River Usk, Wales

I fished the River Usk yesterday for the very first time. I was lucky enough to have the company of experienced local angler Geraint Meadows, who showed me around a private stretch of river just a little way upstream of the town of Abergavenny. 

I was delighted to see that the river was running clear in spite of some very welcome midweek rain. According to Geraint, the Usk was still some way beneath its usual flow level.

Even so the Usk was a powerful river which required some care whilst wading. Geraint mentioned that someone he recently fished with slipped over and was washed downstream a little way (with a little less grace than a drifting mayfly dun, I’d imagine). With my first tentative steps upon the river's smooth stones the hazard was palpable - so strong the force in its current that I needed to concentrate completely and be sure of every footfall. Being relatively new to river fishing, this was a novel experience. Having read some critical reviews, my new Vibram soled wading boots did an admirable job, I thought.

The section we fished was hemmed in tightly by forest. Getting to our downstream limit required a bit of crashing about through the woods and we flushed out a couple of shaggy feral sheep from the trees in the process. It reminded me of the story of 'Shrek', the rather wily ram who became something of a national icon in New Zealand by hiding in caves and avoiding capture for 6 years. Shrek was eventually blinded by his own unshorn wool growing over his eyes, his impairment eventually leading to his capture. He'd become so famous by this time that he was flown to meet the nation's Prime Minister at parliament. I couldn't quite see David Cameron doing the same with these wild and wooly fellows!

We emerged from the woods at the head of a good looking pool, with a spit of shallow water bisecting it. I tied on a “klink and dink” as Geraint called it, a small klinkhamer with a nymph tied a few feet below the dry fly. The nymph in this case was a size 16 bead head Zak nymph, a successful South African nymph pattern. I was interested to know how the Zak would do in the UK. 

My Zak patterns are tied with distinctive purple breathing gills as recommended by the fly’s creator Tom Sutcliffe. Geraint was immediately drawn to them because he said that purple flies do well on the Usk. 

We waded down the spit with the current so that we could cast back up river. I was surprised that the fish wouldn’t have been spooked by us wading downstream so near to them but Geraint didn’t seem to mind. And right he was, as within a few casts the klink disappeared and I lifted my rod into a fish which had taken the nymph. The 10” trout came to the net after a good fight – a fight only a wild fish can put up – and was quickly released. I was pleased the Zak had worked and relieved to have put any chance of a blank behind me. I lost a few more fish on the nymph in the same pool.

A little way upstream, in a fast pool under the branches of a shady Alder tree I caught my best fish of the day, a 17” brown trout that left my arms aching from the fight. It too fell to the Zak and I could sense Geraint’s excitement when we both caught our first glimpse of it from the depths. “It’s a stonker” he cried! 

These trout had a different appearance to the other brown trout I have caught in the UK. I appreciate that my experience is limited, and that no two brown trout will be the same, but I was struck by what appeared to be a greater density of black spotting on the fish which were over a season or two old. The pale cream halos encircling each black spot attractively merged into each other with no sign of any red spotting. The largest specimen also had a faint but discernible sheen of burgundy to its flanks. These were quite beautiful wild brown trout.

In all I caught seven trout between 5” and 17” and lost countless more, fishing a combination of the faster water and the slower, deeper pools. I was amazed at the abundance of fly life. Most of it seemed to be a variety of caddis fly species. The best fun I had all day was casting a small elk hair caddis to rising fish, three of which I brought to the net and double that number which were deceived but lost. 

Geraint had a bemused look when I exclaimed “holy *&%$, what is that?” when a creature the size and colour of a small canary lifted from the water. “It’s a yellow may dun.” I'm still astonished by the large size of the mayfly species in Britain! Learning about the local entomology is proving to be just as fun. 

All too soon we had to call it a day so I could catch my train back to Birmingham, a good two and a half hour journey. I had a good book, which helped to pass time. The chapter I was reading touched on the famous green drake hatch on Henry’s Fork in Idaho, and it had me hatching plans for another trip to the Usk when the mayfly - what they call the true mayfly here (Ephemera danica) - join the party.

My thanks to Geraint for a special day on a special trout river.