At this point in the story, dear reader, things were pretty damn good.
I would’ve loved Pete to have stayed on as a partner if he’d simply focused on the business. But he didn’t, and truth be told, it was an elegant way for us to part ways. Sure, it was a bit sneaky on my part—but he got his book, I got his shares, and I moved forward. No hard feelings.
Around then, the internet was really starting to take off, and I wanted in—but I had absolutely no idea how. As I mentioned earlier, I’d installed networks at Fishy Pete’s and Clip-Lok and connected them to the internet, albeit through painfully slow dial-up connections. But I had an idea.
The idea was to start a community of fly fishermen.
So I placed a small ad in The Complete Fly Fisherman magazine that simply said:
Join Fishy Pete’s Email Club.
All you need to do is send an email to [email protected].
A great place to share information.
Now, let’s pause for context: bulletin boards and forums were already a thing in America, but not really in South Africa. Sure, back in the day I’d dialled into a few—there were a couple of clubs and pockets of activity—but it had never gone mainstream here. Still, people were just starting to use email. So it made sense to start there.
Whoever emailed me, I added them to a contact list in Microsoft Outlook. That was it. No fancy mailing software, just good old-fashioned copy-and-paste and a blind BCC.
It worked.
Say someone emailed, “Hi Pete, I’m going to Margate this weekend—anyone know what’s biting down there?” I’d forward it out to the list and say, “Johan’s heading to Margate. Any advice?” A few replies would trickle in, and I’d pass them back to Johan. Then more people joined, and the list grew. And grew. And grew.
Soon I was spending a couple of hours a day answering emails and fielding questions. The community was alive, but it was starting to eat into my time. So naturally the question arose:
How the hell do I monetise this?
I still remember the exact moment it came to me. Trevor—the lovely guy I’d hired to run the Dullstroom shop—had come over for a glass of wine one night. We were chatting casually in my lounge when suddenly it hit me like a rock to the side of the head.
Fly of the Month Club.
I said it out loud. He blinked. Then grinned. Eureka.
We brainstormed it on the spot. The next morning, I sent out an email to the entire club, which by then was 1,500 members strong. The pitch was simple:
“I’m launching Fishy Pete’s Fly of the Month Club.
For R150 a year, you’ll receive three beautifully crafted flies by mail each month,
along with a laminated card telling you how to fish the fly—and how to tie it,
if you’re a fly-tier.”
Within days, hundreds of people signed up. Card payments started flowing in. I couldn’t believe it.
If you’ve ever run a fly-tying operation, you’ll know it’s a nightmare. Every fly requires different materials—some exotic—and you’re constantly scrambling to meet random customer demands. One of the reasons I’d always loved producing the Reptile fly was that it came in just three colours, and we tied hundreds of thousands at a time.
But now, with Fly of the Month, I had full control. I decided which fly went out next month—or the month after—or the month after that. I could plan. I could design. I could innovate.
And I did.
From the outset, I made a bold decision: all the flies would be originals. No tired old classics. These were signature designs. And each fly would come with a story, a name, a personality. Something that felt… crafted.
July 1998: The Fire Tiger, designed by Peter Rosenfeldt.
(Just an example from memory—though I do remember it being a banger.)
It took off. I mean really took off. A roaring success.
Suddenly I had capital up front—subscription money in the bank—before I’d even ordered the fly-tying materials. I could scale. I could breathe. And more importantly, I knew—I absolutely knew—that I was onto something big.
I remember exactly where I was sitting on that couch with Trevor when the idea hit me. And even now, thirty years later, I can still feel that electric certainty in my chest.
Game changer.
As it would prove to be.