A few inches on the upper river from yesterdays rain but no big deal.  Weather warming up so lets hope the dreaded algae does not make a return as the river falls away.  Should be some fish from the lower beats now if any are still coming in and next few days should further increase the June total.

Latest.
8lb cock fish yesterday from the Rocks to Richard Thomas on fly
late report of one from Holme Lacy to Colin Richardson. 12lbs  spinning.

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Trout and Salmon left this paragraph out of my Wye report for May  Wonder why?

. "  With a weak and ineffective NRW who still have to conclude their byelaw enquiry, it’s uncertain what enforcement capabilities they have is this or indeed any other area

So in all honesty it’s a month best forgotten for all but a few anglers and we can only hope for a better June.  However we need a lot of water, a lot more fish and decent river levels to be maintained.   For many we also need a new approach otherwise we may continue to decline further.   Someone said in an article couple of seasons ago, referring to a modest increase in the Wye catch,  ‘A Sleeping Giant Stirs’.  Wll maybe –but it’s now turned over and gone back to sleep again.  Who and how will we get it up and running once again heaven only knows,"

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Came across this poem the other day.  Thought I would share it with you.

                                                RENEWAL.

The silver legions fat from bounteous northern seas approach the coast urged on by basic instincts to recreate the host. Over the shallow sandbar on the flood to face the estuary tide race full of silt and mud, but here across the tide, an ambush, fine mesh nets held fast by stakes of wood.

Too late, deceitful man had sprung the trap, snared by the gills for some there is no turning back. The twisting bodies thrash the mesh and silver scales and blood the tide will stain, though many end their lives in pain and death yet some remain.

At last for some the rivers rushing stream brings some respite though here and there a weir demands a leap will all their might. Now here a resting places a gentler stream beside a rock, a chance to pause, recuperate, take stock.

But anglers wade the stream to cast their fly which works the current with a false allure, the salmon sees and wonders and recent feeding instincts start to stir. Another cast, the fly is closer still, a tempting morsel much too near to miss, the salmon stirs and quickly intercepts and takes the fly as gently as a kiss.

Yet many more will not be tempted by the fly or lure and will remain and treat all attempts by man with royal disdain. All through the summer days of sun and drought and now and then a spate, they must endure what comes their way, subject to all of nature fickle fate.

Then, weeks of travel, pause and rest and all the hazards past, the shady shallow wooded nursery stream at last.  Yet, come the cloak of darkness once again does danger loom, for the deadly poacher plies his evil trade in autumns early gloom.

A winking light a flashing gaff bites deep in unsuspecting flesh, cruder perhaps but no less deadly than the netsman’s mesh.  Snatched from the stream that took  such effort and so long to reach, the priest is now it final fate, bleeding and dying on the gravel beach.

Yet still they come to populate the age old bed, the hen to cut the gravel deep, prepare the redd With fading strength the glistening eggs are laid in gravel deep, then covered up and left, entrusted to the rolling stream to keep.

The pristine fish that came up from the tide so firm and full of might is dark and soft and empty now. its herculean effort robs it of its will to fight. Now rough and flaccid spent beyond repair the dye is cast for most ,their task is done, their fate is death, last of the silver host,

And yet beneath the rushing stream once winters bitter time is almost past, life stirs once more from eggs held safe in gravel fast. Another host once more breaks free to live and populate the river, then the sea.   Repeat the age old cycle once again.  So it must always be