Angler’s Reflection — the mighty barbel has an undeserved reputation among many fly anglers

On Christmas Eve 2015, I caught my first barbel on fly, and I have been hooked ever since.

It was in one of the dams in Delta Park in Johannesburg – where fishing is now banned – and it had been a while since I had seen any signs of barbel there. But while on a trail run with my dogs in the morning, I spied one in the shallows and went back later in the day to give it a bash.

And wham! The way it smashed the fly and its sheer power instantly raised the species’ stature in my books as a game fish.

I would not catch another barbel for almost two years, when the species made an unexpected return to a pool in the Braamfontein Spruit not far from my house.

My wife and I had moved to Parkmore in 2011, returning to South Africa after a few years in Dallas; I often did trail runs along the Spruit, Johannesburg’s longest stream, and we regularly walked our dogs in a park which borders the stream.

For years, I saw no sign of life there until November 2017, when a friend and colleague of mine happened to see a rise and said to me: “Look, there’s a fish.”

I could hardly believe my eyes but there it was – the tell-tale rings on the surface betraying the presence of a fish. 

A few days later, I caught two – I keep a detailed fishing diary – and in the years since I have landed more than 30 from that stretch of water, all in the “R” months from September to April. I also cast elsewhere for the species from time to time.

When things cool down in the autumn and winter, the barbel seem to vanish from the Spruit. They can lie dormant in the mud of the bank for months at a time and seem to do that when it gets frosty in Joburg.

Barbel have not been the only sign of renewed life along the Spruit. Cormorants, kingfishers, egrets and freshwater crabs have all followed, indications of an ecosystem on the mend.

Twice in November I have seen schools of barbel spawning in the Spruit. They do so at that stage of summer in very shallow water after a rain, swarming around in an almost playful manner.

I would still not recommend a swim in the Spruit. It remains polluted and when there is a big rain, its banks are strewn with litter. But barbel are survivors and that is part of the species’ appeal to me. It’s a bloody tough fish.   

The species is actually called the sharptooth catfish – Clarias gariepinus – and while some of my fly fishing friends also enjoy a barbel bending their rod, others regard it as a vulgarity unworthy of their time.

“Free State” steelhead is one of the unflattering terms for the species. (Steelhead, a coveted quarry among the fly fishing set, is a sea-run rainbow trout native to western North American and eastern Asian waters of the Pacific basin).  

Part of this has been spawned by its image as a fish sought by bait anglers who sit on the bank with brandy and Coke in hand. There is an element of class snobbery to fly fishing – if you bring a flask along, only a good single malt is acceptable etiquette.

Ugly duckling

Barbel is also widely viewed as an ugly fish, with its sinister leathery whiskers, rounded, flattish head and tubular body.

This is in stark contrast to the elegance associated with trout. The sleek brown trout glistens with speckles while its rainbow skin is splashed by a lateral crimson steak that evokes a painter’s deft stroke with the brush.

Indeed, artists are drawn to trout. 

In my study, I have a rendering of a cock (male) brown trout mounted by artist Gavin Erwin. Its delightfully dappled markings, translucent fins, jutted lower jaw and stout triangular tail shimmer from my wall. A trout is a thing of beauty, and hence of art.

I have yet to see a painting of a barbel displayed anywhere.

This can literally be a matter of taste: trout are delicious to eat and pleasant to the eye when properly plated. A barbel does not look nearly as appetising. You ain’t going to find one in a Woolies aisle.

Barbel, it must also be said, do not require the “technical” presentations on rivers and streams required to entice a trout to a fly – often a delicate pattern tied on a tiny hook. There is no need to get a “perfect drift”. This means the fly must move to the natural rhythm of the flow without producing “drag”, which leaves an unnatural wake, arousing the suspicions of a wary trout.

For barbel, you bash the water with a huge and inelegant fly that you then strip through the water by pulling your line with your free hand.  

But one of the many joys of fly fishing is the different techniques employed for different species and contrasting situations.  

And I simply find barbel to be a lot of fun on fly. 

Contrary to popular belief, the species is not just a bottom feeder. It is a predatory fish: in Europe, there is a species that has been recorded hunting and consuming birds. This is how the wheel in the wild turns: various bird species in turn feed on barbel, especially young fish.

A barbel will absolutely hammer a fly, on the surface or below, and then peel line from your reel in a surge of raw pure power. You need to hold on tight to keep it from plunging for cover beneath logs or other structures to prevent your line from becoming hopelessly entangled.  

My collection of flies for trout and yellow fish is extensive, but I only use a handful for barbel (and to be honest, I rely heavily on a few for trout – much of my collection is perhaps more decorative than practical).

My main one is a big, mangy looking thing curiously called a “half chicken”, which does not remotely resemble a Nando’s dish. Basically, it resembles a black streamlined blob with a red or purple tail at the end, metallic eyes protruding in the front. I also sometimes trail a streamer behind called a “woolly bugger”.

A solid 8- or 9-weight rod – a relatively heavy, thick rod compared with the 4 to 6 weights I use for trout – is my weapon of choice. The leader and tippet material are in the 12kg to 15kg range since a barbel can easily break lighter grades.

As I said, I thrash the water. This involves a short cast thrown in such a manner that the fly makes a noisy splash. Where I fish in the Spruit, hadedas perched overhead on the branches of eucalyptus spatter the water with their droppings, attracting barbel.

Yes, the hadedas chum the water for you, and barbel eat their shit – but I don’t eat barbel, I catch the critters and release them.

But if you think that sounds disgusting, consider this: manure has been used as feed in aquaculture for centuries in Asia, and in more recent decades has taken off elsewhere.

This includes chicken droppings in a system that mimics what Johannesburg’s hadedas do, featuring chicken coops built over fish ponds with wire meshing on the floor so the birds can deposit their offerings below.

And this link between hadedas and barbel is one of the countless threads in the intricate web of biodiversity, representing a transfer of terrestrial organic material to an aquatic ecosystem.

The hadedas’ role on this stage is an avian version of what hippos accomplish on a far grander scale. Hippo dung is a key source of nutrients and energy for fish and insects in African rivers – it’s not just barbel that thrive on land-produced shite.  

This is one of many appeals of fly fishing: the observation of nature, and then the application of this information to a technique that appeals to the fish.

On that note, I will add that barbel are a masterpiece of evolution, and far more adaptable than trout, which have a comparatively fragile constitution.  

That is part of the romance around trout. All variations require cold, pristine waters, making trout what scientists call an “indicator species” as their presence is a gin-clear indication of an unsullied environment and clean H2O.

The presence of barbel in the Braamfontein spruit, and the fish-eating bird species I mentioned earlier, is not an indication of a pristine water system, even if it has shown a new lease of life in recent years.

But viewed through a different prism, it is testimony to the barbel’s sheer tenacity.

Barbel will travel over dry land if their home evaporates to reach new waters – a journey no trout is capable of undertaking.

About two decades ago, my wife and I were on a scuba diving trip to Sodwana Bay and the stream that spills into the Indian Ocean there had flooded over the beach. And lo and behold, my wife spotted a barbel muscling its way across the sand back towards the fresh water.

Respect is in order: this watery warrior has evolved to be a survivor.

At the end of the day, I will also readily admit that I prefer the pursuit of trout to that of barbel.

But there are many species I cast a fly to, and barbel are among them. 

I just feel that their reputation as a garbage fish is undeserved, and barbel have provided me with memorable fights and that intoxicating rush of adrenalin that comes with a tight line.

As I write these words, I have fresh memories of catching two the previous two days – one each session – and look forward to bringing more to my net. And who knows, maybe I will come across a painting of a barbel some day. DM