The original intention this week was to relive some old memories by taking a cruiser holiday on Ireland’s River Shannon and the Inner Lakes, but through one thing or another we couldn’t arrange it in time. So we, That’s my old mate Eric Barnes and me, along with new(ish) mate Stu ‘Skive’ Johnson, decided that we’d take a few day’s barbel fishing on the Wye instead. This came about because Eric had been talking to someone who had enjoyed fished the Letton Court stretch at Letton, which is about 12 miles west of Hereford. Eric and Stu had never fished the Wye, while I’d fished it just once for barbel many years ago, when they were no more than barblets, and caught a few to about 3lb or so. And in more recent times had fished it a number of times for pike, taking at least one 20lb fish every trip. So the river held some pleasant memories and I fancied reacquainting myself with its beauty and especially now the barblets had grown up and become barbel.
So we booked bed and breakfast in a nearby pub that had also been recommended to us. What we didn’t know was that the pub had changed owners very recently, and it was this change that was to bring us home two days earlier than planned……. Monday As we drove into the pub car park we knew instantly that something was wrong. It was empty and the place looked deserted. The whole ambience of the place reeked of neglect. The patio doors that looked out to the car park were slightly ajar, so we headed there, walked through it and into the bar, to be confronted by the landlord and his wife. An hour later and they’d have been gone, we were told, they were about to drive off to spend the next few days at their retreat. Eric then told them he had phoned last week and booked us in for three nights. The landlord checked his diary and confirmed this, laughed heartily and apologised. “Good job you didn’t arrive much later then or we’d have been gone.” Yep, really funny that, but only he was laughing.
As expected, following this bit of news, we found the entire place deserted. He showed us to our rooms and we unpacked the few things we’d brought with us. Each room had a kettle with tea, coffee and milk, but I had no cup. The bathroom was across the way and on top of the toilet cistern was a huge mound of toilet paper that had obviously been ripped off the roll. The toilet pan had more skidmarks than Skive’s boxers following a heavy night on curry and lager, and the plug in the sink wouldn’t work which meant that the only way you could have a wash was with running water – a good job it wasn’t too hot or we’d have been scuppered. But the worst was yet to come. The Letton Court stretch is principally a salmon water which is split into three beats. It was a beautiful piece of water with striking views across the valley. We’d been advised to fish three pegs on Beat 1 on the first day, where there was a chance of the bigger barbel. Unfortunately two anglers had beaten us to them. The next recommendation was that we fish a few swims towards the end of Beat 3. We took a look at these and although they looked okay they were not what we would have chosen ourselves. Still, time was getting on and we had to be off the water by 6pm.
The result was two small chub of less than a pound each for Eric on wasp cake, while me and Stu blanked. Every time we cast in a great shower of minnows exploded from the water, followed by the flash of a jack pike that was taking advantage of the ‘instant’ food; a veritable Minnow McDonalds. We had bites, probably from small chub, but couldn’t hook them on the hair-rigged pellets and boilies we tried. That evening, as we scoffed curries and supped lager in the Indian Restaurant in Hereford, we decided that tomorrow we would ignore all the advice we’d been given and choose swims that we thought looked right for barbel. Back at the digs I still didn’t have a cup in my room, but was too tired to tell him again and we all went to bed. Tuesday At the breakfast table at 8.30 the next morning we each had a bowl of cereal and each added the milk that was in a jug covered with tin foil. Something didn’t taste quite right but I put it down to the lingering taste of curry from the night before. Then all became clear when we added the milk to the tea; lumps of it floated to the top.
Then the breakfast of bacon, egg and beans arrived, almost cold and swimming on a sea of grease. We had one tiny pat of margarine each for six slices of toast, and one teaspoon between us for adding sugar and stirring. Eric didn’t want us to make a fuss so the breakfasts ended up in a carrier bag for dumping later and we vowed there and then that we would check out later that morning, after we’d been to the tackle shop, and find somewhere else. Even that didn’t work as the place was locked up and deserted when we returned. So we went fishing, only to check out after the fishing and setting off for home. The landlord even had the nerve to say he would have to charge us for the three days. To which I answered no you won’t and we paid him for the one night. But back to the fishing, which had been much better, for me at least. We chose an area where there was sandy gravel shallows along our own bank, sloping away to a depth of about 6ft along the far bank. The far bank for about three yards out was almost slack and a nice crease divided that from the flow, which was steady and almost unbroken. Stu and I fished close together, while Eric chose the next swim up, which was a nice little promontory that had obviously been fished before.
We had plenty of pecks off chub that we couldn’t hook on the hair-rigged baits, but about an hour into the session I hooked a nice barbel that pulled the scales to 6lb 12oz. Eric tried maggots but soon got minnowed off. Every time he retrieved all he had left on the hook was miniature condoms. And that was it for Eric, no fish that day. Stu swapped around between halibut pellet and boilie and eventually netted a nice chub of 3lb 15oz, whilst I had one more bite that resulted in a lovely barbel of exactly 9lb, a fish I was well pleased with. Even moreso because I was testing a new rod from Harrisons, an H-Design 11ft Avon ‘Sulis’, that I’ll tell you more about in a forthcoming review. The rules are that you can only fish until 6pm on Beat 3, so we packed and went home, having enjoyed the fishing on somewhere new, but really pi$$ed off that the accommodation had let us down so badly and spoiled what could have been a good trip.
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