Kalk Bay is madness, sheer madness, on a Saturday, especially now with the warm late-summer weather. Both parking lots were packed. Drivers were rude, and some downright obnoxious. Maybe it’s entitlement. Maybe it’s just foolishness. Either way, patience is in short supply.
Down at the harbour, along the breakwater, there were well over a hundred people fishing. The tackle alone must have run into the thousands of rands.
Around lunchtime, two boats came in with their meagre catches. They brought up some mackerel, hottentot (now known as Cape bream), a couple of red roman — just a pair, in fact — and chokka, more commonly known as squid. Later on the quayside the squid went for a whopping R200 a kilogram. There was also a shark. Sharks fetch a good price because they are apparently sold further up the supply chain and eventually land up in Australia, where the Aussies go mad for fish and chips — except it’s actually shark and chips.
Amid the bumping and jostling on the harbour quayside, I managed to take some good photographs of the fishermen coming in. I also made a quick video for Tiktok of the crews throwing their catches onto the harbour, just as they’ve done for generations. But as I mentioned in the video, the crews of both boats are ageing. There are no young people aboard.
That tells its own story. Either there’s little interest from the younger generation because fishing is no longer a lucrative occupation, or there are simply very few places left on the boats these days — probably both.
Still, I have to hand it to the skippers. Take Ike Lez, for example, who takes his boat out regularly. He’s in his seventies, as are most of his crew. Yet they still go out. Because he’s a brilliant skipper — probably the best left in Kalk Bay when it comes to handline fishing — and because he’s done it for decades, he still comes back with a reasonable catch, given the times.
And those times are tough. Fishing stocks in False Bay have declined considerably. Handline fishing is no longer a viable proposition. There’s very little money in it. People are usually attracted by money, but these fishermen go out because it’s been part of their livelihood and their lifestyle for decades — and in some cases, for generations. One has to admire their tenacity, and perhaps their nostalgia.
One of the regulars on the harbour, Tony, a recreational diver I know, told me that only four boats still go out fishing. He wasn’t counting boats that hold crayfish licences and no longer do handline fishing, relying instead solely on crayfish quotas to make a living.
I also witnessed a tragic transaction. A fisherman who had ridden his bicycle all the way from Bailey’s Cottage, Muizenberg, and ekes out a living with rod and reel had caught about ten undersized white steenbras near Bailey’s Cottage in Muizenberg. The buyer opened his cooler bag and showed me the fish. Yes, they were beautiful pan-size fish, but they were below the legal limit. With dwindling fish stocks, this is a complete travesty of the laws meant to protect marine life.
But where there’s a willing catcher and a willing buyer, the law often loses. It makes one wonder what other underhand dealings are going on at the harbour — drugs, undersized fish, and other shady transactions.
That said, most people are there for the fresh air, the sea, and the scenery. Some are hoping to catch a tiny fish from the harbour wall, or, if they’re lucky, a squid.
Kalk Bay Harbour remains a huge attraction for locals. It’s a local cultural icon. And despite the grim reality facing handline fishermen, it’s still a thriving and fun place to visit. Come winter, though, it’s at its best — far fewer people, even if the weather is miserable.
