Tymon Smith goes fishing with the big boys off Inhaca island - but has a hard time handling his Oros

AS the philosopher Dylan once said: "I like to spend some time in Mozambique. The sunny sky is aqua blue."

Yeah right, I think, as I heave over the side of a boat off the coast of Inhaca island. When my doctor suggested I buy some anti-nausea pills in preparation for the trip, I told her not to worry, I'd been on boats before and had the stomach of a war correspondent.

I got the pills just in case, however, and was now watching as they spectacularly failed to stop me from donating Swiss roll, sandwiches and Oros to the great blue yonder.

The four fishermen hosting me laugh at me, marvelling at the shades of green my face turns after each visit to the side. I had Hunter S Thompson-esque visions of myself as the hard-drinking, Hemingway-style big-sea fisherman when I was invited to attend the 12th Inhaca Challenge, a fishing competition held off the coast of Maputo in May. But it's obvious to everyone by this stage that I am a books editor rather than a rugged adventure correspondent and that reading can't prepare you for the realities of life among the big boys of Nelspruit.

I arrived at the airport in Maputo the day before, having driven from Johannesburg in the company of Phil Baker, PR man for Maputo. A short light aircraft ride later and I was in Inhaca, population 2000, major industries fishing and agriculture. At the Pestana Inhaca Lodge, the pretty receptionist told me the fishermen took over the place every year for the duration of the competition, bringing their own booze and generally being "very nice". I saw groups of big-bellied rugby-fan types braaing and drinking rum-and-cokes outside their rooms and had nasty memories of primary school sports days. I decided that, for the purposes of this visit, I'd be a gentile.

Before the opening ceremony, I find competition organiser Gary Larkan, a bear-shaped engineer from Nelspruit who is only too happy to tell me how the competition generates R1-million for the local economy, has been going for 12 years, has 180 competitors (including 11 Protea anglers) this year, takes place from 6.15am to 3.30pm every day with daily prizes and an overall prize at the end of the week and supports the practice of tag and release on endangered species. There are competitors from as far away as Bahrain and as nearby as Swaziland. Larkan tells me there are also seven women in the competition but, looking around, I see only a sausage fest of hard-drinking, monument-sized men in fishing shirts and no shoes.

The chief of the village, his wife, the local chief of police and sangoma all appear for a ceremony that takes place on the beach and involves the killing of a chicken before everyone takes their seats in the lapa for the official opening. Here it's evident that many of the competitors come from Nelspruit and their businesses and shops provide much of the sponsorship for the event. There's a reading out of rules and procedures and fishing things. I give up paying attention before a final prayer and dinner. The similarities between the events here and those at my "parallel medium laerskool" are eerily increasing by the second. At dinner, the men banter, drink and make typically inappropriate jokes. One of them assures us he would do wonderous things to his wife if he wasn't too drunk to find her before heading off for an early night - breakfast is at 5am before the 6am kick-off.

In the early-morning dark, as the competitors make their last-minute equipment checks and youths from the village pack their boats, I take a look at the names on the boats - "Grand Pé, Finally, Supremasea" - and pop another pill in preparation. I'm on Gary Larkan's boat with Andrew, John and Johan, mostly engineers and all veterans of previous competitions. They're a comfortable bunch, gently making fun of each other as we wait for the sun to rise before firing the starting flare and heading off to go fishing.

The sky is grey, the water is not calm and when Gary puts the boat into high gear, I'm taken aback by the power of the thing and the strength with which it slams into the water. I hold on to whatever I can and begin to think about what happens when you fall off one of these monsters and thank God my insides are still intact. It's when the boat stops in deep water to fish for bait that things start to go wrong. The rocking in the not-so-gentle waters, combined with the fumes from the engines, begins to unnerve me, but still I accept offers of Oros and Swiss roll in an effort not to look green. When the time comes to admit defeat, I wholeheartedly give in to my body's demands and spend the rest of my time at sea giving back to the environment. It doesn't help that the team I'm with, who have all this big-game fishing experience, don't manage to catch anything. By the time we return to the hotel, I rush off to write my will before I die and decide that watching the others weigh their day's catches is not going to be good for me.

Of course, the next day dawns bright and calm but I'm scheduled to leave, so I bid my farewells and rock up at reception at the assigned time ready to catch my plane. This being Mozambique, which in terms of urgency is like Cape Town on sedatives, I'm told there's been a mix up and my flight has left without me, hours ago. Nothing for it but to catch the ferry, where I watch excited Dutch girls prattle on for three hours about something or other in their posh Afrikaans.

"It's very nice to stay a week or two and fall in love just me and you," said Dylan and I think he may be right, but seeing as how I'm in recuperation mode, I'll have to pass this time. When Phil meets me at the ferry stop in Maputo, he can't help but laugh at my experiences.

I'm only in Maputo for a night so it's off for prawns at the famous Costa Do Sol restaurant before I take a brief tour of the slightly seedy nightlife, involving "a lot of pretty girls in Mozambique", who shake their bodies on poles but don't take their clothes off. There are, of course, cars with Mpumalanga number plates parked outside and lots of friendly local girls trying to get me to go upstairs with them to make "plenty time for good romance", but I point to my stomach and make it clear that I'm not in the mood.

When the morning arrives and I'm greeted by the charms of Maputo - a Hillbrow on sea without the aggression or unfriendliness, I think it might be nice to come back one day. Next time the fishermen can keep their boats and I'll stay in Maputo and impress the girls in the tassels with my tales of big-game fishing success and offers to show them my tackle box. - Smith was a guest of Pestana Hotels

IF YOU GO

GETTING THERE: Three airlines - 1time, SAA and Mozambican carrier LAM - fly direct between Johannesburg and Maputo. 1time, which started operating the route in August, offers the cheapest fares at R1344 return. To book, see www.1time.aero.

SPECIAL OFFER: The 5-star Pestana Inhaca Island has a special offer of R5 600 per person sharing. The offer includes return flights to Maputo from Johannesburg; airport transfers; one night in the Pestana Rovuma in Maputo, including breakfast; return flights to Inhaca; two nights at Pestana Inhaca with breakfast and dinner; a welcome drink on arrival; daily use of canoes and paddle boats while on the island; a snorkelling trip to Coral Gardens; and daily trips to nearby Portuguese Island across the bay.

To book, mail bookings@1timeholidays.co.za or visit www.1timeholidays.co.za.