Retuning to my friend’s house in Harare after a week of successful hunting, Stephan asked if I’d like to go along with him to a fishing tackle store. He needed some supplies. As I had not yet been to one in Zimbabwe, I was eager to go to see what a tackle shop might look like in Africa. Arriving at the store, he went about picking up the few supplies he needed while I browsed around. The first thing that caught my eye actually made me laugh.
Pointing up at it, I started to laugh just as Stephan came around the aisle.
“That’s pretty dumb looking! Like anyone would ever think it’s real!” I said to my friend.
“But it is real. They’re called tigerfish, and you can catch them in northern Zimbabwe on the Zambezi River. Would you like to go fishing for them?” Stephan offered.
“We can go fishing for those??? How soon can we go?” I begged.
Stephan said he’d make some calls when we got home but warned me it would be fairly expensive. Not to worry, I replied to him, I still have plenty of money left. It’ll be my treat for you getting me such great rates on my safari.
The next day it was all set- three days of fishing on the Zambezi River, staying in a private chalet right on the water’s edge. We’d have a guide, boat and motor, and would only have to bring food and drinks. Since the chalet had two rooms, I offered it would be great to bring his wife, Riki, along. He said she wouldn’t do any fishing but would love to get away from the kids for a while and enjoy the rest. Leaving in only two days, there would be a five to six hour drive up north, and we’d be wetting our lines in the river the next morning.
Chapter 1: Dangerous Game Can Be Small
We arrived late in the day, just about an hour before sunset. There were actually two chalets not 25 yards from the river’s edge, but we would be the only ones in camp during our stay as it was well after peak season. Of course ,there was a campfire that evening where we had some drinks while listening to hippos in the distance. I could hardly sleep at all that night and was happy when morning finally came. I quickly made my bed and then went to the morning fire for some breakfast.
Going back afterwards to grab some things for the day out, I moved a backpack I had set on my bed, and I found a HUGE centipede lying right underneath it. It...
had to be nearly six inches long. The body was about as wide as my little finger and was a dark golden brown color. Of course, it had what seemed like a hundred legs on each side, and it gave me the willies when I thought about where it had spent the night.
I brushed it off onto the floor, whereby it quickly scooted out of my room heading out the door. I never even thought to mention it to Stephan until a week later when I got my trip photos developed. As Stephan was flipping through them back at home, he shrieked when he came to that photo.
“Where the bloody hell did you take this photo???” he asked.
“Oh… the first morning of our fishing trip. When I moved my backpack off my bed, just before we left, he was right there on top of my blanket.”
“That big bastard is so poisonous! You’re lucky he didn’t bite you! Years ago, when I was hunting far away, one bit me, and I got so sick I thought I was going to die. It was an over five hour ride to a hospital, and I was lucky to get there in time.”
Lucky me! I go to Africa, don’t get charged by an elephant, Cape buffalo, rhino, lion or leopard… but I could have been killed by a bug in my bed!
Chapter 2: Tigerfish Are For REAL
Ruko, our Shona fishing guide, pulled up early the first morning in an 18 foot boat and motor combination. It looked just like a fishing boat seen in Wisconsin or Minnesota. I was glad for the size and sturdiness as after all, the Zambezi River is full of crocodiles and hippos. Rods, reels and all the fishing tackle we’d need were provided and sitting in the far side of the boat. Stephan had brought along some stainless leaders. The sharp teeth of the tigerfish will cut right through regular line and sometimes, he says, even the metal leaders!
Our guide turned out to be a man of few words, but after all, we were here to fish, not talk.
Our guide turned out to be a man of few words, but after all, we were here to fish, not talk. He did happen to mention though, that just two days before, about five miles downriver, a human torso was found in the water; just a torso, not a body, with all its extremities. That’s not the kind of thing usually heard if fishing on the Mississippi!
The first thing we needed to...
do, Ruko says, is get some fish for bait. So we slowly motor for a while along the shore until we see two locals in a dugout canoe who come paddling up to us. Let me clarify “dugout canoe.” Imagine paddling around on a river full of crocodiles and hippos in a 14” wide by 6” thick piece of wood around twelve feet long which has been slightly pointed at both ends and appears to hardly have been scooped out in the center with a sharp spoon. Literally, it was not much more than that! As we pulled alongside, Ruko bartered for a half-dozen pan fish about the size of two-pound bluegills. To get these, he only had to trade about 30-feet of fishing line and a half-dozen hooks. Very important things the natives could not readily obtain out in the bush, but which would allow them to feed their families.
The pan fish Ruko traded for were cut up into fillet strips as bait about the size of a small pocket comb.
We motored up river a short ways, and then set up the gear to start fishing. To catch tigerfish, open face bait casting reels full of twenty pound line are used. Of course stainless leaders are a must, and attached is a fair sized sinker at the swivel snap, right where the leader is also fastened. I don’t remember the number size of the single hooks we put at the end of the stainless leaders, but they were at least two inches long and had an almost one inch opening. The pan fish Ruko traded for were cut up into fillet strips as bait about the size of a small pocket comb.
How does one fish for tigerfish? Well, the Zambezi at that point varied from two hundred feet wide to over two hundred yards. Its current was about the speed of a fast walk, and the water was muddy brown with visibility of only a few feet. And remember, the river was full of crocodiles, and pods of hippo were everywhere. More people are actually killed each year by hippos, than any other animal. The incidents happen when natives run into them, either going down to the river or coming back from it, when the hippos are accidentally encountered.
Then, in one swift motion, give a short crank, which locks the spool, and then slam the rod back to set the hook.
We’d position the boat in the middle of the river, cast our bait upstream, and then kill the motor. Once we cast our line, we never cranked on the reel, but left...
the bait to bounce along the bottom as the boat carried us downstream. When a tigerfish hits bait, it will grab and run with it while the line freely spools off the reel. It’s not pulling against the drag, just free spooling line out. I was told to give it some time while pointing the rod at the fish. Then, in one swift motion, give a short crank, which locks the spool, and then slam the rod back to set the hook.
The first time I had my bait taken, it was a real rush. Doing exactly as Stephan had told me, I let the fish run for a while, pointed my rod, then turned the crank and set the hook. Tigerfish are extremely aggressive and don’t like being on the end of a line with a hook in their mouths. Barely seconds after setting the hook and my first tigerfish EXPLODED out of the water, at least two feet into the air. My heart was racing at the sight of the fish above the water, shaking hard, the sun reflecting off the water into my eyes.
“You did bring a lot of stainless leaders…right?”
He jumped two or three times more and put up a great fight for his size. It took about five minutes to land him, finally boating a twelve pounder. And just like the mounted fish in the tackle store, the mouth of teeth he had was amazing. My stainless leader had a hard kink in it from his teeth, looking like I had tried to cut it with side cutter pliers. It didn’t look like it would be good for catching too many more fish. Smiling, I turned to Stephan and asked, “You did bring a lot of stainless leaders…right?”
The first day of fishing was amazing, catching nearly two dozen tigerfish from around six to sixteen pounds. Each and every time we set a hook, we were always rewarded with what looked like a missile being fired from a submarine and repeated jumps after that. It was, by far, the most exciting day of fishing I’ve ever experienced! And besides the crocodiles and hippo in the river, seeing elephant, Cape buffalo, zebra, and many other plains game on the shore as we drifted by is something burned into my memory forever.
Salted and dried tigerfish???
We offered Ruko to take some of the fish home to help feed his family, which he gratefully accepted. He didn’t own the fishing camp or the boat, but was a local hired to take people out fishing....
Stephan said that besides cooking and eating some of the fish that night, most of it would be salted and dried, preserving it for later.
Salted and dried tigerfish??? The fish is gutted and then split in half length-wise with scales and fins still on. A great number of cross cuts are made down to the skin but not through to allow for faster drying and an application of “spices.” Next, very coarse rock salt is generously rubbed in and then sprinkled on heavily. The halves are laid out on the top of corrugated metal to dry out in the sun. Flies cover the fish as they feed on it, but they don’t lay eggs in the meat due to the heavy salting which would kill the eggs. The end result is a sort of fish jerky, golden-yellow… hard, and extremely salty. Ruko was chewing on it throughout the first day of fishing. On the second day, he offered me some to try.
Flies cover the fish as they feed on it, but they don’t lay eggs in the meat due to the heavy salting which would kill the eggs.
Imagine walking along a river or lake and seeing a long dead fish on the shore, all baked and rotting in the sun. Pick it up, take a big bite, and start trying to chew on it. THAT would taste great in comparison, by ten-fold! It was the foulest thing I’ve ever tasted, had a tough, horrible texture, and smelled far worse than can be imagined. I did my best to smile while trying to chew it up small enough to be able to swallow it, which I did. The aftertaste was just as bad; I would have given my right arm for an entire pack of spearmint gum after that. I thanked him for the fish, but I politely declined a second piece.
Chapter 3: Just Cut The Line
Our second morning started out great, but by nine, things fell off considerably. At around 9:30, we made another run up the river, cast out our bait, killed the motor and started drifting. Even with the line free spooling, the bottom was sandy, and with the fairly swift current, the bait would bounce along the bottom without stripping off anymore line. Hopefully, the traveling bait would entice a fish to strike. I actually remember dozing off a bit from the warm morning sun and the gentle rocking of the drifting boat. Suddenly, my line starts to free spool off my reel, with considerable speed.
Suddenly, my line starts to free spool off my reel,...
with considerable speed.
I perked up right away, and shouted to Stephan that something had taken my bait, and was running fast with it. As before, I waited a few seconds, pointed my rod towards the fish, locked in the crank… then set the hook. It was as if I had hooked a jet boat going downstream! My reel began to scream as the line pulled out against the drag at an amazing rate.
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ… line was spooling off at an incredible rate. Looking down, I could see line coming off, left to right, then back again across the open spool. In no time at all, over half the line has been pulled off.
“Start the motor! Start the motor!” I screamed to Ruko.
He fired it up, and started slowly trolling towards the fish, which allowed me to keep only very slight tension on the line. But slowly, I began to take up some of the line I’ve lost. As soon as I tred to pump and crank, pump and crank, the fish took off again in another direction, making a run, just like after I first set the hook. Ruko had to steer the boat towards the fish, and again I worked to take up some of my lost line. Any time I tried to take control, the fish showed who was boss, and just made another line-consuming run away from the boat. After about ten minutes of this, I was beginning to wonder what was going on. Then I realized… the tigerfish had never jumped even once yet!
Then I realized… the tigerfish had never jumped even once yet!
“Stephan! Why hasn’t the fish jumped yet? Every tigerfish we’ve caught so far, always explodes out of the water when we set the hook!”
“Aww… it’s probably just a big Vundu… we should just cut the line!”
“Cut the line??? I didn’t travel twelve-thousand miles to cut my line!!! And what’s a VUNDU?”
Before he could answer, the fish made run number six or seven. In seconds, I again lost over half the line on my spool. Ruko steered towards the fish, and accelerated the boat so I could regain as much line as possible. I began pumping and cranking, pumping and cranking, pumping and cranking. But each time I pulled just a little too hard on the line, the fish would take off again like a snagged submarine. In all of the excitement, I forgot to ask my friend about a Vundu, but at...
this point, it doesn’t really matter
This went on for over twenty minutes. Each time I was able to almost get most of my line back, the fish dug in, and took off. My arms were starting to ache from the constant struggle. I had to stop cranking the reel with my right hand, grab the rod with my right arm, and drop my fatigued left arm to shake it out. That arm was getting so weak from having to pull against the fish for over twenty five minutes. Twenty-five minutes, and we hadn’t even had a glimpse of him yet! Dear Lord… please at least let me see what’s at the other end of my line!
Chapter 4: A Section Of Telephone Pole
As we hit the thirty-minute mark, I was finally able to get the fish up near the boat but had not yet seen what I have been fighting for so long. He started to zig-zag underneath us, so the motor is killed and tipped up out of the water to prevent cutting the line. Each time I pumped and cranked, a little line came in, and fortunately, the fish was no long making those powerful runs. It felt like I was trying to reel in a bag of cement.
He headed for under the front of the boat, and then swung around to under the left side. I kept pumping and cranking, pumping and cranking. The line was no longer zipping off to the left or right, so he must have been just under the boat. I’ll never forget what I finally saw on my next pump and crank!
The river was so muddy I could only see a foot or so into it. Suddenly, it was as if a five foot section of telephone pole started to surface evenly all at once. I screamed like a girl as a nearly foot wide catfish, much bigger than my leg, nearly surfaced right off the side of the boat. Stephan and Ruko both screamed too, and said, " That’s a hell of a Vundu!" I finally saw what I’d been battling for so long- an African catfish of monstrous proportions!
Truth be told, the fish was in control the entire time up until the last few minutes. Seeing what had been pulling on him for so long, just before his massive heads breaks the surface, he pitched and dived, stripping line off of my reel once again. He pulled as hard as his very first run. There was no way we’d be able to net him. Would this ever end?
Chapter 5: Vundu On Board!
![]()
src="http://www.globalsportsman.com/includes/images/articles/ken-kempa/03- 100 lb. Vundu catfish on the Zambezi River, Zimbabwe Africa.JPG" title="The Big One" alt="The big catfish" class="img-responsice" style="width: 285px;" onclick="display_post('pic-1')">
His last valiant run was a good one, but I was able to turn him back, and slowly work the huge monster back to the boat. Finally, he was tiring. As I worked him up to the side of the boat again, Ruko slipped his hand inside the mouth, while Stephan grabbed him by the midsection and clumsily lifted the catfish into the boat.
I had no intention of keeping him, as for certain, he was a great, great grandfather of a fish. How old was he… 10, 20 or maybe even 30 years old? Who would know? One thing is for certain, living his whole life in a river full of ten to sixteen foot crocodiles, he’s earned the right to keep on living for as long as nature will allow. I just wanted to boat him, and then release him to live for several more decades.
Having no teeth, just more of a raspy band much like a file brush, I told Stephan I was going to pick him up by the mouth and asked him to take a quick photo, so I could then release the great fish. I place a small hand towel over his lips, and then stuck both hands inside his mouth, lifting him up so his tail would just clear the deck of the boat. As I’m six-foot two inches tall, that placed the tip of his head and my hands just below my chin… making him every bit of five feet long! Ruko said he easily weighed well over 45 kilos… or 100 lbs., the largest Vundu he’s ever seen or heard of, by far.
Stephan was fiddling with my camera while I was dying trying to keep his tail off the deck for a good photo. Finally he said he got a good one, but I asked him again to take some more just to be sure. It was so very hard to hold this great fish up to my chin, and I was happy when my friend finally said he got several good pictures.
Lifting the great, great grandfather fish over the side, I lowered him into the water. He was pretty still, so I kept swishing him around to get fresh water over his gills, helping to revive him. He started to thrash around a bit, but I still held on until certain that he had enough of his strength back. Finally, it was obvious the magnificent fish was ready to go.
As soon as I released his mouth, he turned hard to his left, and then dived...
down into the muddy waters. I thanked him as he disappeared, for being the greatest fish I’ve ever battled and landed.
