Following on from last year's hugely enjoyable visit to the River Wye, the time had come again. I set off for South Wales to meet up with Tim. The sat-nav took me right through the middle of Bath (the closest this Scouse has been to that particular receptacle for a while!!), normally this traffic filled chaos-crime would have seen me growl but, no, I was still smiling and Bath's architecture looked even more beautiful.
Having arrived at Tim's, he couldn't wait to show me a local lake he'd found that had won him the Tench Cup (it's our personal duel that the first tench of a calender year settles, the prize being a pint that seems to get bought but not acknowledged - it's a terrible thing, competition on a throat cutting scale like this.) It was a gorgeous lake and we will be closing in on it later this Summer.
Next day, Friday, we got loaded up and set off for the Wye. After a day of discussion, planning and, mostly, drinking tea we arrived around 7pm and took a couple of hours to tents pitched, rods ready and the like. Tim opted to snag a couple of beers whilst I thought I'd sneak an hour or two before dark just to see if there was anything doing the rounds. In short, there wasn't.
Saturday and the day opened with a Daiwa Infinity barbel tooled with a Preston PXR Power 5000 and a Kamasan black cap feeder finishing in a size 6 Drennan Super Specialist hook and, of course, cubed garlic spam of circa 15mm or so.
Until their recent conversion to actually trying, I would have compared this day to a limited overs English cricket performance. There were very few chances and I toiled in a hot sun for largely no return.
Tim opted to fish the float, alternating between heavy stick and chubbers as the conditions dictated. He had a few small chub but, again, it was a struggle.
After he went to take a break, I nabbed his float rod (for once, with permission) and put together a small net of tiny chub and a real treasure, a 4oz roach (not a treasure by size I grant you but the roach are supposed to be much further downstream and not here)
Later in the day, Tim decided that the river was not in a generous mood and would not give up its treasures, retiring to rustle up supper a la Keith Floyd, pie, beans, boiled potatoes and oh look, there's another beer.
I toiled on, my unhappiness falling into despair and from there to outright paranoia, mumbling to myself and making Solstice offerings to the River Gods, to little avail. Then, at 9.55pm, the tip spanked round and it was game on. The fish bore into the nearside river bank and I pretty much instantly knew it was a chub but, hey, happy days, it was something!!
After a short, dogged fight a pleasing chub of about 3lbs 8oz lay in the net. My spirits were instantly lifted, I felt I'd really earned this fish. As soon as it went back, I called it a day scaling a Wye cliff face in near darkness with no worries whatsoever. Impressed myself, if nothing else!!
Sunday arrived and the same rod and set up as the day before. Tim had my swim and I had the next one along, with overhanging trees that limited casting - seeming to limit me to casting into them!! Fortunately, I got everything back every time. After a while, Tim was leaving to attend to domestic duties and would be about four hours. Did I have any ethical issues with reclaiming and shamelessly stealing my swim? Hell, no!!
However, the Gods were less than impressed as nothing came my way. I stripped down to a size 16, two maggots but still nothing. This can't happen, can it??
Tim arrived back to find me feeling sorry for myself, scowling, growling and generally not happy. We gave up, returned to camp, drank copious gallons of tea and talked fishing as usual.
Back in "my" swim at around 9pm, Tim was confident of something happening. I wasn't sure but hope sprung eternal and I donkey dropped the hemp filled feeder and meat under the branches of a trailing willow about fifteen yards to my right. Tim was the next swim downstream (the one I opened in last year, with good results). After myabe half an hour, Tim shouted with much joy that he'd hooked into a chub and a nice 2lb 8oz sample soon netted.
After the pleasures of seeing two Kingfishers flying together and hearing a lip-sync battle between a Peacock (presumably part of a nearby visitor attraction) and a Cuckoo, my heckle was "Yer both Wrasse!!" - that'd fool em!!
All of a sudden, something changed. I started to get taps, knocks, liners in serious amounts. I mean for taps read B & Q and for liners P & O.
Then, as the last vestiges of light fought to stay alive, I fought to check the rod tip in a darkening gap between far bank trees. In a half second, the light no longer mattered as the original Mk 1 three foot twitch appeared. Game on. Tim notified by a shouted "Kin Yes!! I'm in!!" Again, the fish made for the near bank and, again, I thought chub but then it woke up and clutch screamed as it took line and made for mid river. It had to be Bertie, didn't it?? I turned it, began to regain line and, again, it took off with the Preston's clutch screaming like a harpie!! Super stuff!! Tim arrived to catch most of the fight and I netted a stunningly beautiful long and lean Bertie of around 7 and a half. The Wye barbel come from two sources apparently, Severn fish which are shorter and massive chested and the long, lean Trent fish. This one would definitely have referred to me as "Me Duck!!" if it could.
So there it was, a lot of effort and a final, fabulous reward. We called it quits and got back to camp around a quarter to midnight, staying up till about 1.30am drinking too much tea and talking fishing and complete billhooks. I went to sleep with a great big smile and a great deal happier with the world.
Early Monday morning, we had another hour and a half or so, nothing for me but I didn't mind. Tim lost a very decent fish, couldn't decide if it was a barbel or a chub but that was enough. We packed up and home awaited. Another hugely enjoyable couple of days and couple of sessions, modest rewards you could argue but, hey, I'm not complaining. Just gotta love this sport sometimes!!
