THE JOY OF FISHING
WITH MARTIN BOWLER
as I crossed the Severn Bridge and sought my first glimpse of the Wye from Chepstow it was hidden by fog. The whole valley between here and Monmouth was transformed into a river of mist dancing in and above the treetops, an other-worldly but beautiful sight.
The journey to the Wye from my Wiltshire home never fails to impress me, and as I near the river I grow ever more desperate to make a cast.
Still not past the tidal reaches, I left the main road and was soon opening a gate at the bottom of a long track running parallel to the river. At the far end were the fishing hut, my designated pool and two enormous wooden salmon, an inspiration to the visiting angler. The river, I now saw, was low, clear and cold – perfect conditions for an autumn salmon.
Stepping out of the van, I took a moment to appreciate how lucky I was to have a morning to enjoy on the river. I left the tackle at the hut, walked down to the bank and noticed that the old millstone was well above water level.
Every salmon pool has a sign to say whether or not it will be a good day, and this was my marker. If the weather had been wet, the speed of the current would be too much for my quarry to hold position, but there were no such issues today. The pool offered the perfect fish refuge and, right on cue, a salmon porpoised directly in front of me, followed by another, five yards upstream.
This was a sight to set the pulses racing, but with the mist still lingering in the valley I would wait for the first shards of sunlight to break through. A tiny lift in air temperature meant a salmon might then be willing to strike.
With tackle to prepare and breakfast to make I had plenty to occupy my time, so I headed back to the hut to begin the enjoyable ritual of opening the fly box and trying to guess which pattern would work on the day!
It seems to me that if you do find a willing salmon, all you need do is make the fly visible to the fish. So, after some thought, I decided to go with George’s suggestion – a Red Frances on a copper tube supporting
“I was certain I’d found the fish. As long as my fly was wet I had a chance.”
a barbless double hook. To this I blood-knotted 6ft of 25lb fluorocarbon, in turn connected to a sink-tip. The main tackle was a powerful 13ft Skagit rod and shooting head to match, with a 50lb mono running line.
This might sound complicated to those not familiar with this type of fishing, but it really isn’t. Strip away the bull and it’s fairly simple, as indeed is the technique of casting.
No salmon knows how the fly gets there, and I know casters far better than I am who catch far less because there are no fish to go at in their chosen spot.
With the tackle ready and another salmon displaying its courtship colours I was certain I’d found the fish today. As long as my fly was wet I had a chance.
Downstream, a blue sky stretched above the valley and I knew it was time to begin my quest. I didn’t walk directly upstream to the head of the pool for fear of alerting my quarry, instead skirting around it so the first thing any fish would see would be my fly. Once in position I began roll casting, methodically taking a step downstream after every cast to cover every inch of the pool.
A dozen casts and the fly’s swing was directly on course with a tiny stream, entering the pool. This was an obvious salmon lie that my Red Frances entered but did not leave, as a territorial cock fish surged forward to intercept it.
His anger at the intruder was transmitted to me by a tug on the line before the rod bent, the reel spun and my fish fought like a tiger. Any salmon makes for a good day, but just like any addict I can never get enough. So, after a five-minute fight and with this modestly-sized salmon safely released, I was soon making another cast.
A rock deflecting the flow was now being investigated by my fly, but once again not for long.
An impressive set of jaws snapped it up, I struck, and another salmon was tugging on my fly line. This time I knew I had a much bigger fish on.
Salmon mimic the seasons like a chameleon and I watched flanks of red, copper and gold as this one surged upstream – at this stage nothing I could do would stop it.
Then the fish turned with a display of power that caused my reel to spin like a Catherine wheel, unstoppable and whizzing under my fingertips. This was nature’s very own rollercoaster, and a moment I live for.
The incredible creature continued to torment me with powerful surges until eventually the strong tackle started to take its toll. How pleased I was to see the kype jaw touch the net’s spreader block and end this protracted battle!
As usual I treated this salmon as though it were the last one I’d ever catch, quickly placing it on an unhooking mat to remove the fly. Then it was back in the water to rest in my deep, soft net mesh to regain its energy for its incredible journey.
The King of Fishes deserves respect, and I took time to pay homage before he was on his way, ending my salmon season in style. * Martin fished the River Wye prior to the current lockdown.