Another 'First' salmon.   Thanks to Luke Chester-Master

We fished the Moccas water as children with rods purchased from Hattons of Hereford. I watched my father and his friends catch quite a few salmon, one or two in the 30's of pounds and sometimes two or three fish in a day. They were put into long bags made of reed (I think) and the smell remains with me to this day. The best and most exciting time was the easter holidays but try as I may I couldn't catch a salmon. Thinking back I think we  fished the devon minnows (yellow bellies) too fast. I was told many times to slow down, but invariably caught the bottom or 'Hereford' as we called it. Bored of making 'otters' and breaking line it seemed easier to adopt a speedier retrieve . Whilst allowing me to dream, this method caught the  pike, trout or the odd big perch but not an elusive first salmon.

In early April 1967, aged 11 and with my brother (13) and Paddy Heslip (some may remember) we set out to fish from Old Castle down to the Cut. After a fruitless hour or so we got to Monks Run and Padddy produced a prawn. He pushed it onto a flight and secured it with copper wire. He told me to retrieve very slowly and to concentrate and  pretty soon a slow and continuous pull signalled the moment I'd waited three or more years for. It's a blur now but the result was a first salmon and, I thought, a good one. Panic turned to pride and strange as it may sound, a deep and profound contentment.  A little while later my brother caught a bigger fish, on his own, in the Whirly pool and sharing the 'warm after glow', we  set off for the Red Lion, which in those days was managed by  Stockwell (Stocky), Michael's predecessor. Glowing with pride we asked if we could weigh our fish and they turned the scale at 23 and 16lb. My fish, the smaller one, caused a stir   prompting a man in the pub to turn and say to me "what you doing bringing that parr in here ?  That other is a real fish". It mattered not but  goes to show how times have changed.

In the afternoon we fished Barlings and the Cut. Another angler whom we knew as 'Polish Claude' was fishing the other bank with two rods. One ledgering what I presume were worms, and the other  spinning. He had a spaniel which was placed, three or four feet off the ground,  in the fork if a willow tree. Claude hooked a strong salmon on his spinning rod but halfway through the ensuing struggle the ledgering rod went too. We watched him - with astonishment  - play both fish at once. He tightened up on one, secured the rod between his knees,  and hastily attended to the other. This  mesmerising process was repeated until he landed both. 

My wait was nothing compared to another. John, a friend of my father's and an occasional fisherman had waited for fourty years: circumstances prevented him from fishing often but he was very keen. We were with him when he hooked his springer at last at Island stream, a mile or so west of Bredwardine on the road to Hay. Sadly for him they parted company when this  good fish was almost at his feet. I vividly recall it's flashing flanks as it eased away into deeper water with John's long arms in hot pursuit. On reflection the water must have been carrying some colour as the big fish appeared to have sides of gold.

Besides those magnificent deep shouldered fish I remember a battered green landrover with a double flapped heater, curlew, plover, widgeon and teal. Wonderful  memories  of magical days.