Wild Rainbows of the River Wye, Derbyshire

A very special population of rainbow trout exists in England, in the River Wye in Derbyshire.

Rainbow trout in Britain

Rainbow trout are native to the Pacific basin, stretching from the Kamchatka Peninsular in the Russian Far East to the west coast of North America. They have been introduced widely around the globe with much success, including in parts of Europe, such as Slovenia, and in New Zealand, Australia, South Africa, Argentina and Chile in the southern hemisphere. 

By a strange quirk of nature rainbow trout introduced to Britain appear unable to successfully sustain themselves in British rivers. The typical rainbow trout stocked in stillwater fisheries across Britain today are the progeny of generations of hatchery reared forebears and are no match for the rigours of the wild. There are however a few exceptions, no more than a handful of populations countrywide, where rainbow trout are known to spawn successfully in rivers. None are more successful or more renowned than the wild rainbows of the River Wye.

The first record of rainbow trout ova being shipped from the USA to the UK dates to 1885 and for the next few decades ova continued to be transported across the Atlantic in relatively small numbers. These shipments came from a very mixed brood stock assembled at the east coast waypoint of a hatchery in New York state. From the 1930s things changed when primarily Shasta strain rainbow trout ova was shipped to the UK in commercial quantities running to the tens of thousands per shipment.

Rainbow trout in the River Wye

The first record of rainbows turning up in the Wye in Derbyshire dates back to between 1907 and 1910. The story goes that following a bad storm rainbow trout escaped into the Wye from a lake into which they had been stocked near Ashford in the Water, and found the river very much to their liking. These rainbow trout were from the initial batches of ova imported from the States, before the Shasta strain came to dominate later ova imports. A theory which I gleaned from a riverkeeper based on the Wye is that the Wye's rainbows spawn in the spring whilst Shasta strain rainbows tended to want to spawn in the early winter months of the year, and much less successfully in Britain. It is a theory supported - at least in part - by the well known American fish biologist Robert Behnke, who said "the 1885 shipment to the UK would have been highly diverse in ancestry with high heterozygosity for natural and artificial selection to effect rapid adaptive change."

The Wye is only 22 miles in length from its source near Buxton to its confluence with the River Derwent. The rainbows have been in the river for over 100 years and are largely confined to its waters and those of the Derwent which they obviously find very compatible. Whilst I wouldn't favour the idea of rainbow trout colonising other rivers in Britain and competing with native fish, as they have done very successfully in other parts of the world when introduced, there is clearly little risk of this from the Wye rainbows - it would have happened already. As such, I view them as a peculiarity to be treasured for the variety they bring to British fly fishing. 

A day fishing the River Wye - 30 June 2012

I received a very welcome and kind invitation to a day’s fishing on the Wye from fellow West Midlands based fly fisherman Steve Lee, a member of the Peacock Fly Fishing Club, which controls access to a 7 mile stretch of the river on the Haddon Estate. The prospect of catching a wild rainbow trout in Britain excited me and I needed little encouragement to accept the offer. 

When the day arrived, I caught an 08.00 a.m. train from Birmingham's New Street station to Lichfield City, where Steve collected me in his car. After a journey of about an hour on the road, Steve bought me a coffee at the charming Peacock Hotel in the small village of Rowsley, sited at the point where the River Wye flows into the River Derwent. Steve ran through the club's rules over our coffee, explaining that only dry flies are permitted and that wading in the river is forbidden. "A Klinkhåmer isn't a dry fly" explained Steve with a pained if slightly unconvinced expression on his face, "not according to the club at least. It has something to do with a substantial portion of the pattern sitting below the surface." 

With the club's rules and coffee out the way, Steve drove me a short distance in his car to the river. We parked on the banks of the small Lathkill River, a tributary of the Wye, just upstream from where it joins its parent. The Lathkill was running high and fast, but gorgeously clear (in spite of some heavy rain in the week). From a stone bridge spanning the small river, we spied a trout effortlessly maintaining station in the fast current with an occasional flick of its tail. 

The weather was gloomy but as we made up our rods the sun emerged from behind the clouds and bathed the valley in warmth and colour. We followed the Lathkill downstream to its confluence with the Wye, and then followed the swiftly flowing waters of this great limestone river to the downstream limit of the beat. We walked slowly, looking for signs of feeding fish, but saw none.

Casting wasn't easy. Trees and lush summer vegetation made conventional casting difficult in places (exacerbated by the swift current and a gusty wind which played havoc with my fine tippet). I spent the first few minutes retrieving my fly from trees and chest high grass. I was so used to wading in the rocky rivers of Wales that at first it was frustrating not to have the option. It is far easier to stand in the water and cast directly upstream, with room for a clear back cast.

In hindsight it was quite stimulating to approach fishing in an altogether different way. In most places the conditions allowed only for a rod to be threaded through the verdant vegetation or poked over the tall bank side reeds, arm held high, to enable a fly to be dropped on to the water and drifted close to the bank. Within barely a drift or two in this fashion I spotted a fish move out from under the bank I was standing on to intercept my fly. The fish lifted in the water and intently scrutinised the size 16 Royal Wulff for a moment before sipping it in ever so gently, hardly causing a ripple to the water’s surface. I could see it was a brown trout - they are also found in the Wye but in fewer number - and a very good trout at that, of around 1 to 1½ lb. I lifted my rod sharply and the fish was hooked. The trout took off towards the far bank, stripping line from my hands for a second or two, before the fly came loose and my line disappointingly went slack. It was still an auspicious start to the day, and a lesson not to ignore the water close to the bank – had wading been permitted I most likely would've spooked that trout by stepping into the river.

Steve floats a dry fly through a likely run

The wind picked up, bringing in dense, grey clouds, and it started to rain. We fished the rest of the beat back up to the car without any joy. Unperturbed, we jumped into Steve's truck and drove upstream to another section of the river. 

We fished the upstream water for two hours until lunchtime, in spells of brief sunshine and spitting rain, but the trout were largely disinterested in the dry fly. In one pool I did provoke three quick fire rises to a Caperer pattern, which I have since learned is meant to imitate a caddis fly which typically emerges from the river in the month of September (given that it was the last day of June, the fish didn't seem to know this latter detail). In a display of particularly poor fly fishing, I missed all three rises and sent the fish in the pool to sulk for a while. 

Then it really started to rain. Steve made for the shelter of his truck and a flask of hot coffee, whilst I soldiered on, determined to catch at least one of the Wye's renowned wild rainbows - which were proving to be very challenging adversaries. 

A little way upstream I found a pool of turbulent water, where I observed five trout feeding on sub-aquatic nymphs with reckless abandon. Two of the trout were considerable, large enough to send my adrenalin racing. I threw almost every dry fly in my box at them, but they were too transfixed on the hapless insects beneath the surface to notice or care. I debated the rationale of the club's archaic dry fly only rule and my thoughts briefly turned dark: 'would anyone notice if I used a nymph pattern?' I banished the errant thought, not wishing to taint the capture of my first rainbow trout from the Wye by cheating. I gave up on the five untroubled trout and reeled in my line, and just watched them for several minutes. I marvelled at the graceful fluidity of their movements, and the energy they were expending on such small morsels.

The rain abated in the afternoon and the sun emerged from behind the clouds. I had now been fishing for four hours and was acutely aware that I was receiving a fishing education. I sat on a memorial bench next to the river, sipped a cup of coffee, ate a chicken sandwich and watched the long grass blowing gently in the wind. I listened to birdsong and the trickle of water through the reeds. I felt better after the rest and a meal.

Revitalised, I approached the river afresh, and flicked a Caperer pattern over the reeds. Within an instant a rainbow trout consumed it in a splashy rise. This time the hook was set. I was thrilled! I brought the fish to hand and admired it, my first wild rainbow trout from a river in Britain. I was impressed with the strength and fighting prowess this little fish had shown. I released it after a quick photo, just as the clouds covered the sun again and it started to rain. It was my most enjoyable fishing moment of the year so far.

My very first Wye rainbow.

And with that breakthrough moment, trout started to rise to a hatch of blue winged olives. I could now target trout which were happily feeding from the surface and the fishing suddenly became very exciting. I coaxed five willing rainbows to take an olive imitation and all of them impressed me with their electric enthusiasm when hooked, the profusion of black spots on their flanks and tails, and the ivory white markings on their fins. The best of them was around 12 inches in length. They were all perfect little specimens, the descendants of a fluke release into this very river a century ago, so conspicuously oozing in wild spirit and instinct. There are surely few better fish to catch with a fly than wild rainbow trout.

Steve playing a Wye rainbow in the rain  

We fished till the early evening, then packed up and drove home through the town of Bakewell. Steve wanted to show me the large trout that live in the town water, fattened by bread and chips. The fish appeared to congregate just upstream of the pedestrian bridges, waiting to be fed, and I was stunned by their size. Behemoths without fear of man, they reminded me too much of the stocked rainbow trout synonymous with British fisheries. It made me appreciate my experience of fishing a truly wild and special section of the Wye even more.

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