Dayhouse

Day House on the River Lugg

When booking water back in SA there was no real way of knowing which beats would be suitable , particularly given that one can’t predict water levels and such. So I took pot luck balanced with some advice from clients who have fished the area as well as the Wye Usk Foundation offices.

But in all honesty, who could resist fishing a river called the “Lugg”?

I researched a bit more carefully this time in the hope of avoiding a reenactment of the navigational problems of some of my other outings but all of that came to naught when I couldn’t find any road signs for where I was headed and had to resort to the GPS/Sat Nav on the phone once more.

Of course it didn’t help that the village of Kingsland was off the side of my map of South / Mid Wales and I was reliant on the little voice on my cell telling me to “Turn Left at the next junction”. I don’t think I have ever arrived in a place without once ever seeing a sign for it. But there I was next to the designated “Corners Inn” and the required left turn to the River.

Directions from people in the UK tend to revolve around turning at either pubs or churches. I suppose depending whether you are inquiring of a religious zealot or an alcoholic. The Corners Inn was the final way-point on my trip to the River Lugg.

This is a relatively small stream with access through a cow pasture filled with very curious bullocks who immediately made a bee line towards me to check things out.

The view from the bridge indicated that the water was perhaps very slightly coloured but flowing nicely and my fears that there would be insufficient flows to offer good fishing as per the previous day were laid to rest.

Initially I opted for a nymph rig but changed my mind about that after hooking another broad selection of bankside herbage, the confines of the stream and the overhanging trees making it impossible to get the nymphs in under the banks where I felt sure the trout would be hiding. It has become more than apparent that the brown trout do like structure and tend to tuck themselves away in difficult lies.

I thought that my preparations had been pretty good, what with a local Sim Card, maps of Wales, spare leaders, fly tying kit etc. What I neglected to include was “A Guide to British Hedgerow Plants”. It wouldn’t have helped much with the fishing, but at least I would have been able to identify what nasty, noxious, Velcro-like piece of annoying greenery had entrapped my tippet this time.

Even the flat stones on most of the streams have a nasty tendency to grab the line when you are not paying attention and I missed one good fish yesterday because the strike was inhibited by a line sucking slab over which I had cast.

In short, you cannot let the line out of your hands for a moment, one error of judgement or lapse in concentration and you can end up wrapped in line, tippet, stinging nettles, brambles and barbed wire in a fair imitation of Captain Ahab lashed to Moby Dick.

The ever present stinging nettles and the anglers path right through the middle of a forest of them.

The curious bullocks had assembled in a row on the high bank to have a look at goings on.  They seemed fascinated at first, but I suspect they were accustomed to fishermen and after the third or fourth tangle with the greenery I think they decided they had seen better anglers in the past, because they wandered off to investigate something else. I have to tell you, it is a little disheartening to know that even the local cattle don’t think much of your efforts.

My audience of bullocks were curious to start with, but were seemingly unimpressed with my efforts.

In short, a shaded and overgrown stream is not the place to be flinging three tungsten beads on a long leader and I reverted to “dry and dropper” where I was able to horizontally cast into the more likely looking runs.

The change of tactics paid off and I began to take trout here and there, not huge numbers but consistently through most of this very pleasant beat. It is obvious to me that I am far more confident fishing this style, and confidence is a crucial factor in fishing success.  It was perhaps sad that I failed to entrap a River Lugg Grayling. I have managed to catch both species on all the other beats where they occur.

I take some pride in the fact that I only saw two fish rise during the course of the day, and captured both of them. One small brown in a shallow tail out of a long run and the second a veritable monster, probably close to 2lbs which had broken the surface in a bankside slick on the wrong side of some fast moving water.
The cast was good but even the slack I had manufactured disappeared rapidly and I was forced to mend upstream. In doing so I inadvertently twitched the fly and obviously the action of the nymph rising up served to induce a violet take from the fish.

It fought like a Trojan, battling to dig its way back under the bushes and the submerged roots beyond.  With the rod tip under the water and maximum side strain I mentally reviewed  my blog Trout Torque taking comfort in the maths, that I wouldn’t break off so long as I held the rod at sufficient angle. The struggle between me and my 7X tippet and that fish seemed to hover in stalemate for an age before he finally gave up on his quest for the roots and the prize was mine.

The picture doesn’t do this fish justice. A huge disadvantage of going it alone, no one to take pictures. But he was beautifully marked and fat as a pig.

He was the best trout of the trip so far and as fat as a brewer’s apron.  It is an odd thing, but after such a battle one tends to figure that you can’t better that fish for the day and it was easy in the end to fish a bit further and then decide to call it quits.

The back eddy from which the fish was taken and the overhanging bush he so valiantly attempted to escape under

I resorted to the GPS once again to find my way out of the morass of tiny lanes and by the time I was “home”  at Pwlllgwilym Cottages I couldn’t tell you where the hell I had been. I feel a little like Alice after a trip through the looking glass. I know I was there, and have fond memories of the Day House beat, but in my mind it exists in a parallel universe, as though only visited in dreams..

I stopped at the Red Lion for some supper on the way home, that is once I knew where I was. The road is on the border and one keeps seeing signs saying “Welcome to Wales”, all the time thinking “I thought I was in Wales”. More of that ‘Alice through the looking glass’ feeling.

I love these country pubs, a place where one can enjoy an ale, get a meal and easily fall into conversation with who every happens to be there. Warm, comfortable hostelries that have served travelers for decades, this one has been doing so centuries.

Tomorrow I shall be on a very wide section of the Wye and shall , be easily able to fling Euro Nymphs should I choose. The beat is close to my base and designated by a large suspension bridge across the river. With that in mind I may be able to locate this piece of water without resorting to the GPS..

 

Tags: Day House, Kingsland, The River Lugg, Tim Rolston