Arrival at dawn was always my intention, partially because of the anticipation and, of course, of the childlike excitement that kept me from slumber, but mostly because I planned to walk the famous banks of the Wye rather like a team treading the hallowed turf of Wembley prior to a cup final game.
My quest was to fish the last couple days of the season on the river where, with assistance, I would not only have a chance of my first ever barbel but also, God willing, the opportunity to smash my chub personal best which would be unbelievable, stuff of dreams!
I had been looking forward to this short break on the Wye for months with work and other commitments having taken up the first ten weeks of the year, preventing me from fishing. I had, however, spent time preparing to ensure that not only would I have a good chance of success but, should I fail, I would at least enjoy the experience and know that I had given it my best shot.
I was to meet up with Dave Burr, local legend, self confessed ‘bank tramp’ and all round good egg, who was to be my guide and his expertise would be a valuable asset to me – local knowledge being worth a thousand casts – and it is through this piece that I wish to extend my thanks and gratitude to him. Whether it was revision on tackle, bait, studying my quarry, my destination or just pestering the poor man for information, like a hungry Barbel I left no stone unturned.
Parking at Bredwardine Bridge a little after 5.30am I struggled from the car to an upright position, representing the various stages of man’s evolution from the arduous five hour drive, groaning through each phase.
On donning a coat I quickly realized that something was very wrong. Firstly, I had long heard stories about these famous ‘banks’ but didn’t realize what they were referring to was fog! Visibility was down to less than 100yards. I was armed with a camera and planned to capture this fishing Mecca on film lest superlatives in my vocabulary would not alone do this beautiful place justice.
Secondly, having an ongoing hearing problem, I had lost total hearing altogether and my dawn walk was muted. I was in no means downhearted though, Mother Nature would reveal snippets of visionary heaven to me along my walk in stages as though my beating heart would not be able to cope with the full effect all at once. Besides, when one’s hearing is lacking it normally heightens visionary skills.
As well as the flora and fauna I unfortunately stumbled across telltale signs of swims and picked up half a dozen beer cans and luncheon meat tins en route. Some people really do have no respect.
Upon reaching a perimeter fence marking a beat boundary I about faced and returned with head in an ‘eyes left’ position scanning the river for signs of life. I have to admit with little if any watercraft skills it was a little daunting to say the least.
I was hoping to see vast shoals of chub and barbel all swimming with their mouths agape begging me for a bit of food but alas it wasn’t to be. I did spot a large torpedo-shaped pike cruising effortlessly downstream, which probably explained the lack of piscatorial breakfast companions but the walk, as well as doing both my body and soul a world of good, was to headline a truly fantastic couple of days.
Oh, and when taking off my coat and returning it to the back seat, I shut the door and scattered the rooks high above me in the rookery who cawed their distaste at my rude awakening, I realized I wasn’t deaf I was just not used to the peace and quiet!
After a prearranged breakfast at the The Red Lion I met with Dave and ‘Buddy’ and we went fishing.
I was pointed in the direction of a swim which I was assured held fish and, after some lessons explaining glides, creases, riffles, undercurrents and back eddies, I was told exactly where to cast and given an insight into barbel behaviour. Unfortunately with nerves shot to bits with both insomnia and excitement this took some practice and, after a few ‘choice’ expletives barked from Dave and some rather quizzical looks from the dog, I managed to get the hang of it – eventually.
I was not to be kept waiting for much more than half an hour when my rod lurched round and I struck into my very first barbel. The expression ‘Crikey don’t they hang on!’ sprang to mind; my right arm hadn’t felt that strained since I was a teenager!
After pictures, weighing and much shaking of hands, I sat back in my chair euphoric and dizzy that I was privileged to have caught and held an absolute stunning looking fish.
I was graced with two more beauties, spaced nicely apart, that filled a splendid day. I would dearly love to say that celebrations went on long into the night at the pub, where the warm and friendly staff were as inviting as the log fire in the bar. But alas, upon my head hitting the pillow at 8pm I would not so much as to nod off as pass out through total physical and emotive exhaustion.
Next day the morning session was to prove unsuccessful but later on as the fog lowered its dense curtain once more on the valley during an early evening session, I netted a personal best chub tempted on my homemade cheesepaste offering, only appreciated prior to this capture by ‘Buddy’.
Along with the stunning scenery, the good company, the good discourse and not to mention the fish of dreams, I thoroughly enjoyed my Wye experience and it has brought the season to a close whilst giving me enough scope for improvement and just a little bit more eagerness for next season.
As marvellous as it is I have no desire to live in the Wye valley though lest the familiarity with the scenery made me complacent of it and take it for granted. Now my eyes have seen the glory it would be a heinous sacrilege and I would much prefer to return periodically and keep the stunning beauty of the area as the gift wrap to a thoroughly enjoyable fishing package.
Rest assured though I vow to return and plans are already underway, despite Dave jumping up and down on his phone and last seen having it away on his toes over the valley…
I plan to put into practice the lessons I learned from this trip and carry on where I left off next time round – I’ve truly been bitten by the infectious bug that inhabits the majestic banks of the River Wye.
