Sundays car boot sale did not produce the bargains that we had hoped for, but we did meet up with our friends Andy and Pip and as always it was great to see them again. Andy was selling (he likes to dabble in antique type junk) but we just had a nose around until we could take no more. At 1130 we headed off to Llanystumdwy near Criccieth (birth place of Lloyd George) where Andy and Pip would meet us later. We had a very scenic drive over the mountains and arrived at about 1400 hours. Pat prepared an evening meal which we all promptly scoffed as soon as Andy and Pip arrived. It had been a long day with a pre-0500 hours start and we were all knackered, so it was early to bed.
I didn't sleep well, it was a hot and humid night, so at 0400 hours I armed myself with my fly fishing tackle and set off to do battle. Almost two hours later, 0550 I hooked and landed my first wild brown trout. What a feeling........what a beautiful little fish, I was elated. I removed the hook and returned it gently to the river. Within the hour I had my second fish.........I can not express what a sense of achievement I felt. Now, if I had put the two fish side by side on a plate I would have been hard pushed to make a fish finger, they were only about 4 inches long, but I didn't care I was ecstatic. The day was getting warmer and we just sat about all day chatting and kicking back, then in the evening I went off to the river again. Two more trout, maybe the same two, they were certainly the same size, but again I felt fantastic. The night was long and hot, none of us slept well and so at first light I was back in the river pursuing this very flighty new quarry. A couple of hours later I returned to the vans with two more fish on the score card. Later in the morning Andy and I had a walk to the sea with the hope of doing some damage to the fish stocks for tea, sadly, all we caught were three dog fish which we returned. Tuesday we all had a trip into Porthmadog for a couple of hours and returned to the site exhausted by the heat. By the end of the day I had notched up a new total of six trout and was still flying high on the feeling. Wednesday Andy and Pip departed, bound for Towyn, they like it there. We stayed put and I caught two more trout before they left, score card now running at eight. Now I was getting to grips with this most subtle discipline of fishing, I needed a bit more of a challenge. A little way down stream is an old road bridge, underneath looked like a good holding pool for bigger fish. The far bank was gently sloping pasture but I could only fish from the camp site bank as I don't hold the necessary permit to fish from the other. It was a bit of a hairy climb down the old stone bridge walls but I descended the eight feet or so safely. Once standing between the arches I looked around, the arches were fenced off and both banks were indented with hoof prints, lots of them. But there was very little bank to fish from on the side I was on as it was heavily overgrown with trees and fenced off to keep the horses behind me safely penned in. Casting was difficult to say the least, no room to back cast you see. So I found the roomiest spot between two of the arches and sat on the silt and did my best. I wasn't having much success, I missed a few bites. I was baking in the sun and getting a muddy wet backside and a little uncomfortable when I heard, in the distance cows "mooing". I looked in the direction of the sound and saw about 6 cows descending the opposite pasture. I carried on fishing...........I then heard the "mooing" again, this time accompanied by a muffled thunder-like sound. When I looked again the cows, which I could now tell were bullocks were about 50 metres away and running. Safely separated by the river, I continued to fish. When I looked again to see what all the noise was about they were in the water, still running and bellowing quite loud, in fact two were only ten metres away. Now throughout my life I have faced some aggressive situations, been fired at by terrorist's, petrol bombed and threatened by enraged felons wielding knives and clubs, I have always stood my ground and defended myself. Here however, armed with only a light weight fly rod and some imitation flies I felt a bit vulnerable. "Keithy", I thought, "This is not the time nor place to get stuffed with several beef sausages and renamed Daisy" so I showed them a muddy arse and the soles of my wellies as I slipped and scrambled my way up the old stone walled bridge. I stood on the wall of the bridge and looked down into the eyes of these sex crazed beasts, as I gasped for breath, I could feel them thinking "next time Daisy dear". I slowly made my way back to the van and I was thinking to myself "People will call you a wimp". Well call me a wimp if you like, but just imagine, if there is an after-life how would I have explained that to my dearly departed Mom. Beef sandwiches for tea I think.
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