‘For this is so much more than a river; it is a place of reverence, of comfort and appreciation, my place of solitude and calm. It is woven into some intimate family memories and for that reason alone will always be a special place for me’
It has been raining and the downhill path through the meadow is slippery. I should be taking care but the anticipation is overwhelming as I look intently at the tree line, hoping for that first glimpse of the river. I have dreamt of this return, picturing myself sitting quietly amongst a secluded wood, taking in the sights, the smells, the special atmosphere this river creates. After a long period of absence when work and life simply took precedence, at last that day has arrived; a day filled with hope and expectation but also of respect. I know it is the river that will dictate the day’s events and not my angling prowess.
There is a calm and serenity when I am in the company of this river; years of memories flood back. After all, the river has been the backdrop to many past triumphs and more than my share of disappointments. There have been days of happiness and contentment, of frustration and despondency; days when the waterside wildlife has allowed me into its world and days when the weather has turned the river into a huge ferocious snake of turbulence.
And yet, this river allows me to experience ‘the now’, to be present in the moment and to value it to its fullest, to not be so preoccupied with the past or the future.
For this is so much more than a river; it is a place of reverence, of comfort and appreciation, my place of solitude and calm. It is woven into some intimate family memories and for that reason alone will always be a special place for me. It’s a place that allows me to ‘be in the moment’, to feel ‘the best of now and here.’
“So if I think about it, it should be plain to see,
This river really always has meant a lot to me.
Life’s so very busy, laptop, email, phone,
But every time I visit the Wye, it feels like I’ve come home.”
(Carl Hier, May 2020)
On the other hand, this can also be an intimidating, formidable, disconcerting place for many an angler and a graveyard for much of their tackle, if it is not properly respected.
Today though is due to be bright and calm. Most are still tucked up in their beds as I reach my chosen swim. It is a reasonably long walk to my desired spot. I think the fishing nearest any car parking is often more likely to be comfortable for fishermen than it is to hold any desired fish. I quite like the fact that one has to ‘work’ to find the best fish on this river. If that means a long trudge to a more remote, less frequented swim, then I believe it is well worth it. It also adds much to the anticipation as you draw ever nearer.
I sit at the water’s edge for a while, in no rush to set up the rod. In times past, a day of angling could be a fraught, frantic affair; unable to fish very often, desperate for success, the rare occasion when I was able to fish would often pass me by. Otherwise, rushing to get there, rushing to set up the rod, over-thinking the methods and tactics; usually working against myself, not for myself with far too intense an approach to be enjoyed. Experience and acquaintances have subsequently educated me and I often recall the wise words from A Passion for Angling: “Fishing is not about how to catch, it’s about how to enjoy.” Wise words…wise words indeed.
The sun has not yet risen over the tree tops of the dense woodland behind me and all seems fine in the river’s world. A grey wagtail is already catching insects as an immaculate swan drifts gently downstream, the current helping it to conserve its energy. The water is coloured from recent rainfall but I know I have caught fish in these conditions on previous occasions. Indeed, a ‘warm flood’ is often a good time to pursue this river’s inhabitants.Given the colour of the water, today will be a day for aromatic baits. The fish’s sense of smell will be far more relevant than that of sight in the chocolate-coloured watercourse before me. I choose to gently trundle some smelly cheese paste along the bottom of my chosen run.
A small, drilled bullet leger will hopefully allow the bait to bump and bounce along the stony bottom; the level of success will be solely down to its scent in the water. I feel the line between my thumb and fore-finger, every bump along the bottom prompts a skip of my heart-beat but when the bite comes, it is unmistakable. The sun is now above the trees and I stand in warm, morning sunshine as the tip of the rod is pulled round. There is instant resistance and I’m suddenly fighting an angry fish and the potent current.
The humble cane rod creaks and, for a while, I was not confident of the outcome but eventually, ultimately, I and the rod gradually, together, overcome the stubborn defiance on the end of the line and a pristine barbel slides into the net. A quick photograph and. with a strong flick of its tail, a beautiful bar of gold returns to its home.
I pause, drink some water, enjoy the moment and survey the scene around me. It has become a bright sunny day with a few cotton-wool clouds gliding across the blue sky. The temperature is indeed rising but the water before me remains reminiscent of something that Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory could have produced. Several blue damselflies are enjoying the warm sunshine to my right, joined by a number of bees busily and noisily searching for nectar.
Overhead a pair of buzzards circle, such a regular sight on a day by the river; may I never take them for granted. Several acrobatic grey wagtails catch my eye as they continue to chase insects on the opposite bank. Mallards and a darting, azure kingfisher keep me company at points throughout the day. The flora and fauna of this place unashamedly enhance the whole experience of a day by the river.
A new ball of cheese paste is flicked out to the top of the run. Again my thumb and forefinger provide the calibrated feel of the small leger and bait as they embark on their journey along the river bed. Another sudden jolt and this time a fin-perfect chub does its best to find each and every snag as it fights for freedom. Once more the cane rod rises to the occasion to get the job done. Fish don’t have to be of specimen proportions when they are so perfectly formed.
I wander further into the wood and sit on an old, stone croy that helps to form a nice seam in the current, within easy reach for my bait. I let the bait run slowly downstream and it eventually comes to rest on the edge of the seam. Laying the rod in its rest, I watch the tip intently, shaded now by the overhead trees.
It’s not long before the gentle ‘tap-tap’ on the rod tip becomes a savage bend in the rod. Not needing to strike, I lift the rod gently. Numerous energetic surges downstream tell me this is not a chub, not with so much line being stripped off the reel. The sheer power of these fish is something to behold, they are certainly a stern test for my old rod and reel and the adrenaline rush is always a strong memory from the day.
The afternoon was blessed with a number of further chub and another barbel, all of which could not resist the aromatic cheese paste. The fish were the icing on the cake of a day which reminded me, time and again, why I value the river so much.
It is a privilege to sit amongst its inhabitants, to observe them in their environment and, if the river should add to the day and permit some of its wonderful fish to be experienced, then that day becomes very special indeed.
Writing & Images, Carl Hier – Autumn 2024
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