It was two years ago that four gallant scousers set off to visit the wonders of the Avon and Stour. That legendary trip seems only yesterday but time has, amazingly, gone by so that this year it was time for another adventure. The Wye it was All of us had a hankering to fish the Wye and so it was agreed, a cottage was booked near to Goodrich and the next few months spent in anticipation. A few weeks before the trip I sought up to date advice from a few folk and got some helpful and mainly encouraging information. The biggest difficulty for me was that I had had major surgery on my lower back in July and I would have to cut down on what I carried and be extra careful on the possibly treacherous banks of the Wye. Sunday afternoon Tony, Rob and I set off to travel through the Mersey Tunnel, down the M53 and then down the A483 and A49 to the Ross-on Wye area. The journey was fairly quick and far more interesting than down the M6 and M50. As we approached the area a text message confirmed that Kenny, who lives in Surrey, was already at the cottage and we arrived just before 6pm. Hiccup Number One Coming off the main road we drove up a long single track road to the farm and as we drew into the farmyard we spotted Kenny’s blue people carrier in front of a rather splendid barn conversion. We got out and made our way through the glass front door. The entrance area seemed quite pleasant and a glance into the dining area revealed a large rustic table with a bottle of whisky – good old Kenny! Rob and Tony quickly removed their boots and wandered off to find the fourth member and it was whilst I was removing my boots that a lady popped her head around an adjoining door. “Can I help you?” she asked. “We’ve just arrived,” I replied thinking this was the landlady, “Kenny’s already here and we’re all staying here for the week.” “Not here,” responded the lady, “I and my husband are staying here!” Hiccup number one! Realisation dawned fairly quickly: looking out of the front door I could see that the blue people carrier was a Vauxhall – Kenny’s is a Ford. Tony and Rob materialised from upstairs and down and with profuse apologies we put our boots back on and slunk out of the front door. A glance to the left revealed a blue Ford Galaxy parked in front of another cottage, but hidden from view from any other angle. We trooped off to our real quarters for the week which, whilst not so grand looking were very nice anyway: each of us had a room, there was a room in which we could stash all our tackle – with a fridge for bait and, upstairs, a spacious lounge, dining area and small but adequate kitchen. All the best laid plans… The original plan was to dump our gear and pay a quick visit to the river to check out conditions before going on for a meal at a local pub, but we had passed the river and seen that is was up and coloured and Kenny confirmed that the it was two feet up and falling – with rain forecast overnight the likelihood was that it would still be up next morning. So we omitted the ‘recce’, settled in (during which exercise Rob discovered that he had packed his wife’s jeans instead of his own – hiccup number two!) then set off for the Cross Keys near Goodrich. The walk was quite long, maybe a mile or so, and when we got there we found a sign that said that due to staff holidays the restaurant would be closed until the following Wednesday. (Hiccup number three!).
Looking round I noticed that a road sign pointed to Goodrich Village half a mile away – “I’m sure there’s a pub there,” said I and after some initial hesitation we set off in the growing gloom. Half an hour later, in complete darkness, we were back at the Cross Keys having failed completely to find another pub, or even a living soul to ask directions of. Exhausted and hungry we went into the pub and ordered drinks and a few bags of crisps. The place was virtually deserted and we felt as though we were keeping the staff up but they assured us that was not the case. After a couple more pints each we set off on the return journey which was, by now, along a very dark and seemingly longer narrow road. Back at the cottage we raided the next day’s breakfast and enjoyed sausage butties before watching one of Kenny’s Barbel Videos and turning in. Onto the river We were all disturbed during the night by heavy rain and strong winds and when we finally arose (we had decided on a relaxed start) it was still raining heavily from time to time and the strong wind was to continue most of the week. We arrived at the river, which was in pretty much the condition we had expected, and Kenny and I set off downstream whilst Tony and Rob went in the opposite direction. After about a quarter of a mile’s walk I decide that this bank was not going to be fishable from my point of view as it was exceptionally overgrown. I could see that there were more accessible swims on the opposite bank and since we could fish both sides I made my way back to a bridge and across the river. In the heavy rain even swims that looked accessible from the far bank were extremely dodgy on closer examination and I eventually settled in a swim that I would not normally have chosen, safety being the deciding factor. By sheer coincidence Kenny’s selected swim was directly opposite mine so we each had company through the day. As we settled in the rain went off and it turned quite pleasant.
I fished the crease There was no obvious fish holding spot in my swim but I baited in line with a crease further upstream, reasoning that fish would probably move up that line. All was quiet except that I was constantly troubled by debris coming down in the high water, Kenny didn’t have that problem being on the inside of the river bend and also inside the line of an overhanging tree which deflected debris out into the mainstream. Day one was a fairly quiet affair: each of us caught one barbel, mine being 8lb and coming around 2pm on 14mm pellet. Each of the others had a chub as well, with Tony’s at 4.8 being the best, as was his 8.12 Bill. More hiccups on day two Day two started brightly and I was determined to stick out the day on the float so I went armed only with my float tackle with maggots, bread and corn for bait. Hiccup number four was realized as I arrived at what looked a good swim upstream of the bridge – I’d left my flask in the kitchen – hiccup number 4! On the way to the river I had bought some Ginger Beer in a shop so all was not lost. However the ‘pop’ was in Kenny’s car and Kenny was about a mile away – 45 minutes later I finally began tackling up. Once set up I realized that the swim was not as inviting as it looked, with a number of snags and fishing hampered by the wind direction. I finally got the float to run through a nice line and my first fish was a small chub around 12oz – sadly it was to prove the best of the day. I caught plenty of fish but most of them were bleak. For a while I thought I had it sussed with a run of nice dace and a roach but then the bleak regrouped and the novelty of catching a species I hadn’t seen before quickly wore off as they continued to come from different swims. To make matters worse, although we saw no rain there had obviously been some upstream because during the afternoon the level started to rise. Whilst the higher water made life difficult on the float the other members of the party had a field day with the Barbel totalling around two dozen between them with the best at 9.12 and the average size being very encouraging. Wednesday arrived and I had to get amongst the Bills! I decided to fish the swim that Robbie had fished the day before but also to keep a watching brief on a swim that Tony had caught from. They were going to fish the opposite bank and Kenny was going back to the spot he had done well in previously. Hiccup number five was Tony’s fruitless search for his rod holdall – left back at the cottage. Off he went whilst Rob waited with the rest of his gear and Kenny and I set off fishing.
On a dry but windy day the water was dropping but only slowly and hopes were high. My first fish was a very long but thin chub – in normal condition it would have pushed 5lb but I guess it was no more than 3.12 – immaterial though because it was foul hooked! A little later I had a chub of around 21/2 lb and then a barbel of 6.10. A move to Tony’s swim brought a barbel of 5lb and then a fish of almost 8lb but foul-hooked in the pectoral fin! We packed up in anticipation of a good meal – the chef at the Cross Keys was due back today. And very nice it was too! The final day For three of us Thursday was probably going to be our final session on the Wye, with just the possibility of a few hours “plugging” on Friday morning. Kenny headed off to his favoured spot whilst I returned to the first swim of Wednesday and Tony joined me on that bank. Robbie opted for the far bank again. It was a pleasant day except for a heavy shower mid morning. So far I had stuck to pellet apart from during the float-fishing session so I decided to try a change of tactics and fished with bread, aiming for the chub. First cast brought an immediate response and a fish was on briefly but then off leaving behind a chub scale. Following a quiet hour I switched to bacon grill – something I haven’t used for quite some time and after a fairly short time my rod tip pulled round confidently and after a tremendous fight a barbel of 8.8 lay on the bank. A couple of hours went by before a change to pellet brought my next bite and resulted in a chub of 3.12. Following that another quiet spell was broken by a walloping bite on pellet and eventually I netted a fish that I knew was going to be a PB: at 9lb 6oz it beat my previous best by 12 oz and that was the last action of the Wye trip! During the afternoon the river level had risen by about 18 inches but this time had not been accompanied by the number of bites experienced on Tuesday. However both Rob and Tony had a barbel each and a few chub whilst Kenny had winkled out eight more bills. A last effort at ‘jungle’ fishing before home On Friday Kenny headed back to the Wye – he was staying another day, but Robbie had promised to house move for his daughter on the Saturday so we had to get home. We all had tried a bit of spinning and plugging without success – except Rob who a bleak – fairly hooked in the mouth- on a Mepps! So we decided not to return to the Wye but, instead to try a little jungle’ fishing. The farm we were staying on has the rights to about a mile of small stream fishing, it is overgrown and generally shallow but has a few deeper holes. We were pointed in the direction of the stream and told that recent catches included a grayling (just the one) and bream. Armed with what was left of our maggots we set off to explore. What followed was possibly the most enjoyable bit of the holiday. Having gone upstream to the top limit without finding a truly fishable spot I was beginning to think this was a waste of time but moving downstream I found a quite large pool. Surrounded by trees there was just one access point and casting could only be achieved by an underarm swing. The current was quite strong at the head of the pool but quickly changed to non-existent, so finding a line was tricky but eventually I got a clean run through. My float dipped and I struck into something writhing – a grayling of about 8oz – beautiful! Strangely I could not tempt another fish so, having hung my chubber float up a tree, I moved on. I came across a slightly more open area, about the size of an average living room. On the far bank at the tail of this pool was a slight raft caused by a hanging branch, so I swung my tackle out and ran it towards the obstruction. As it got close the float buried and I was into a chub of around 12oz that fought gamely in the confines of the stream. Three more followed before the shoal had had enough, I then had three trout up to 8oz before moving on. By the end of the morning we were all thoroughly pleased with ourselves; Tony had also had a chub and a few trout, including one of about 1lb and Rob had caught a number of trout including an absolute monster of around 1lb 8oz – an amazingly beautiful fish that was probably ‘king’ of the stream! We headed off home reflecting on the variety that gives fishing such an edge. Given the size and numbers of barbel caught that week it might seem to an outsider that the little stream and its relatively tiny inhabitants would have no attraction for us but the enjoyment was just as great. Maybe even greater than spending a few hours adding to the bill total – it was different and it was a challenge. It appears to have been decided that we’ll make the ‘pilgrimage’ an annual event so next year it’s probably the Teme that will be in our sights. One thing is for certain though, no matter what we do then it will be no more enjoyable than those few hours on an overgrown stream. |
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