Down at Kalk Bay Harbour these days, reef fish—often called “doppies”—are tied together with neat, bright nylon strips. It’s a small detail, but one that marks a quiet change in a long-standing fishing tradition.
Back in the 1970s, and long before that, fishermen used cane strips to bunch their catch. The cane would be soaked in seawater to make it flexible, then looped and knotted to hold the fish securely. I even remember my dad keeping a stash of cane strips on his ski boat, although we mostly went after game fish rather than reef fish.
The change from cane to nylon is a sign of the times. Nylon is stronger, easier to use, and doesn’t need soaking. But cane had its own virtues—it was free, biodegradable, and part of a fishing culture that relied on local resources and passed-down knowledge.
Fishing traditions at Kalk Bay stretch back far beyond nylon or cane. Long before foreign fishing boats arrived, the indigenous Khoi people—often referred to in old records as “Strandlopers” (Dutch for “beach walkers”)—lived along this coast and trapped fish in rock pools. Some of those ancient stone traps still exist, though their exact locations are best kept quiet to protect them.
The use of cane for fish bundling probably came from this long lineage of resourcefulness, adapted over centuries by different communities who made Kalk Bay their home—Khoi, Filipino, Dutch, Indonesian, and others.
Today, the nylon ties are more practical for a busy harbour, but for those who remember the supple, sea-scented cane loops, they’re a reminder of an era when fishing gear came from the land and sea themselves.
