg – in the middle of nowhere – no Internet connection, no cell phone reception – just peace and quiet. And it was so darn pretty. Perfect. A fire roaring in the fireplace all hours of the day, and creaming my opponents at 30 Seconds.

And now to ease into the craziest week of my life.