Tsitsikamma's elders pass down centuries of fishing wisdom to the next generation

“Who taught you to fish?” 

“Oom Ed,” replied one of the members of the  Tsitsikamma Junior Angling Forum, as she flicked her rod, casting her line into the Nature’s Valley Lagoon, just outside the Tsitsikamma Marine Protected Area (MPA).

For centuries, the shoreline of Tsitsikamma was a place where children learned to fish from their parents or grandparents. A practice rooted in the indigenous Khoi and San communities of Tsitsikamma who relied on the land and sea for sustenance. 

But that tradition was interrupted when the Tsitsikamma MPA was declared a full no-take zone in 2000, cutting communities off from historical fishing grounds that had sustained families for generations.

It was only after years of lobbying through the Tsitsikamma Angling Forum that, in 2016, three coastal zones — about 20% of the MPA — were reopened for registered community anglers, under strict conditions.

Opening part of the MPA has been somewhat controversial, as it could potentially undermine the purpose of an MPA, but as SANParks marine ecologist Kyle Smith said, scientific models that consider the impact of angling on this fragile ecosystem don’t always consider the “sort of messiness of human negotiations”.

Read more: Opening Tsitsikamma’s shores — can conservation and community coexist in Africa’s oldest marine sanctuary?

Edward Bernado, known simply as Oom Ed to the young local anglers he teaches, grew up in Storms River, Tsitsikamma, learning to fish at the age of 12. Now 72, his fondest memories are of fishing from the rocky outcrops, sandy beaches and river mouths with his father, who taught him everything he knows about the sea.

“I worked with my dad in forestry to make a living,” Bernado said. “And after work, he would take me out to sea to teach me how to fish.” In addition to forestry and fishibng, he supplemented the family income by harvesting honeybush tea and selling firewood to people in the area.

“I’ve known him for a very long time, since I was just a kid,” said Henrico Bruiners, 61, a third-generation angler from Thornham village in Tsitsikamma, speaking about Bernardo.

“He and his family live close to the sea — angling, it’s in their veins. And I regard him as a master of angling. 

“He knows the sea, he knows the tides, he knows the type of bait, he can tell you where to fish, when, what. He is very, very skilled,” said Bruiners, who is a retired schoolteacher. “His roots go down very deep.”

Bruiners, former chairperson of the Tsitsikamma Angling Forum, spent years petitioning and protesting to reopen parts of the MPA for indigenous angling. At a meeting with the media and SANParks, he brought a lever arch file stuffed with laminated newspaper clippings documenting the anglers’ campaign, and a notebook filled with notes.

“I’ll try to keep it short, but I have a lot to say,” he joked. He spoke of how his ancestors fished from the shore near what is now the Cattle Baron restaurant at SANParks Storms River Rest Camp.

Like Bernado, and many in their community, Bruiners grew up fishing long before MPA restrictions were imposed. He first went fishing at eight years old with both his mother and father. 

“I didn’t have a fishing rod and reel then, couldn’t afford it,” he said. “I used a hand line. Later my father bought me a small reel, and I made my own rod.”

Both Bernado and Bruiners remember entire weekends spent on the beach, sleeping in tents or under the stars on pieces of wood, waking before dawn to cast their lines. 

“On the weekend we slept by the sea the whole weekend — came Friday night and left Sunday afternoon,” Bernado said. “That’s where my love of fishing comes from. When I fish, it’s those memories of my dad [that I think of].”

Knowledge that must not die

“For us, indigenous angling practices aren’t just about fishing — they’re about knowledge and practices passed down through generations,” said Bruiners.

Data collected since parts of the Tsitsikamma MPA were partially reopened in 2016 show that fishing activity has been lower than expected. Of the 600 registered anglers — all permanent residents of the Kou-Kamma Municipality — most are between 40 and 70 years old, with few under the age of 24 taking part.

Angling in the area began to decline in the 1970s and, following the full no-take ban in 2000, entire generations grew up without access to traditional fishing grounds. As marine ecologist Kyle Smith explained, simply fishing outside the MPA is not always a straightforward option.

“One is that sometimes it’s very difficult for people to actually travel somewhere else,” he said. “And the costs — a lot of the anglers were accessing the points by walking or bicycle. With a 65km stretch closed off, it’s a long way to go before you can get to a legal fishing spot.”

To counter this generational gap, SANParks initiated the Junior Angling Club, co-chaired by Edward Bernado and Clive Nelson, which works to engage young people in angling traditions. The club is a beneficiary of SANParks’ Anglers Support Programme, to which SANParks donated fishing equipment, conducted workshops on how to fish and provided the youth with permits to fish on the MPA. 

“Young people must take something from old people — my forefathers’ skills must not die, they must be passed on,” said Bernado. “So the new generation can do the same things and make a living out of that.”

For Bernado, fishing is never just about the catch. It is also about teaching how to respect the sea and its creatures: which animals can be taken, which cannot, and why.

Reading the sea

Bruiners described how his elders taught him to read the environment around him, from the sea to the mountains and the temperature.

“We, as anglers, can just look at the colour of the mountains without going down to the sea and know what the ocean looks like — whether it’s calm, stormy, or windy, and even what the temperature is,” said Bruiners, who has passed these lessons onto his son, and wants to teach his daughter soon.

“Our elders and forebears trained us in that regard. The colour of the mountains will tell you what kind of wind is in the air. If the mountains are clear, it’s a beautiful day and the sea will be calm.”

Other lessons are equally precise: clear water means you will not catch anything; thunder and lightning in the atmosphere mean the same.

“We have learned to respect seasonal cycles and also to respect nature. We’ve learned to discern when the sea is angry. I’m not talking about stormy; I’m talking about anger,” said Bruiners.

“There are times when you just sit down and you can read the sea, and you can see the sea is angry, then you have to stay away from it. And when your heart is evil, stay away from the sea. The oceans and the seas, they are pure.”

Indigenous knowledge also determines which hooks to use, which bait and which species to target in which season.

“All this knowledge and skills we’ve learned from our parents and elders,” Bruiners said.

Without nature, we have nothing

“Nature is everything to us,” said Bernado. “If you don’t look after nature, then we’ve got nothing. Trees give us oxygen, and the ocean gives us food. So you have to look after it. To look after nature, you look after people.”

Today, most anglers in Tsitsikamma fish only a few times a year, mainly over weekends, with few younger than 24.

But beyond numbers and compliance reports, men like Bernado and Bruiners stress what is at stake: a way of life that connects families to the sea and creates a deep respect for nature.

As Bernado put it: “When I die, the young people must know the skills I give them. And then he can teach his child the same things. And so it goes on.” DM