BOILED FISH

What could be better than an early season week on the Wye? It had seemed an age in coming but it was here at last and filled with a heady mixture of hope and expectation, Colin and I headed down the M5. My day-dreams were filled with rods slamming over, clutches screaming and fish of epic proportions laid out on the mat for posterity. This year the river was to prove somewhat less generous than usual but it wasn't its fault.

All started well, beautiful warm and sunny days at the start of the week gifted us a fair few nice Chub and, thanks to fishery owner Stan's kindness, Colin's first Barbel for 50 years. It was only his second ever and a fine fish of 6lbs exactly. As we worked our way into the holiday and got in tune with the river we expected things to improve still further; but they didn't get better, they got hotter... and hotter... and hotter.

The balmy summer days reaching 28° were over by Tuesday as temperatures soared into, and beyond, the mid thirties. It was dire, unrelentingly uncomfortable for both man and fish, and catches tumbled. One and two fish days became the norm and all we could do was plug away until the call of the barmaid's apron became irresistible. Fishery after fishery was closing down and indeed Stan was forced to refuse further bookings as water temperatures steadily climbed. All that was left was to sit under what shade we could find and watch the wildlife with fingers crossed for the one take that would save the blank.

Every day's a schoolday they say and it's true enough if you're keen to learn. When Colin was struggling, maggots brought a fish or two to the hook. Fished on a hair, only a fish large enough could take the hook and the incessant rattling of smaller fish petered out as bigger ones moved in. If nothing else it beats watching motionless tips for hours on end.

As it got brighter and hotter throughout the day, the Chub would come to the surface but any initial enthusiasm for bait would diminish as the mercury climbed.

We caught one or two apparently massive Chub that would comfortably have been fours or even fives at the other end of the year but hot weather had seen the chub spawn a while back. Massive frames needing a lot of food to fill them back up is just one of the crosses we have to bear in June and July. It was ever thus but weighing the occasional bigger fish gives a more reliable idea of weight than just holding up a fish as long as your arm and crying "five pounds easily!"

Whatever the weather throws at me, I love it down there. The scenery is reminiscent of the fifties, small field, mixed farms and zero traffic noise beyond the occasional military chopper mooning about over Hereford. The wildlife is plentiful and far more varied than it is at home. I can't thank Stan enough for the care and trouble he went to put us in with the chance of a fish on his wonderfully maintained fishery.

We were the last ones on there. For our last day Stan asked us to start and finish early before it got too hot. Colin had 7 good Chub by 7 o clock in the morning and never so much as a tap after. They stopped feeding just as we would normally arrive but it didn't matter, we had a great time and that is all it's about really. We left just before lunch and the fishery was closed to await cooler, more oxygen-rich times. We were lucky, Stan will have no income until then, long anticipated holidays will be cancelled, cottages will lie empty, takings in the pub will be down and the fish will labour on hopefully. Drill baby, drill!

POSTSCRIPT: Most Wye fisheries including Stan's were closed for more than a month as the drought took hold.