Half A Fish Is Better Than None by Brian Woolmans

We had moved to Wales because of cheaper housing and for a stress free life style. Making dentures and living in London was taking its toll. So we sold the house and I wrapped up the business and off we went to west Wales a land of valleys and roaring salmon rivers.

I had fished whilst on holiday for salmon both in Wales and Scotland, but had never caught one. People who had told me nothing compares to the thrill of a powerful fish taking your bait, bending the rod and running down and upstream to be free. Some had said it was better than sex with the woman you love and desire. I found that hard to believe but. I joined the Teifi Salmon and Trout Fishing Club determined to find out if it were true.

Two years passed and I had caught a few trout but not one salmon had come near my line until, fishing the bend of the Teifi just outside Newcastle Emlyn. Bang! A fish took my line and was running like hell, I played it for what seemed like forever, when I started to reel him in  my reel jammed and the only way I could land him was to walk backwards to drag him to the shore.

A man ran down from where he was fishing upstream to help; having been alerted by all the splashing of the fish jumping and me shouting for help. I recognised him straight away as Simon Weston; his sadly disfigured face had been on television a lot since the Falklands War.

He had brought his landing net with him and had the fish out in minutes. Simon had not killed it before removing the hook and holding him up by the tail so I could see it while running down to the bank.

“It’s a salmon,” he said.

Before I got there the fish was gone.

“He's here somewhere,” said Simon looking round at his feet.

But the salmon was a mile upstream, gone for good.

Club members who had come to see what was going on went into a huddle. Knowing me and knowing I had never caught a salmon they decided it could count; being as I had got it on to the bank. However, the catch did not count for me because it got away and no dinner.

I brought a new reel and was fishing again sometime later just above the famous Cenarth Waterfall, seated on what was called the Captain’s Chair, a rock above a tree that spreads its canopy over the river. Fishing there was hard due to having to cast downstream and then move under the tree just before the line snags on overhanging branches. The attraction of the spot was that salmon rested there after jumping the falls.

 I used worms as bait as the river was in spate and as brown as clay. A big bunch of worms hid a large hook. Salmon will snatch at anything coming into its space and the river is full of worms when in flood.

As I got to the river’s edge, a man I knew said, ''Sorry, Brian, I didn’t see you down there. I’ve just cast. I'll wind it in.”

Club rules dictate that you must not invade a member’s fishing space.

Then I experienced that half-forgotten thrill of a fish taking the bait.

''Hurry I have a fish on,'' I screamed.

''God, so have I," came the reply.

We knew within minutes that the same fish had  both sets of worms, one set possibly snagged  in the body with all the thrashing about.

After much argument about who should land the fish and claim it, the Secretary of the club who was passing got us to agree that whoever had his hook and worms in the mouth of the fish owned it.  

The Secretary of the club took my rod and landed the fish because I was lower down.

You guessed it; both worms were in the mouth. The upshot was that the fish was cut in half. Half a fish is better than none.