First published in Volume 15, Issue 3 of The Flyfish Journal

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Venture into the deep bush of southwest Tanzania to catch a fish, and you are officially taking your angling into a realm where humans’ position at the top of the food chain is in question. Yet, as I cast my fly in the placid Mnyera River, the rumble of thunderclouds only warned me that tigerfish season in East Africa was ending. Urgency meant trying to catch the hardest-fighting freshwater fish around. 

The day had been a grind, with tigerfish proving elusive, the midday sun frying us alive. Suddenly, the river erupted like a bubbling cauldron. A crocodile’s tail slapped at the surface, awakening another creature from its afternoon nap, all four tons of him. 

Our guide, Oliver Santoro, screamed, “Hippo! Rods in the boat!” The bull male pivoted and plowed into the river. Grunting a primal warning, he swam after us, a bow wave moving toward our boat. 

Our premature demise was prevented by the quick thinking of Santoro and our fast-moving boatman, who hustled to give us a head start. Their actions were appreciated by us greenhorns on the boat; we were relying on our guides to not only put us onto fish, but also protect us from unseen dangers. Indeed, it takes a special person to survive and thrive as a professional fishing guide in a place where humans aren’t really in charge. 

Since pioneering fishing in the area in 2008, the South Africa-based outfitter African Waters has operated two fish camps and employed a team of guides who have worked tirelessly to unlock the secrets of this fishery. The remote area—encompassing roughly 14,000 square miles of savannah and scrubby mountains along the Mnyera and Ruhudji rivers—has emerged as the place to catch trophy tigerfish. 

above A pod of five hippos calls a bend in the Ruhudji River home, not far from the takeout point used by African Waters guides on their Tanzania trips. The hippos are territorial, highly aggressive and have attacked in the past. Once in the clear, the hippos let out a bellicose grunt that fills the air, as if saying, “Don’t ever come back.” 

Robert Scott, cofounder of African Waters, told me turnover among guides who have worked a season in Tanzania is high. Throughout the year, he said, an equilibrium has emerged between the older guides, who have their secret spots and tried-and-true tricks, and the younger guides, who bring fresh ideas, high energy and new techniques. 

“The season is immense, the days are extremely long, and the guides literally work themselves to a standstill,” Scott said. “The environment and physical nature of the work wastes the guides away. I had a season where I lost 20 percent of my body weight over four months from pure exhaustion.” 

Back on the Mnyera, safely off the angry hippo’s radar, Santoro’s PTSD clicked in and he sat shaking. A few months earlier, during guide orientation, he had stood casting at the bow when another hippo swam under the boat. The force sent him flying backward into the river where he struggled to get back on his feet. 

“I felt the bristles of the hippo’s hairs under my toes,” Santoro said. He lunged into the safety of the boat, a passage of 10 terrifying seconds. A true pro, he held onto his fly rod the entire time. 

My journey to the Kilombero Valley began with a flight from Dar es Salaam. Arriving at Dhala Camp, set on a bluff overlooking the river, my group was greeted by head guide Greg Ghaui, a native Tanzanian and legend of African angling. 

Ghaui’s colleague and protégé Blaede Russell said, “We call him the real Tiger King. There is nobody with more experience catching tigers on a fly in the entire world.” There are five species of the toothy alpha predator known as tigerfish, and the 34-year-old Ghaui has caught them all on a fly. “There’s probably not another person on the planet that can say that,” Russell said, beaming. 

above A brotherhood forms among the guides who work in the wilds of Africa. Pictured here, the final day of the 2022 season on the Ruhudji River—the last time Tim Leppan, left, and Oliver Santoro guided together. The South Africans created a tight bond leading fishing expeditions across the continent during the previous two years. 

After dropping off our gear, we gathered for lunch in the main tent, where Ghaui gave us an introduction to the fishery and the challenges of catching tigers on a fly. “I don’t want to shock you,” the mustachioed Ghaui said, “but the success rate is about one fish landed for every 10 hooked.” 

Now in his 11th season of guiding here, Ghaui said the key is to forget everything you’ve learned about fishing. “No trout strikes,” he said. “Keep the rod down. Keep tension on the line. Don’t worry about getting the fish onto the reel. It’s hand-to-hand combat.”

Tanzania is home to more than 63 million people, but not a single fly shop, so I wondered how Ghaui, who lives on a farm in western Tanzania and spends the offseason growing crops and tending to his cattle, got into flyfishing in the first place. He said his father’s generation stocked trout and fished as part of a “colonial hangover”—that’s how he and a cousin picked it up. Eventually his cousin started guiding in Russia. 

“That was the first time I thought about guiding,” Ghuai said. As for the keys to the job, Ghaui cited a willingness to work hard, take on a ton of responsibility, and have the capacity to learn.  

Most importantly, he said, “The guides need to be able to navigate scores of situations that could take a wrong turn,” including encounters with hippos, crocs, ornery lions, elephants and buffalo. 

The last week of the fishing season is always bittersweet for the crew. They want to move on, but it’s hard to let go. The thought of not being on the river every day is a tough one. 

above With Oliver Santoro as his guide, Benjamin Riebe casts toward a specific spot along the bank of the Ruhudji. Earlier that day, the pair had landed a 5-foot vundu catfish. But now Ben was targeting tigerfish and hoping this cast didn’t land in the bushes again. 

This was especially true for the two South African guides on the team. For 26-year-old Tim Leppan, this was his “final dance,” as he was trading in his push pole for an office in Johannesburg. For Santoro, 24, this has been a bitter pill to swallow. The two have been inseparable as they led fishing expeditions across the continent. 

“I’m losing my wingman,” Santoro said. He had a deep gash on his left index finger, a result of a tigerfish bite. 

As Leppan and I fished the Ruhudji River, we worked a series of tigerfish pools made of fallen trees and riverside bushes. We were methodical in our efforts, casting from different angles, experimenting with varying retrieves, and mixing up lines. My knees buckled with nervous anticipation. Despite enduring a few slow days during the course of the week, our group of four Americans landed 80 tigerfish collectively, including an 18-pounder. We also netted a 4-foot-long crocodile, and a 5-foot catfish called a vundu. 

Our final takeout point was just ahead. We had one last bend in the river, but it was home to a dangerous hurdle. “Five hippos live there,” Leppan said. “They’ll be waiting for us.” As we approached, the hippos sensed our arrival; one by one, they went under. Our boatman fired up the motor as we made a run for it. 

Crossing the threshold, we turned around to watch the creatures emerge from the mysterious depths to claim their rightful place as masters of their domain. The tension in the air filled with their bellicose grunts.