Fishing in the Bale Mountains
It’s cold in Dinsho. More than 10,000 ft in the southern Ethiopian highlands, I’m nestled in below 5 thick felt blankets, at least one which I think was formerly a curtain based on the metal rings sown into it that are lying heavily across my feet. My shoulders and ever-growing bald patch are cool to the touch. Every 20 minutes or so, a rumbling CNCO truck rumbles into the compound shaking the building, the driver walks up and down the row of 10 rooms knocking on each door and shouting “hello” until the attendant wearily opens the door to the “reception” office.
So how did I come to be lying in a Pension Motel on the main/only road in Dinsho, 250km south of Addis? I came looking for trout.
During my last trip to Ethiopia, I had seen one sentence in the Lonely Planet guide book that mentioned, “a fishing guide can set you up with a rod and reel.” That was enough to get my mind racing. A quick google search revealed that at some point there were trout in Ethiopian mountains but it was unclear where, when, why, or how to get there. Fast forward a year and the legend of the Ethiopian Trout had grown in my mind. Never one to pass up a good (fishing) adventure, I began to aggressively search for any information. A few message boards turned up the random fishing report from ET’s Bale Mountains (Link). Occasionally a guide’s name, the town of Dinsho, and overall positive reports that were short on details (“lots of fish, beautiful scenery”). A series of YouTube videos from a trip taken by a few guys in 2011. Some beautiful pictures and a short narrative from a couple that adopted an Ethiopian child and fit in a fishing trip. But again, pretty pictures with limited details.
So last weekend, I had the trip set. A local friend who owns a travel agency had arranged a driver and he and I were going to leave on Friday. Mind you, I had asked 8-10 people about “fishing in the Bale mountains” and everyone said, “yes, I have heard of the Bale Mountains! they are supposed to be beautiful!” “But what about fishing there?” “Menn? (What in amharic)”. “Fishing, fly fishing for trout in particular.” “No, I have never heard of this…are you sure?…really? No, I do not think so.” And so it was with raging confidence and endless optimism that we were to set off on Friday. Alas, I got a call at 7AM that morning that my friend had to cancel last minute and while I could go without him, I envisioned the 1,845 ways things could possibly go wrong and canceled the trip.
I spent an awesome weekend with Liz and Rachel at the Kuriftu resort at Bishoftu, lazing in a cabana, paddling around the pond in a kayak, errantly casting a dry-dropper combo to the plentiful tilapia with nary a bite.
And then it was Sunday and we were riding back to Addis with our awesome driver Ermias. I told him the weekend was great but that I was still a little bit sad about cancelling my Bale fishing expedition. Ermias, bless his heart, said the exact same thing as the 10 other people I had discussed my plan with, verbatim. But at the end he said, “I have a friend in Dinsho, let me call him to find about this fishing.” Thirty seconds later, I was on the phone with his friend, a park ranger at Bale Mountain National Park, who confirmed what I had read online and said, “Yes! There is fishing here. There is one guide, his name is Taha. We call him sometimes when there is a guest who wants to fish.” Bingo. A plan quickly crystallized, we spoke with Gashe Taha (gashe is an honorific reserved for a respected elder), and Tuesday morning Ermias and I pointed his trusty/rickety 1983 Toyota Carina south and rolled towards the mountains, adding to its 222,000 glorious miles.
Ermias had said that Dinsho was only a 4-hour drive, “5 hours maximum!” I should have known better because the other estimates I had heard were 7-9hrs. As with all things in Ethiopia, the truth was somewhere in the middle and so Thursday night we rolled into Dinsho after a 6 hour drive. The road was 5-10 years old, which meant that luckily there was more concrete than potholes and overall it was an easy, uneventful drive. We did see a herd of camels, got a sense for small highway-side ethiopian towns, and once we reached the Bale area, the road made a steep climb that topped out at nearly 12,000 feet! (and got this sweet view!)
I spent an awesome weekend with Liz and Rachel at the Kuriftu resort at Bishoftu, lazing in a cabana, paddling around the pond in a kayak, errantly casting a dry-dropper combo to the plentiful tilapia with nary a bite.
And then it was Sunday and we were riding back to Addis with our awesome driver Ermias. I told him the weekend was great but that I was still a little bit sad about cancelling my Bale fishing expedition. Ermias, bless his heart, said the exact same thing as the 10 other people I had discussed my plan with, verbatim. But at the end he said, “I have a friend in Dinsho, let me call him to find about this fishing.” Thirty seconds later, I was on the phone with his friend, a park ranger at Bale Mountain National Park, who confirmed what I had read online and said, “Yes! There is fishing here. There is one guide, his name is Taha. We call him sometimes when there is a guest who wants to fish.” Bingo. A plan quickly crystallized, we spoke with Gashe Taha (gashe is an honorific reserved for a respected elder), and Tuesday morning Ermias and I pointed his trusty/rickety 1983 Toyota Carina south and rolled towards the mountains, adding to its 222,000 glorious miles.
Ermias had said that Dinsho was only a 4-hour drive, “5 hours maximum!” I should have known better because the other estimates I had heard were 7-9hrs. As with all things in Ethiopia, the truth was somewhere in the middle and so Thursday night we rolled into Dinsho after a 6 hour drive. The road was 5-10 years old, which meant that luckily there was more concrete than potholes and overall it was an easy, uneventful drive. We did see a herd of camels, got a sense for small highway-side ethiopian towns, and once we reached the Bale area, the road made a steep climb that topped out at nearly 12,000 feet! (and got this sweet view!)
We pulled into Dinsho around 6:30pm with the sun low in the sky and met up with Gashe Taha. An older muslim man, probably around 60 years old, he had a soft smile and knowing laugh; when he saw me, he said he had been leading fishing trips longer than I had been alive (and he was right). He told us the nice lodge at the entrance of the park was currently closed - unclear if this is because we were late or because it was undergoing repairs - but he walked us to a small motel in town where the rooms were clean and cheap (200 ETB ~$7 USD). We agreed to meet the next morning at 7am, he showed us his favorite coffee stand, and then left Ermias and I to share a great simple meal of vegetarian dishes atop injera and a few beers as the full moon shone over town.
At 6:45 the next morning, I rolled out of bed, threw on a shirt, and looked out the window to see Ermias and Taha ready to roll. Grabbed my rod, reel, waders, and shoes, and was out the door. We walked down the main road for 2 minutes, made a right hand turn down a wide dirt road, and then 10 minutes later made a diagonal left turn through a soccer field that quickly became a cow pasture and then an upturned wheat field and then a rocky grazing ground. We walked 45minutes to the edge of a steep gorge (maybe 300 feet high) and began to pick our way down the sheer rock wall. At the bottom lay our goal, the rainbow trout of the Webb River. According to a 2015 article in Flyfisher (Link), Kenyan sport fisherman and peace corps volunteers (saw this in another article) stocked the Web and Danka rivers in 1967. The trout took hold like kudzu (probably innocently annihilating any local species), there was a local fly fishing club in the 1970s that went defunct in 1975, and the trout have been swimming, eating, and growing ever since. Taha says that he has been guiding fishing trips for over 40 years. He started working for Bale National Park when he was in his late teens; there was another fishing guide at the time but he was killed by the Derg. Taha took over his responsibilities and says that he learned how to fish just by watching tourists who would come, but at the beginning, he only knew where the river was and the various spots that may have fish, but not how to fly fish. When I asked if the locals fish, he shook his head and said no, since they fish are in the national park, it is illegal to keep them and Ermias said the fine is upwards of 1000 ETB ($35 USD). When asked who will take over guiding when Taha completely retires (he retired from the park service a few years ago but still guides privately), he shakes his head and says he doesn’t know. He thought his son might but his son now lives in Sweden where he is studying computer engineering, and his daughter is also in university elsewhere in Ethiopia where she studies accounting. He says there are two other fishing guides in Gobe, the next big town over, but they aren’t allowed to guide fishermen in the park.
At 6:45 the next morning, I rolled out of bed, threw on a shirt, and looked out the window to see Ermias and Taha ready to roll. Grabbed my rod, reel, waders, and shoes, and was out the door. We walked down the main road for 2 minutes, made a right hand turn down a wide dirt road, and then 10 minutes later made a diagonal left turn through a soccer field that quickly became a cow pasture and then an upturned wheat field and then a rocky grazing ground. We walked 45minutes to the edge of a steep gorge (maybe 300 feet high) and began to pick our way down the sheer rock wall. At the bottom lay our goal, the rainbow trout of the Webb River. According to a 2015 article in Flyfisher (Link), Kenyan sport fisherman and peace corps volunteers (saw this in another article) stocked the Web and Danka rivers in 1967. The trout took hold like kudzu (probably innocently annihilating any local species), there was a local fly fishing club in the 1970s that went defunct in 1975, and the trout have been swimming, eating, and growing ever since. Taha says that he has been guiding fishing trips for over 40 years. He started working for Bale National Park when he was in his late teens; there was another fishing guide at the time but he was killed by the Derg. Taha took over his responsibilities and says that he learned how to fish just by watching tourists who would come, but at the beginning, he only knew where the river was and the various spots that may have fish, but not how to fly fish. When I asked if the locals fish, he shook his head and said no, since they fish are in the national park, it is illegal to keep them and Ermias said the fine is upwards of 1000 ETB ($35 USD). When asked who will take over guiding when Taha completely retires (he retired from the park service a few years ago but still guides privately), he shakes his head and says he doesn’t know. He thought his son might but his son now lives in Sweden where he is studying computer engineering, and his daughter is also in university elsewhere in Ethiopia where she studies accounting. He says there are two other fishing guides in Gobe, the next big town over, but they aren’t allowed to guide fishermen in the park.
The river is no more than 50 feet wide in any spot and now, at the peak of the dry season, it is a beaded pattern of deep runs and pools punctuated by 100 yards of shallow (less than 1 foot) sections where it is no more than a babbling brook. Near the bottom of the gorge, we startle a family of 8 warthogs who are casually grazing on the far shore. They look at us, confused as hell, and figuring that only predators walk on two legs, they take off upriver, but not before I snap photo.
We lay down our gear and Taha instructed me to tie on any of my nymphs and start casting away. The pools formed at the base of a 1-2 foot tall waterfall, were probably 20-30 feet deep, and 30-40 feet across. On my 4th cast, after 3 short slow strips, I hook into my first fish! Giddy like a school boy, I raise my rod and start stripping! The fish takes off away from the me, heading for deeper waters along the opposite shore. Trying to get him on my reel, he rolls on his side and throws the hook. Too happy and relieved that there are actually fish here, I hardly care and start casting again. My optimism and relief are well founded because 5 casts later I hook into a beautiful rainbow trout. It pulls, I pull, and eventually get him to hand. Again, I am just so excited that the 6hr drive was not in vain and I hoot and holler and ask Ermias to take pic after pic. Ten casts later, I hear a quick yell, look to the other side of the gorge and see a 5 year-old boy, shepherding his family’s goat herd down towards the river, yelling as a group of 20 baboons gallop past his herd. Laughing and shaking my head in disbelief, I keep casting, and I pull out another beautiful trout. A few more casts and Taha suggests we move upriver to the next hole.
This fishing sequence repeats itself all morning (not the wildlife unfortunately). Each hole is a variation on the theme of small waterfall into deep pool/run, I pull out 2-3 fish, and then we move on. Each fish has better coloring than the next, the smallest is probably 12-15 inches and less than 1lb going up to 18-20 inches and more than 3lbs. Some of the largest wild rainbows I’ve seen and overall, sizes similar to what is typical in the Rockies. I kept trying to get Ermias to try but he refused, said “this isn’t a thing that Habesha do,” and snoozed in the sun. Gache Taha only took a few casts and of course, pulled out the fattest fish of the day. After that, he said that he prefers just to watch and if I’m happy then he is happy. (Side note, whenever a fishing guide says this, I call BS because who doesn’t love catching big fish?! and guides probably just think it’s bad for business for them to catch all the fish and show up their clients. Whatever, I’m a grown man, I can handle a little competition…as long as I win).
We fished from 7:45am - 12:45pm, and on the whole, probably caught 10-12 fish. My favorite was the last: I knew we only had 10 minutes to fish and we ended at a hole that was relatively shallow and still with some underwater debris. After 2-3 casts, I took off running downstream to a section we had walked past, we were 200ft above it clinging to the cliff-side, where the river cut through a section of rock with an easy walking section on one side and a 20ft sheer rock wall on the other. I was now on the walking side, threw 10 casts with no luck, and then, as Taha came to find me and get me to go, I hook into a large, strong bow. It was a soft take, he was a deep diver, and when I finally got him to the surface, he had the darkest green back and the brightest red stripe of any of the day’s fish. Taha and I whooped and shouted together as I pulled the fish in, high fived afterwards, packed up, and headed back through the cow pastures and upturned fields to the motel and car and a 6hr drive back to Addis.
Taha Adem
+251-91133-3902
tahaademfishguide@gmail.com
MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!!!
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