Phill was to be my partner in crime, and the heist we had planned centred upon stealing some ladies from the river. The beat we fished was a mile or so downstream of Builth wells, Glanwye used to be one of the best (and most exclusive) salmon streteches on the Wye... but the Wye is now a shadow of its former self as fare as salmon are concerned. Outside of salmon season the Wye and Usk foundation manage the fishing, offering prime grayling fishing bookable via their box office for the price of a £15 dayticket.
After overnight B&B with my brother, Phill & I left Hereford at a bit after 10:30, winding our way through the scenic Wye valley we arrived at Builth Wells at around midday, having missed the entrance to the fishery courtesy of Phill's map reading capabilities. After a quick u turn we pulled up on the drive outside the fishing lodge. A quick snoop around persuaded us that this would be a pretty nice place to hole up if the weather turned, books and games were framed by fine mounted salmon, tube flies, and blank and white prints of gigantic silver leviathans.
We were not about to tarry though, the day would be short, and the sun was shining, radiating a warmth that defied the frigid february air. we made the 15 or 20 minute trek to the head of the fishery, I started out trotting a likely looking spot at the confluence with the tiny stream, I trotted the edge of the flow from the stream, fishing along the crease formed as its energy dissipated into the main river. Despite everything looking perfect, I could not win a bite, and Phill, who was about 40yds downstream of me, let me know, via the walkie talkies that he was dropping further downstream. I soldiered on for a quarter of an hour more before admitting defeat and following him. Leapfrogging our way down the river, neither of us had seen any sign of a fish. It was as phill was cooking up a brew that I spotted the ghillie walking the bank towards us. "Am i glad to see you" I shouted, "where are all the fish!" .He laughed, and as if to rub things in exclaimed "what... you've not caught any, what are you doing wrong?"In the chat the followed it turned out that, as it happened, we were doing nothing wrong. "keep on at it... these pegs here... a pod will tun up sooner of later.
it wasn't too long before Phill saw the first signs... "I think I got a bite there" he exclaimed... still no sign of a bite for me though, i moved a few yards further upstream as the tail end of my trot was running into Phills swim, loosing line of signt to my fishing buddy. The radio crackled "fish on!" and I dropped the rod to take a look at the result.
as the afternooon drew my float had not so much as dabbled, Phill had had another few bites without connecting. "come on then, your turn to catch one" he said. The Generosity wasn't without cause, the cold was beginning to take its toll on Phill...( though I have no doubt he would have shared the hotspot even if it was a scorching summers day!) He wandered back towards the lodge to warm up with a bit of exercise and another hot drink.
Within about a dozen trots, and shortly after Phill had crossed the brow of the ridge, the chubber dipped away and my target was hooked, jabbing the rodtip as it tried to shake the hook. Mission accomplished i didnt even bother recasting, with Phills help I'd dodged a blank and I trailed back to the lodge as well.
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