More than just fish, the sardine run is one of the events of the year on the KZN coast
Hazel Lodetti
WHAT an absolutely wonderful time of the year to be living on the South Coast of KwaZulu-Natal.
When June approaches so, too, does the expected phenomenon of the sardine season. This is the time of year when the aloes bloom and the residents of the South Coast start to anticipate another sardine run.
It begins with the migration of millions of these tiny fish leaving the cool waters of the Cape and moving northwards, seeking warmer waters in which to spawn. They form massive shoals far out to sea, as they slowly wend their way towards Natal waters, accompanied by a multitude of sharks and predatory game fish.
As the shoals approach Port St Johns on the Transkei coast, counter-currents bring them closer in-shore and this is where they are usually spotted, giving locals an indication that the sardines are on their way.
Without the birds, of course, we would not be able to spot them easily. The gleaming, white gannets dive down from a dizzying height into the shimmering shoals. Air sacs protect their bodies against the shock of entering the water and, an instant before they hit the surface, they wrap their wings around themselves in readiness for the impact. Scooping a sardine in its bill, it then opens its wings to brake itself, swallows its meal and then emerges.
From Port Edward, near the Transkei border, the shoals hug the KwaZulu-Natal coastline for the next 200km, or so, often beaching at various places as they make their way up the coast. Once spotted, the large shoals of sardines can easily be identified and followed, as the surface of the sea shimmers with massive quivering ripples of constant movement. This is partly because of the game fish attacking the fringes of the shoals.
Each year is different. Some years there is little in-shore activity, while other years provide “bumper” seasons. The excitement of this passing spectacle is catching. Anglers and enthusiasts crowd every vantage point, waiting for the shoal they are watching to enter a bay. When they are close enough in-shore, the frenzied crowd rushes into the water with cast nets, skirts and virtually anything that will scoop up the little slippery, silver fish.
In the 1960s, I was a young girl living in Shelly Beach, on the lower South Coast. I was fortunate enough that my family owned a house on a plot which led directly onto the beach.
One cold morning in July, just as dawn was breaking, my Dad, a ski-boat fisherman, who had just been down to the beach to check surf conditions, frantically woke us all up and hurriedly ushered us down to the beach. Feeling the cold sand between our toes, we followed him to the shallow rocks just south of the launching bay. It was neap tide with the sea not too high and not too low. As our eyes became accustomed to the dimness of the early morning light, we gazed in amazement at the sight before our eyes.
Sharks that had gorged themselves full of sardines were being gently rolled about on the rocks by the small breakwater washing over them. There were sardines everywhere – in the gulleys, nestling between the rocks and on the beach. Just off the rocks, in the deep water, game fish swam slowly by. There were no birds accompanying this shoal and no one else was around. It was as if the spectacular show was for our eyes only. It was also the only time the appearance of sharks in such proximity was not a threat.
On another occasion, I was wandering along the beach towards a friend’s house and, as I rounded the corner, I spotted a multitude of figures in the distance. Drawing closer, I noticed a few sardines lying in the rock pools that were littered nearly all the way along this stretch of beach. As I ran towards the scene, I realised a shoal of sardines had beached – entrapped within a small rocky bay. The sight of nuns in their habits, dashing into the water and scooping up as many of the little fish in their billowing frocks as they could manage, caused only a cursory glance from the frenzied crowd.
In those days, we never saw a seine-netter. I think there were one or two who operated on the lower South Coast and a few more were in the Durban area. However, with modern technology today, the sardines are so closely monitored that wherever they beach, the seine-netters are on the scene. Most run a very “tight ship”. You do get those who will share a crate or two with the public. When I see the excitement of the onlookers turn to disheartenment because they are not allowed to catch a few sardines for themselves, I feel that commercialism has overtaken the human element.
Once the sardines reach Durban, they swing out to sea again and, with their migration complete – this process takes about a month – join the Agulhas current that carries them back to the Cape waters.
The sardine run is a fantastic phenomenon which has become known, worldwide, as The Greatest Shoal on Earth.
- Hazel Lodetti (Evans) spent an interesting and carefree childhood growing up on the lower South Coast of KwaZulu-Natal, with the beach as her “back yard”. She is the author of The Sonny Side of Life, a book about her late father, Sonny Evans, the founder of the Sonny Evans Small Craft Harbour in Shelly Beach. She lives in Amanzimtoti.
The Independent on Saturday