Dream River

Way back in September I decided that I would go to the National Vintage Fishing Tackle Fair held in the home of British tackle manufacture, Redditch on Sunday 17th November. It's the best part of 200 miles to Redditch so I thought I'd make a whole weekend of it with a couple of days fishing thrown in for good measure.
As I spend most of my time fishing on the canal or stillwaters I really fancied a complete change with some river action. But where to go? I duly consulted the Wye and Usk Foundation website and found a stretch of the river Lugg that appealed to me. It's been some 35 years since I last fished the Lugg and part of me wanted that 'Coming Up for Air' experience of returning to an area you once knew well. I wasn't going to fish the exact same stretch, it was only a matter of a few miles away, but I wanted to get lost in the sights, sounds and smells of the Herefordshire countryside that this diminutive tributary of the Wye cuts its way through.
I left Lancaster at 5.30am on the Friday morning and arrived at the river just after 9.30am. For once the motorways were clear and in the company of Bill Callahan's Dream River the journey passed by in a flash. On the road between Worcester and Hereford I stopped at one of those lay-by snack vans and had the best bacon and sausage roll ever. I say roll it was more like half of a freshly baked loaf really. Just the ticket to set you up for a days fishing.

The lovely River Lugg in its Winter clothes.

As I had a one mile stretch of the river to myself for the two days I planned to wander the length on the first day and drop baits into likely looking spots in the hope of finding a chub or two. I would also look for a suitable spot to do some trotting on the second day. The river level was slowly dropping and judging by the muddy banks it had been up very high recently.
I tried a few spots without any luck before finding myself on a wide bend that had a large area of slack water behind some dying reeds. My set up was a very simple leger with a bomb stopped by a BB shot around 12" from a size 8 hook, an Ambidex Mark Six reel with 6lb line and an Avon style cane rod, The Wye, made somewhat suitably by Hatton's of Hereford. I had a variety of baits with me including bread and luncheon meat.
It felt a little strange, but at the same time exciting, to be fishing moving water again. The flow seemed quite strong and I wasn't really sure how well my bomb was holding the bottom but I thought it wouldn't really hurt if it rolled around until it found a suitable resting place as that could be the exact spot a chub was lying in wait for a tasty morsel of bread flake.
 I think I had been expecting the rod tip to show a violent tug when I got a bite but I was wrong. The first touch I had was the merest of twitches but I struck anyway and felt what I thought was only a small fish. As I tightened up I realised the fish was in fact swimming straight towards me and it wasn't little anymore as the cane hooped over and I was suddenly struggling to pull a decent fish out of the dying weed bed in front of me. The battle probably lasted no more than 45 seconds as the soft strength of the Wye steered the fish to my waiting net.
Now I was truly excited. Not only had I caught a fish but I was pretty convinced it was my biggest chub ever.
The scales put the fish at 3lb 2oz beating my previous best that came from the Lugg some 35 years ago by 6oz.



My first Lugg chub in 35 years

With the fish safely returned I sat back and relaxed with a coffee and a roll up. Prior to the trip I had read most of the catch reports submitted by previous visitors to this stretch and there were quite a few reports of no fish caught so I was now basking in the warm Autumn glow of not blanking for the trip. After all you don't want to blank after a 400 mile round trip. I also had a new found confidence in my old fashioned simple approach plus maybe my river watercraft skills weren't quite as rusty as I'd thought.
After around 10 minutes I dropped out the bomb again just on the edge of the main flow and allowed the bait, a cube of meat this time, to settle on the edge of the slack. The bite when it came was much more what I'd expected, a real wallop and I struck and connected with another fish. I was wise to the trick of heading towards the dead weeds and soon the next chub was in the net. This one took the scales to 3lb 4oz, a new personal best again. Now I know that by modern standards these aren't enormous fish but they are fine ones to catch and I was enjoying myself which is surely the point.




Old white lips

I tried a couple more casts and ended up missing another bite before deciding to move on from the field to the wooded area further downstream.
On the Foundation's website I had read of people losing their children in the 8 foot high nettles and I was glad I'd waited until November to come as they'd at least died back. I left my gear in a clearing in the woods near a large old and gnarled oak tree and headed off to explore the river bank. 
To be alone wandering in the woods next to a lovely river was a wonderful experience. The sun even came out just as I found the secret lake, lighting the spectacular Autumn colours of the trees that surrounded it. Foolishly I'd left my camera in my bag so that sight remains only as a picture in my mind.
A lot of the bank was high above the river with trees and bushes making it too difficult to fish from. There were chubby looking spots but I seriously doubted whether I would be able to get a fish safely on the bank if I hooked one. I kept looking until I came across an area that just had dying nettles on a slope that led down to a 30 yard stretch of smooth but relatively fast water. I slid down the bank and found myself on soggy area where it was possible to stand on clumps of mud and dying reeds. I clambered back up the slope and searched in the woods for some cut pieces of tree trunk. There were lots to choose from and in no time at all I had fashioned a small wooden platform to stand on so that I would be able to fish without slowly sinking into the mud. My plan was to return the next day and try a bit of trotting. I had a feeling that there may be grayling and dace just waiting to be caught.
I left the woods and wandered slowly back up the field looking for another spot to fish. Beneath a willow on the outside of a bend seemed to be a strange area where the flow almost went backwards as the surface showed eddy after eddy curling around underneath the branches. I tried a worm for a change but after 30 minutes or so and numerous casts there hadn't been a touch. Time was getting on now so I decided to call it a day and head off to Much Birch and find my accommodation.

The next morning my host had graciously agreed to get my full English breakfast ready for 7.30am so that I could be on the riverbank by 8.30am. As I went to get a glass of orange juice I noticed a signed card from Bob James on the shelf above.
Apparently he'd stayed a few times, probably fishing the nearby stretches of the Wye. Was this going to be a good omen for the day?
After a delicious breakfast and a very comfortable night I set off for Luggsbridge.

I headed for the wood again taking with me my Bacchus and Rhone Matchman's Peg and an old Strikeright centre pin that I had loaded with 4lb line plus my ledgering outfit. The river had dropped another six inches or so overnight and platform was now well placed for a trotting the stream. I set up with a homemade Avon style float that took 5AAA and a size 14 hook and began with a couple of maggots as bait. For the next couple of hours I did my best to learn the fine art of trotting with a centre pin. I have to say it wasn't anywhere as easy as John Wilson makes it look in one of my favourite programmes of his where he long trots for grayling. There were tangles around the reel, rubbish attempts at casts, a lost float and not the slightest hint of a bite. Frustrated with my performance I finally knocked it on the head and set up my ledger outfit.

 I put a large piece of meat on a size 8 hook and dropped it out a few yards downstream and felt the bomb settle a yard or so out from the bankside rushes. It didn't take long for the first knock to come and after a short but spirited fight, that put a great bend in the cane, a good looking chub of 2lb 9oz was safely in the net. It resolutely refused to stay still for a photograph hence a rather grubby looking fish was recorded for posterity.
I might not be any good at trotting but I seem to know how to ledger. I fished on for another hour or so with a few more knocks that I failed to connect with before deciding to move upstream.

A slightly dirty chub.

I fancied trying the spot under the willow on the bend again so duly trekked back through the woods and out onto the field.
I thought I would try the float again and see if I could at least get a bite. Alas, I failed miserably and soon found myself ledgering a bunch of maggots which a small dace rather obligingly decided to take. As I sat savouring the delights of a scotch egg and a cup of tea a small chub was the next fish to grab the maggots and was quickly on the bank. I carried on for another hour or so but without another bite. It was time to move again so I headed on up to the wide bend that had given me the best action on Friday.
Despite staying on until near darkness and touch ledgering I could only manage one more small chub before finally having to call it a day. I slowly wandered back across the muddy field to my car feeling somewhat pleased with the two days.
I had broken my personal best for a chub twice in a day and had actually managed to fish a river with some overall degree of success. Sure I still have some work to do on my trotting technique but that will improve with practice. It was good to see the Lugg again and it brought back many memories of my early days of fishing.
Ultimately the trip has inspired me to get river fishing again. I'm lucky enough to live close to both the Ribble and the Wyre and can get access to these rivers by joining Wigan Anglers again. I've never caught a barbel so that I think will be a target for me for the Summer and Autumn on the Ribble. There's also some decent roach and chub as well so two more reasons to get to know this river.
 The Wyre is much smaller and less scary so I'm looking forwards to seeing what it has to offer come June 16th. I think it may be the place to improve my trotting skills as well as stalking some summer chub.
Thanks for reading.