Chasing KOB – to make Simon’s bachelor weekend unforgettable
Steven and Simon, along with their father Graham, joined us for a two-day guided trip. The goal? A kob to make Simon’s bachelor weekend unforgettable.
Day One:
On the first day, we decided to fish Kabeljous, even though we knew the bites would be slow. After a short morning walk, it became clear that the chance of an edible was slim, as the water had dropped in temperature overnight. We made the call to move down the beach, towards the rocks, in search of warmer water.
Soon after setting up, we lucked into a St. Joseph Shark—a species considered edible despite its odd appearance and name. I convinced the group that the water looked ideal for non-edibles, and we should focus on catching whatever was biting.
One rod was put out with a bite trace and a mackerel, cast over the drop into a patch of brown water. Within 5 minutes, that rod was bending, and we were onto something strong. Smiles spread across everyone's faces as Simon reeled in a big smoothhound shark. Needless to say, every cast resulted in a bite, with the group taking turns to enjoy the fight. We ended the day with two big blue rays, the smoothhound, two raggies, two sandsharks, and the St. Joseph—a decent haul given the conditions we were facing.
Day Two:
After a series of phone calls and planning, we decided to make the journey from Jeffreys Bay to Sundays Surf. Duvan had organized a kayak for us and pinpointed the perfect bank to fish, where he had previously landed a few kob.
After nearly an hour of taking turns paddling across the river and reeling our gear and live mullet across, we began the 3/4 km walk to find the markers Duvan had pointed out. Not taking my eye off the sea during the 35-minute walk (and feeling slightly out of breath already thanks to a very heavy H-frame), I soon found myself staring at an incredible bank. “We have to start here,” I said, excitement building.
We set up our gear and started prepping the rods. I heard Graham say, "Isn’t that the landmark Duvan told us to look for?" Indeed it was—we were exactly where we needed to be.
We took our time setting up, getting the mullets into fresh sea water, then proceeded to slide one onto the back bank, throw another onto the closer bank, and slide a third mullet into the shallowest spot we could find. A fourth rod with an octopus leg was also put out.
It started off quietly, but then suddenly, the first bite—a nice big blue ray took the octopus leg and pulled off with such speed that it yanked the rod right out of the stand and into the sand. Soon after, the live mullet screamed off… bronzie. Then the slide mullet got a pull… bronzie. The third mullet got chowed… bronzie!
We knew they would bother us, but we didn’t expect them to be that shallow. We re-cast the mullets onto the edge of the shallow bank, put the octopus leg back out, and started throwing clean chokka baits, which only resulted in sandsharks pestering us.
Some time passed, and the live bait finally got a proper pull. I ran to the rod and picked it up, feeling the incredibly heavy and fast creature on the other end. "Bronzie," I thought to myself, as the line suddenly became slack. I assumed it was a bite-off, until I reeled in the mullet—still on the hook, though slightly squashed—accompanied by small pinhole bites just under the head. It was a kob… a giant kob on the other side that just missed the hook. Devastated, I walked back and rigged up again, feeling despondent that we might have missed the fish of the trip. I recast a fresh mullet.
It went quiet again until the octopus leg got a pull. “That’s him! That’s him!” Conrad shouted as we ran to the rod bouncing in the stand. It was definitely a kob. I handed the rod to Steve, who fought it perfectly through the head-shakes and shore dump. A lovely 5kg kob was landed—a target species, smiles all around, and something for the evening braai. A bit of pressure was off, but we still wanted a bigger one.
We recast the same octopus in the same spot on the edge of the bank, and again it went quiet. Another bronzie bite-off, and we finally decided to throw a steel trace on the shark rod. Everyone drifted off, daydreaming in the sun when suddenly, a reel screamed. This was different. It wasn’t a bronzie—it was fast, heavy, and there were headshakes. Everyone took a guess as to what we had on the other end: a smoothhound, a bronzie, a spotted gully? “I think we’ve found the kob we’re looking for,” I said.
Simon took his time fighting the fish perfectly. The Kyasuto 4-6oz absorbed the monstrous head-shakes as the fish darted off into the current. Nervous but excited, Conrad and I stood in the shore dump, trying to catch even the smallest glimpse of the catch. “IT’S A KOB!!” we screamed as we saw the fish come up in the wave.
I ran back to Simon, advising him to loosen the drag slightly and walk the fish out when the time came. We didn’t want to rush it—better to take longer and land the fish safely than risk unnecessary pressure in the big dumpers. The kob disappeared under the foam just as we were about to grab it. “It’s here, it’s here!” I shouted as it washed up behind us. Conrad quickly grabbed the kob by the bottom jaw, pulling it up with the next wave and onto the beach.
Screams of joy and excitement followed, with plenty of high-fives and hugs shared. We quickly measured the fish—143cm. Conrad lifted the kob and handed it to Simon to hold between waves so we could get some quick photos. The family joined in for a few shots, and in no time, the kob was back in the water. Simon released the fish into the surf, with Conrad walking alongside and holding it upright to revive it a moment before it kicked off to fight another day.
What a catch, and what an honour to watch Simon land his dream fish with his father and brother on this special occasion.
