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Prologue

 

Ten minutes of tense heart pounding silence was suddenly broken by the harsh static of an encrypted radio bursting into life.

"2:2 calling 2:3, are you ready?"

"2:3, yes, we're at the gatehouse."

"2:2 to all mobiles, it's a Go! Go! Go!"

Again the air waves fall silent.  Seconds pass like minutes, minutes that seem like ten's of minutes.

"2:2 to 2:3"

"2:3 receiving"

"2:2 there's a red Datsun, the one we saw yesterday, it's got a grey front wing."

"2:3 got that, I can see them coming down the road."

"2:2 to all mobiles 2:3 has the shout."    "Keith it's down to you."

"OK Steve, we'll pull them at the barriers".

With anticipation, these few short minutes between deciding to challenge suspected poachers and the actual moment of confrontation must be the most frustrating, and yet exhilarating, that any Fisheries Enforcement Officer can experience.

The outcome is never certain, experience, planning and total dedication all help to keep the balance in our favour, but things can still go wrong, the measure of the true professional is the ability to salvage a result out of a situation that has simply gone wrong by sheer bad luck.

Sometimes the strain of waiting gets too much.

"2:2 to 2:3 Keith, what's happening?"

"2:3  to Steve, a bloody lorry has stopped in the middle of the road just before the gatehouse, the driver's jumping out and going into the office."

"2:2 Keith, where's our target?"

"2:3 they're stopped right behind the lorry.  Shit! they're coming around the outside, they've seen me!  I'm going for them.  Get the f--- down here quick."

The single road in and out of Newport Docks is split by a small security gatehouse that controls the barriers.  Located half way along a six hundred yard road it gives a good view of vehicles as they approach.  Most of the time the barriers are raised and only dropped when the security officers want to check some one.  The road either side of the gatehouse is only wide enough for one vehicle, the lorry had effectively blocked the road leading out.

This is not what we had planned.  The Datsun driver, in his eagerness to get out of the docks, had edged out from behind the lorry to see if he could get past.  This manoeuvre had given him a clear view through the glass door of the gatehouse.  What he saw was two fisheries bailiffs, this sent him into an instant panic.  Engine racing he was quickly accelerating towards the entry side of the gatehouse, speeding down the wrong side of the road.

Almost in one movement the barrier was dropped and we were out of the door as the car sped past.  The high pitched scream and acrid smell of rubber on tarmac filled the air as the car skid to a stop, it's bonnet under the arm of the barrier, it's windscreen almost touching it.

Before it had fully stopped I had the driver's door open and was head and shoulders inside. 

"Water Bailiff" was all I had time to get out before the car was slammed into reverse and began to accelerate backwards.  Half in and half out I somehow managed to grab the steering wheel and literally tear the key from the ignition.

Still in gear, but with no power the car stopped.  Glancing to my left I could see our unmarked van not ten yards behind the Datsun, four eager friendly faces were rushing to assist.  Left hand firmly pushed against the drivers chest and right index finger pointing straight between his eye's I continued  "Water Bailiff, sit still your under arrest."

Overwhelmed by our presence, shocked by the determined approach, we had them.  The driver and his accomplice just froze, unable to move or talk.  Their desperate attempt to escape confirmed our suspicions even before we found the all too familiar coal sacks full of salmon in the car's boot.

Our pre-planned operation had come close to going wrong, quick thinking, team work and the overpowering will to succeed had brought it off.  Another two illegal salmon fishermen would find themselves in court.  This was just one of the many similar incidents that became part of my daily life.  The story that I have attempted to tell is a factual account of how a once prolific and potentially devastating illegal salmon fisher on the Severn Estuary was brought under control and eventually curtailed.  It is my view of what took place, how I felt and what I was part of.

I have tried not to over dramatise the events which may have led to a slightly understated view, whether or not I have portrayed the real feel only those who were there can truly know. 

Only this small tightknit group of officers will ever feel the ultimate sense of achievement that I have.

Only we can say we did it.  I for one will always be proud of that.  I hope in some small way that by reading this account we can share at least some of this with you.

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Preface

Salmon and Freshwater Fisheries Act 1975
1975 CHAPTER 51

28.-(1) It shall be the duty of every water authority to maintain, improve and develop the salmon fisheries. trout fisheries, freshwater fisheries and eel fisheries in the area for which they exercise functions under this Act ;

3 6 . 4 1 ) A water bailiff and a person appointed by the Minister shall be deemed to be a constable for the purpose of the enforcement of this Act, or any order or byelaw under it, and to have all the same powers and privileges, and be subject to the same liabilities as a constable duly appointed has or is subject to by virtue of the common law or of any statute

This extract from the Salmon and Freshwater Fisheries Act 1975, outlines part of the basic Duties of Water Authorities, with regard to Salmon fisheries. At its formation in 1989 The National Rivers Authority took over these duties from the ten privatized Water Companies.

In order to fulfill the enforcement of the many and varied aspects of the Act, the Authority employs an equally varied Bailiff force.  Each Region of the NRA has its own force tailored to its own needs. In Wales a total of 60 full time officers are currently divided between three divisions, with 20 in each. These are further divided into local areas. The south East division has three such areas, namely the WYE, USK and TAFF. In 1987, the USK/TAFF areas were integrated to form two new areas, one with the main responsibility the inland river corridors, the other the coastal estuary. The latter being the main focus of this book.

One of the primary reasons for the formation of a dedicated area of responsibility encompassing the whole of the South East Divisions coastal waters, was the need to bring under control the rapidly expanding illegal Driftnet fishery which had grown to such an extent that it was seriously effecting the runs of Salmon into the premier river fisheries of Wales.

The greatest single problem in bringing about such control was the rights of men to go out in boats and catch fish. The only existing restraint was that any Salmon caught must not be kept but returned to the water. So unless a person was actually caught with a Salmon in his possession, then no offence could be proven. The only solution was to change certain parts of the existing legislation and to block any loop holes with new laws.

The start of this process came with the introduction of the Salmon Act 1986, which created a new offence of handling in suspicious circumstances. This meant that the old reply of "I bought them of a man in the pub", was no good.  A person in possession of Salmon, now had to prove that he had come by them legally and had been sure that the person he had got them from had done the same.  Obviously there were ways around this but at least the onus of proof was now put on them.  In a strange way it meant that they were guilty unless they could prove their innocence.

The '86 Salmon Act, also empowered the Controlling Authorities to make Bye Laws to control Sea Fisheries for the protection of Salmon.  It was the fulfilment of this process that finally brought the illegal exploitation to an end.  It does not remove the rights of men to go out fishing but it does control the methods and areas in which fishing can be done.  The main restraint being that Driftnets can no longer be used.  As this was the traditional method of catching both sea fish and Salmon, it now means that only Licensed Salmon Fishermen can use it, they in turn are controlled by the terms of their licence.

As with all legislation it does not happen overnight, the wheels of bureaucracy are notorious for turning slowly.  Each stage has to be carefully prepared and presented.  Notice has to be given and opportunity for objections must be allowed.  Set time limits must be complied with before the final presentation to Government for ratification.

With the possibility of a public enquiry, the first task was to gather as much information as possible about the activities of those who were to be most effected by the new laws.  It was the Authorities intention to prove that in the area of the Severn Estuary, the principle target of the fishermen, was Salmon, and not that they were only accidentally caught by honest Sea Fishermen going about their legitimate business.  It was also hoped that by initiating a high level visible presents that this would act as a deterrent and so at least limit the exploitation until the legislative process was complete.

Now that the process has run its course and finally the illegal elicit trade in Salmon has been all but eradicated in at least this area then the authority has achieved its statutory responsibility "TO MAINTAIN AND IMPROVE SALMON FISHERIES".

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1 - The End

A strange title for the start of a book! not really, because the end is the best place from which to relate the whole story.  It's mid September 1992.  The location, Goldcliff Point, which lies on the Welsh side of the Severn Estuary three miles upstream from Newport and is the site of a commercial "Putcher Rank" Salmon Fishery, but more about that later.

The tide has been ebbing for three hours.  In the distance some fifteen miles downstream Llavenock Point shows on the horizon, upstream five miles is Magor.  Across the Channel small Coastal Ships make their way to and from Avonmouth, while a large "Bell Line" Container Ship leaves its dock at Newport.  A few small yachts tack to and fro in the brisk south westerly breeze as the tide continues its relentless cycle of ebbing and flooding, never stopping, rushing in and pouring out this dark muddy waterway with its shallow banks of thick dark mud that oozes and clogs.  Not the most picturesque of scenes but one which for some is now more tranquil than it once was.

As the dark murky waters tumble and boil over the banks of mud and pours out towards low water only to turn around and rush all the way back in it's hard to imagine what goes on below the surface, you would be forgiven for thinking nothing did, but below the rough, dark, turbulent waves a true survival story is taking place.  Hidden from view slender dark shapes move against the tide, ever struggling, never still, these few survivors make their way back to their birthplace, back through this muddy evil place, back to the clear fast waters that gave them life.  Back to the rivers, back to the brooks, back to breed.  The King of fish "Salmo Salar," the mighty Salmon is running through the tide.

The Salmon have always made this journey, ever since the last Ice Age carved the river valleys and allowed fresh water to run its course from the hills to the sea.  They have always had to fight and struggle to survive from the moment they were born in the cold fast upland waters of, in this case, the Welsh Hills, through their early life as Parr in the quieter middle reaches of the rivers, growing and remembering and then after two years preparation they are ready to move down to the harsh salty lower reaches and from here out into the sea, to feed and grow strong ready for the return run.

Having survived to reach the sea is in itself a wonder but to have negotiated the perils of the North Atlantic, with its heavy Commercial Fisheries whose ships mop up thousands of fish a day, is truly amazing.  Thankfully for me much has been written depicting the Salmons life cycles and the trauma of its sea life, the story I have to tell concerns a very small part of this magnificent fish's journey as it struggles to survive, and is also the story of a group of Bailiffs who have battled against the threat of illegal exploitation the ensure that at least the last few miles of this incredible migration are as safe as possible.

At the time when this story begins the final leg from sea back to fresh water was anything but safe.  Men and their greed for easy money threatened to hinder the Salmon's natural passage back into the three main rivers that feed into this estuary, The Severn, Wye and Usk. 

Conservationists over the years have done their part in cutting back on the legal exploitation.  Fishing has been regulated and even commercial fisheries closed, notably the Wye Fishery, originally owned by the Welsh Water Authority and now by the National Rivers Authority.  The Netting Station at Chepstow now lies derelict and the stop boats once used now lie rotting.  The remaining Commercial Fisheries below the Severn Bridge and the mouth of the Wye consist of eight Driftnetters, which operate out of Newport and the Putcher Ranks here at Goldcliff.

Being mid September the Fishing Station is now closed, the Commercial Driftnetters have also finished for the year, the Salmon now have a free run through these waters and into the rivers of their birth.  It is difficult to believe that only a few short years ago the scene would have been so different, instead of just the odd yachtsmen and the dedicated rod fishermen out for a days sport the estuary would have been dotted with up to fifteen small grey boats, drifting with the tide, each manned by two unscrupulous men, each plundering the precious stocks of Salmon, using up to a thousand yards of net set across the tide, set across the path of the running fish.  Nets designed to catch everything from tiny Whiting to a hundred and fifty pound Sturgeon, not a common catch, but one was caught in 1990.

All fish illegally for Salmon, with all other sea fish thrown away, with the exception of the odd Bass and, later in the year, Winter Cod.  These boats would have been active right through the summer starting in early March.  How many Salmon ended their mammoth voyage at this late stage will never be known, rumour has it that some individuals were making in excess ten thousand pounds from the sale of illegally caught fish.  What is known is that the eight licensed driftnetters using only three hundred yards of net each and the Putcher Rank with one thousand eight hundred baskets have been catching two to two and a half thousand Salmon between them over a shorter period.

It is more than reasonable to estimate that the illegal catch would be at least equal and probably a more realistic figure would be between three and a half thousand and five thousand fish.  Sold on the Black Market at fifteen pound a fish would realize a tax free income of seventy five thousand pounds for the people involved, but an immeasurable loss to the environment and the ecology of our rivers.

Now, hopefully, those days are behind us, no longer will small minded people, who only see monitory gain in plundering the precious stocks be able to prey upon the last of a once great species.  This is only one small part of a much greater problem, the people this story is about fully accept that this is so, but take pride in the knowledge that in their way they have been part of the process that will, given time, understanding and a firm commitment to limit the exploitation both legal and illegal of this magnificent creature eventually "turn back the tide" and allow the Salmon once more the reign supreme.          

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2 - A New Beginning. A New Lifestyle

In the beginning; once upon a time; or, it all began...

It's hard to know how to start this story, so I'll just tell it the way it was.

I have not always been a Bailiff, if fact the tale I have to tell begins with how I became part of a group of Water Bailiffs who's commitment and endeavours have achieve a notable success in the battle against the illegal exploitation of Salmon.

At the age of 29 I had become disenchanted and frustrated with my job as a Machine Tool Setter in a large factory making car breaks.  I had been there since serving my apprenticeship after leaving school 13 years earlier.  I needed a challenge and a change from the mundane routine of regular shifts, days one week and nights the next.  Working in noise and grime, achieving only output targets but little else.  It was a job, a way of earning money, but not very satisfying.

The opportunity to become the Production Manager of a small newly set up firm making paper cups gave me the incentive I needed to rip myself free from what had become for me a soul destroying occupation.  Unknowingly I was to jump out of the frying pan and into the fire.  My new employment turned out to be a potentially worse situation than I had left.  Absent Directors with misconceived ideas of how to run a company left me with more responsibility than I was prepared to take, after all I was not qualified in any form of business management.  Consequently within a very short time I quit.  Not a clever thing to do with a wife and five year old daughter to support.  Thankfully I had an understanding and supportive wife.  It wasn't until I eventually became a Bailiff that I found out just how long suffering she really was.  I'm sure any Bailiff would say the same about their wives.

Unemployment was not something I had experienced before.  In a strange way I was filled with a sense of relief that I was finally free from the endless routine that the manufacturing industry consists of.  At the same time the knowledge that I was now just another one of the ever increasing number of unemployed made me feel more than a little concerned for my future.  A concern that thankfully was to be short lived.  Purely by chance I heard an advert on a local radio station for a temporary Recreational Ranger at Welsh Waters Llandegffedd Reservoir which I applied for, and succeeded in getting.  In less than a month I had moved from being a manager in industry to a general dogs body and toilet cleaner at a public amenity.

Actually it was a lot better than it sounds.  Picking up litter and maintaining public conveniences was only part of the job, and took up less than a couple of hours a day.  The main purpose was to look after is public activities on the reservoir, namely sailing and fishing. 

The latter interested me most.  Having been a keen angler since I was old enough to walk and most recently being involved in the running of a local fly fishing association I now had the opportunity of combining a life long interest with earning a living, an envious situation.

The work was fairly routine, opening up at first light and getting the fishing boats ready for the anglers was the first priority followed by general insuring that the site ran smoothly by instructing visitors and ensuring that permits were in order.  The sailing was predominately controlled by a franchise company that organised lessons for both dingy and windsurfing.  However on busy weekends it was common for the Rangers to assist with manning the Safety Rescue Boat, which would inevitably entail long wet hours constantly pulling inexperienced sailors out of the water.

Looking after the fishery side of the reservoir activities took up the majority of the time, which suited me totally.  I had unofficially taken an interest in the enforcement of fisheries rules and regulations through my interest in the running of an Association Trout Fishery on a small pair of reservoirs leased from the Water Authority.  Now I had to learn how to perform this role in a correct manner to comply with the law.  I knew what to look for and what was expected of me but had only a minimal knowledge of how the laws apply to anglers.  I quickly became friends with a group of full time Water Bailiffs who shared the office block we used at the Water Treatment Works overlooking the reservoir.  With their help and guidance I soon became aware of the vastly varied and important role of Water Bailiffs.  I had, to coin a phrase, become hooked on the idea of one day joining them.

My contract as a Ranger ran out in October and once again I found myself on the Dole.    Unlike the first time the sense of dejection and uncertainty did not affect me as I knew the full time Bailiffs would be liking for temp's to help them with their duties during the Salmon spawning season.  A job which I had declared a positive interest in doing.  Less than three weeks later I was again employed, this time as a temporary Bailiff, working alongside the full time officers who's job it was to safeguard the Salmon spawning areas along the River Usk.

At this time of year the Salmon are at their most vulnerable.  After negotiating all the hazards of their journey through the sea and up the main river they now lie in pools in small brooks and streams waiting to lay their eggs in shallow gravel beds.  While they wait they become more and more attractive to the would be poacher, not only for their flesh - which is by now of poor quality, but for their eggs - which, processed correctly, can produce a paste which has proven to be a devastating bait for Trout, and can fetch as much as five pounds per pound for the unscrupulous angler who is prepared to use this totally illegal substance.

The three months until Christmas brought the realisation that a Bailiffs job is both interesting and varied and suited me perfectly.  Unfortunately there were, at that time, no vacancies for full time officers, so reluctantly I returned to my Rangers position, first as a seasonal temp but then as a permanent post when one of the Rangers moved to the Elan Valley.

Another year passed and I became increasingly familiar with the work of the Bailiffs, often assisting them as a temp and learning how to perform an enforcement role.

Finally in the spring of 1987 a position became vacant when a Bailiff from the River Wye Area retired.  Initially I wasn't sure if it was the job I wanted as I was more interested in the River Usk area.  After talking it over with the local Bailiff I applied for, and was successful in securing the post.  My  time as a temp had given me the vital experience to impress the Interview Panel, not to mention the backing of the Bailiffs I had come to know.

I had become and for over 25 years was employed as a Water Bailiff.

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3 - Politics, Poachers & Priorities

My appointment coincided with an internal reorganization of the local Bailiff force.  A recent increase in illegal driftnet fishing operating out of Newport had caused great concern within the Fisheries Department and criticism from river fisheries owners and anglers alike, not to mention the complaints from legal netsmen who were being hindered by up to fifteen other boats using, in some cases, three times as much nets.

Little blame could be levelled at the Bailiffs whose area was the river Usk, which flows through Newport and provides these poachers with moorings alongside the docks.  They could only work to the best of their abilities with the resources available to them.  Six men, three of whom lived in Brecon at the opposite end of the river, a small open boat, which may have been fast but offered no protection from the cold and wet along with an inadequate slipway which restricted the launch and recovery of the boat from the waters.

After much discussion and debate it was decided to set up a unit of Bailiffs with the priority of bringing the estuary problem under control.  It was to this new unit that I found myself seconded, I say seconded because the original unit was formed using Bailiffs from three areas, the Usk, Wye and Taff.  Myself and another Bailiff from the Wye, two from the Usk and one from the Taff.

Our new area of responsibility was from the Severn Bridge in the east to Aberthaw in the west, some forty miles of coast line, in addition to this the tidal reaches of the Wye up to Bigsweir and the Usk to Abergavenny, not to mention various lakes, ponds, reservoirs and brooks.

Initially the unit was set up to cover the main poaching period in the Estuary, this being April to October, the unit members then returning to their appointed areas for the winter months. 

A later reorganization and intelligence built up during that first year led to the establishment of a permanent Estuary Unit;  my colleague from the Wye area returned to his "Beat" full time while I remained with the unit, saving us both a great deal of travelling.  In my case fifty miles to and from the winter spawning area every day.  The other permanent unit members were: Steve, at first Acting then full Head Bailiff, who is also a dog handler, Kelton, the units coxswain, in charge of the patrol boat, Mark, a former Ranger like myself and Hatchery Assistant and Simon, who left after two years to be replaced by Ian, a newly appointed Bailiff, and at twenty one the youngest member.  I won't tell you our individual ages but with an average of twenty nine we were the youngest group in the Welsh Region.  Maybe this had some bearing on our obvious enthusiasm to succeed.

The only other change came about with the birth of the National Rivers Authority in 1988 which replaced the privatized Water Authorities.  This caused numerous management changes and different political perspectives but little difference to how we performed our duties of Fisheries Law Enforcement, the Police and Criminal Evidence Act had already done that, as did the Salmon Act which has gone some way to update the 1975 S.F.F.A.  There is however still room for improvement.

Even as I write there are plans by the Government to form another new Enforcement Agency to carry the Green Environmental Flag, our own management are in the throws of Job Evaluation and a Bailiff Review, what all this will mean to those of us who enjoy the Law Enforcement role I do not know, I only hope that those who make such decisions have the foresight to help us with their support and not destroy the service by changing our function to encompass other disciplines.  One thing is for sure, as long as Salmon swim through the seas and rivers poachers will be at work and only an efficient well equipped Bailiff force will be able to combat this.

But wait a minute I started to tell a story of what has happened not of what may or may not happen in the future, perhaps in ten years time I'll write another book to bring you up to date.

Right then, back to the Estuary, that evil God forsaken place with its dark murky waters and even darker thick squelching mud.  Not the sort of place the average person would choose to spend most of the year, but for our unit it has been the main work place for the past five years.  Both around it, on it and occasionally in it.

Before I tell  you anything about our adversaries in this drama, I should acquaint you with the legal fishermen and the two licensed methods used to catch Salmon along our strip of coastline.

As I mentioned in the opening paragraph of this book a "Putcher Rank" is situated at Goldcliff Point, two permanent structures made from pine poles driven deep into the mud and braced with cross poles are positioned either side of the headland.  During the fishing season, May to the end of August, cone shaped baskets six feet long with a mouth two feet in diameter are slotted into the framework.  The smaller downstream rank, with approximately eight hundred baskets facing into the flooding tide and the upstream rank with one thousand baskets set to catch fish dropping back with the ebb tide.  The baskets are checked and emptied as the tide recedes, not only Salmon are trapped the occasional Bass and other sea fish caught in the baskets are a useful bonus.  The draw back is that large quantities of weed and rubbish also have to be cleaned out, though the first priority is to retrieve any Salmon, before the seagulls peck and rip at the flesh.  A process that has to be repeated twice a day, or night, for four months.

The owner lives "on site" in the upstairs flat of the renovated Fish House.  A pleasant location in summer, but somewhat bleak in mid winter when the tide crashes and pounds against the sea wall.  When asked it's always a bad season and doubtful if the license will be renewed, but every year it is.

In direct competition are the eight drift net boats which operate between Magor and the river Usk on the high tides, and Uskmouth to the Rhumney river during the low water periods.  Some of the boats are wooden panelled clinker built craft, easily as old as some of the license holders who have long since reached the national retirement age.  The other boats are modern GRP's, Glass Reinforced Plastic, or to use the more familiar expression, Fibre Glass.  All are sixteen to eighteen feet, open decked without cabins and powered by inboard diesel engines, nothing fancy, but efficient plodding work horses, which propel the boats at speeds of up to ten miles an hour, just enough to make headway against the tide.

Once the fishermen are out of the river mouth and into the Estuary the engines are not used again until the end of fishing when these licensed boats return to their communal mooring in the quiet water on the upstream side of the pier leading into Newport Docks.  While out fishing Man Power takes over.  The drift net method used by these boats involves laying three hundred metres  of Gill Net (which is what the license holder is allowed to use for Salmon) across the tide, that is to say at ninety degrees to the flow.  This is done by one of the two men onboard each boat rowing at a steady rate while the other stands at the stern playing out the net, once all the net is in the water both net and boat are allowed to drift with the tide.  The weight of boat and net make them drift at a slower rate than the actual movement of water, therefore, any Salmon moving on the tide are swept into and entangled in the net.  Periodically the fishermen retrieve the nets remove any fish then reposition them as before.

There is no restriction on the number of Salmon each boat is allowed to catch, this also applies to the "Putcher Ranks".  Driftnetting, however, starts in April a full month earlier, but they are not allowed to operate on Saturday or Sunday, this means that both methods fish for approximately the same number of days in a season, even so the "Putchers" fish continually every high tide unhindered by weather or other fishermen.

Licensed Salmon Driftnetters not only compete with the "Putcher Ranks" but with each other, all trying for the best catch.  Up against them all is the fleet of illegal netsmen, who uncontrolled by Licensing Bye Laws and restraints are, or should I say were, free to fish seven days a week with as much net as they chose to use, commonly between eight hundred and a thousand yards of Trammel Net, which unlike Gill Net is totally indiscriminate, catching and killing every fish it comes into contact with.

Gill Nets will only catch fish of a size big enough to become trapped by the Head and Gills, small fish pass through, even larger fish often hit the net and manage to swim away.  Trammels, being made of three layers, two outer layers of large mesh and an inner layer of smaller mesh.  Fish swim through the outer mesh and into the inner layer, which forms a bag around them and so preventing their escape.  Lethal is an understatement, very few fish, especially Salmon, encounter Trammel Nets and live, only those removed within minutes have any chance, as nets are rarely retrieved at less than hourly intervals survival becomes non existent.

"Why?" I hear to ask, were these people allowed to use such nets, the answer is simple, there were no laws to stop them fishing for sea fish.  Any Salmon caught must, of course, by returned as soon as possible and with as little harm, dead or alive!  Invariably this would mean dead!  An automatic loss to stocks, this gave the poachers the perfect alibi, unless caught with Salmon in their possession, then they would claim they were fishing for White Fish, ie sea fish.

The long process to eliminate this loop hole began in 1986 with the introduction of the new Salmon Act, which gives the local Sea Fisheries Committees the power to introduce Bye Laws to protect Salmon.  In the area concerned this involved two Committees, the South Wales Sea Fisheries, who have jurisdiction upstream to the Rhumney River and the Welsh Water Authority, and later the N.R.A. Welsh Region, upstream to the Severn Bridge. I'll come back to which new Bye Laws were proposed and eventually passed a bit later as these provided the final blow in the battle we fought.

Up until the formation of our unit the precise nature of the problem was not known.  A number of prosecutions had been successfully taken, but our predecessors had not been able to expend the time and effort necessary for resolving this problem.  Even this initiative did not allow us to devote all our time to the estuary, we still had a large area of inland fisheries to police, not that we minded time spend away from the coast as this provided much needed breaks from the tedious seemingly endless boat patrols. 

With our commitment to resolving the coastal problem came the purchase of a superior patrol boat and, at no small expense, a new slipway to allow a greater flexibility in launch and recovery time.   The tactic we employed was one of high profile, continuously patrolling while boats were out fishing, stopping and checking every boat as soon as nets were onboard and generally letting the illegal netsmen know that we meant to hinder them as much as possible.  On average three or four days out of every five working days were spent this way, Nearly ninety patrol throughout the season, ranging in length from six to eighteen hours in duration.  A large commitment in both man power and resources which in turn brought pressure for results, which we in turn provided.

The purpose for the high profile approach was two fold, firstly to deter and prevent the illegal taking of Salmon and secondly  to identify those "Sea Fishermen" most prone to fishing solely with the intention of taking Salmon, as opposed to those who took the odd Salmon in addition to sea fish.  It transpired that the latter were few and far between.

At the end of the first season we had amassed a list of one hundred and four names and addresses, admittedly some of these were fictitious and others were of people only seen once or twice, but around seventy were regularly active.  On one patrol of the moorings used by these people and other small boat owners forty boats were found to contain nets.  Thankfully not all these boats were in use at the same time, typically between eight and twelve were the average number out at one time.  As we became more familiar with the people regularly encountered I was surprised to find that being born and bred in the Pill Area of Newport I already knew a number of them, mainly through school but one as a result of a brief relationship with an older sister, thank heavens it didn't develop, I could have ended up prosecuting my own brother in law, embarrassing!  The majority of those engaged in this elicit fishing were local unemployed rogues, who would do anything for the odd quid or two, and expend much time and effort in the process.  Salmon poaching, although not easy work provided them with a tax free income on top of Unemployment Benefit, and every other government handout which these social parasites are able to claim.  I may unfairly be maligning some of the people we encountered but on the whole the persistent offenders all have involvement in other crimes for which many have extensive criminal records.  This is nothing unique to the Severn Estuary it is the norm' throughout the poaching fraternity, although our clients are only known to take Salmon, fishing being what they have grown up with and the only thing they know.

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4 - Just Another Day

PHUTT, PHUTT, PHUTT, PHUTT, PHUTT, . . . .  The quiet of a mid May morning is broken by the rhythmic beat of diesel engines firing into life as boats make their way down the river towards the Estuary.  After launching our patrol boat on the top of the tide just after daybreak, a little more than two hours earlier, we were moored up alongside the "Intakes" to Uskmouth Power Station, out of sight of boats coming downstream from the small boat moorings alongside Newport Docks.

Louder and louder, closer and closer.  The boats should soon be in sight, moving quickly with the Ebb Tide. Two Grey G.R.P.'s come into view, both have two men on board dressed in orange or yellow oilskins. They sit in the stern, hoods up and heads bowed against the wind as waves break against the bow sending spray into their faces.  At first our presence is missed, but an odd glance across the river brings pointed fingers and raised voices as one boat crew alerts the other.  Visibly they slow, just moving at the tides pace, hesitating, exchanging comments and glancing towards us.  They then power up and continue their way.

They pass the Docks Pierhead where all eight of the licensed boats are neatly moored, each with their bows facing upstream and their white identification numbers showing clearly against black backgrounds, U1 - U8, but not in any order, unable to go out as it's Saturday and the start of the weekly closed time.  The two  G.R.P.'s pass through the Buoyage into the Estuary, now just dark shapes ploughing through the steady swell whipped up by a stiff Westerly breeze, perfect fishing weather.

"Put the kettle on Taff,"  "Why me?"  "Cause your the Temp and Temps make coffee."  Every year two Temporary Bailiffs were employed to supplement the Full Time Staff.  We treated them as fellow officers, after all they performed the same duties as us most of the time, but being subordinates were expected to do as they were told, and were often the butt of practical jokes.  This particular lad by the name of Julian was one of the most laid back people you could meet.  He preferred to be called Joules or Taff.  He became affectionately known to us as "Taff the Crab".  This had no derogatory connection and came about following a prank which lasted for several months:

"Once you've done that go up to the front of the boat and hit the anchor rope with this truncheon."  "What do you want me to do that for?"  "Well it's like this, anyone who has spent time on a boat will tell you that if you are anchored up for a length of time, especially in shallow muddy water, crabs will climb up the rope and onto the deck, and we don't want crabs on here."  "Your joking!"  "No, it's a fact, it's your job from now on.  You'll have to do it at least once every two hours and we've been here almost two hours now."  So off went Taff, truncheon in hand, Bwang, Bwang, Bwang, that strange sound that's made by wood hitting taught rope.  "Is that enough?"  "Give it two more just in case."  Bwang Bwang. 

This went on for quite a while, but getting to know us better, Taff became more convinced we were putting him on.  He still did it, but only when pushed or ordered to.  The final twist came one hot afternoon, we had been anchored for some time waiting for the tide to rise enough for us to get back on the slipway.  "Hey, Joules, what do you think your playing at!"  "What's the matter Steve?"  "When did you last hit the anchor rope?"  "I er haven't,"  "Why not!"  "I thought you were pulling my leg."  "Well what do you think these bloody things are then?"  Steve was standing at the front of the boat, at his feet were three green and brown shore crabs.  "What, where the hell did they come from?"  stammered Taff,  "Up the rope, where do you think! and if you don't start hitting it we'll be crawling with them."  Bwang, Bwang, Bwang, Bwang, Taff started hitting the rope as if the devil himself was trying to climb up it.

It was no good, we could contain ourselves no longer, amid roars of laughter I told him the truth, the crabs had come aboard earlier that day inside an old sandwich box,  "You ******* *********, I thought you were kidding, but when I saw those little crawlers I thought I was in for a right rollicking."  If only we could have kept straight faces.

After finishing our coffee we cast off and headed for open water, no other boats had gone out, but several known faces had been seen on the Pierhead, obviously checking if we were about before setting off.  The two that had passed us earlier had now been out for close on an hour.  As we left the Buoyage at the river mouth we could see nothing but rolling waves, pushed up by the action of wind against tide.  Not a violently rough sea, but enough to pitch and toss us as we made our way downstream towards Cardiff.  Twenty minutes later and four miles from Newport the first boat is sighted, sitting low in the water and wallowing in the swell. 

"There they are, inshore about half a mile ahead."  "Can you see any net markers?"  Kelton, our Coxswain slows the engines and holds the boat as steady as he can while we scan with binoculars.  The last thing we want is to power through a net and tangle our 'props.  Its not easy to keep the glasses still as the deck bucks beneath our feet.  "Got it! it's running towards the shore, the marker is just to the right of the boat, in line with that light patch on the bank."  "Trust you to spot that Jenkins, you've got eyes like a shit house rat."

Knowing the location of the net we edge our way to within a hundred yards of the boat.  As we approach one of the two men, a well known character with his distinctive toothy grin and long dark sideburns, stands up and makes a gesture towards us.  "What's that?  Is he trying to tell us he's caught two?"  Keeping our position we sit and watch.  What will they do? 

Further downstream the second boat shows against the horizon.  A figure can be seen standing pulling in the net.  "Shall we go and have a look at them?"  Asks Kelton,  "No, it looks like most of the net is back on the boat already, we'll stick with these two."  Steve replies.

Both men are now sitting side by side at the front end, drinking from a flask and watching us as closely as we are watching them.  A check on the other boat shows that they are now reshooting their nets. 

An hour or more later it is approaching low water, we've kept our distance and drifted close to a mile further downstream, at last there is activity, both men are on their feet, one stands in the middle, by the engine, an oar in each hand, steadily rowing, not enough to make any headway but enough to stop the boat being pulled onto the net.  The other man has now moved to the back of the boat and is drawing in the net.  Hand over hand he pulls on the rope, yard by yard the net coils into the bottom of the boat.  Flatfish, small pouting and pieces of weed are all removed from the mesh and tossed back into the water only odd "Flatties" are retained, these sold around the local pubs are worth about three pounds per ton.  They'll have to catch a lot more just to pay for the diesel they've used.  Suddenly the man stops pulling and looks at us, then bending right over the side he lifts a large silver fish into the boat, sitting down he fumbles with the tangled strands.  Surprisingly quickly the fish is free, this guy's done this before, standing again he holds up a Salmon of around twelve pounds in weight, then, unceremoniously, hurls it back into the watery depths.  He grins and shouts "You happy now, its gone back."  We say nothing but inwardly smile, four more soon follow before all the net is in.  Each time it's clear to see the pain on this chaps face as he momentarily holds around thirty pounds in his hands, then throws it away.

On goes the rudder, Putt, Putt, the engine starts and away they go, back upstream towards Uskmouth, cold, wet and totally fed up.  To them over one hundred pounds lost, to us five more Salmon saved.  What price can be put on a wild creature allowed to swim free.

The second boat is also under power, returning towards us with the now flooding tide.  Kelton guns up the two fifty horse power outboard engines that power our vessel and we make headway back upstream to the calmer waters of the river mouth, knowing these boats will have to pass us to get to their moorings once more.  We arrive well ahead of both boats and enjoy the rest from the swaying and rocking of the past few hours.  Time for another coffee.  While we are still drinking the first boat comes around the bend at the mouth of the river.  Hovering in mid stream we wait as the boat comes closer and closer. 

A wave of the arm is enough to indicate we want them to come alongside.  Dutifully the boat slows and glides in along our port side.  "Hello Mr ------,"  No reply, just the usual grin.  "You know who we are.  We'd like to come onboard."  "OK, but just the one of you, there's not much room."  Steve climbs across.  "Caught much?"  "You should know, you've been sat on us all day!"  "So you've only got this couple of flatties, hardly worth going out for.  Mind if I check the rest of the boat?"  "No go ahead, you saw us throwing the others away."  In the front locker, under the nets, through the nets, Steve checks everywhere.  "OK your clean."  Names and addresses taken the boat is allowed to continue back to its mooring.

Within minutes the second boat is parallel with us, but still under full power, the two occupants looking straight ahead, paying no attention.  "Bailiffs, cut your engine and come alongside please."  No response.  We edge in closer.  "Will you come alongside please."  Still nothing, even closer we move.  "Cut your engine and come alongside!"  Shouting now to be heard above the throbbing engine.  "Why?  Who are you?"  "Fisheries Bailiffs and we want to talk to you."  "You can talk from there. You've no right to stop us your not the police."  It is now obvious that this pair aren't going to give in easily.  "We're Fisheries Bailiffs and have the power to stop and check any boat that has been fishing in our area."  A string of abusive complaints accusing us of being illegitimate little Hitlers who's uniforms have gone to our heads.  "I'm not going to ask you again, cut your engine and come alongside.  If you don't we'll report you for obstructing an Officer in the course of his duty and if necessary we'll arrest you and sort it out at the police station." 

All the time our boat is closing on their's and we are now towering over them.  Not intending to intimidate them, but just making a point.  Reluctantly they slow down and we quickly put boat hooks across and pull them alongside.  Equally as quickly Steve is onboard, no more polite requests.  "Right, lets get things straight from the start, here's my Warrant."  He holds it between thumb and forefinger, about a foot in front of the one man's eyes.  "When we tell you to stop you stop!"  "OK, OK, now your here what do you want.  "All we want to do is check your catch and find out who you are."  "I'm telling you bugger all."  says the man at the back of the boat.  Steve spins around,  "Let's not start all that again, you can either tell us here or at a police station, I don't mind which."  Finally, after an extra thorough search and having taken their particulars we push our boats apart and turn away.  We never expected to find any Salmon onboard, but if we didn't check you can be sure someone would try to smuggle some in.  On more than one occasion bags have been slipped over the side as our boat approaches.

So ends another patrol, this time it's Bailiffs two, Poachers nil, but even as we are towing our boat back to the boathouse another pair of fishermen are making their way against the incoming tide, down the river and out into the Estuary.  These will fish the high water, drifting upstream above Goldcliff and on up to Magor.  This time they have free passage, they know we can't be out twenty four hours a day.

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5 - Discarded Gifts

It soon became clear to us that the problem was even worse than we had first believed.  Day after day our boat was launched, trying to keep as many illegal boats as possible taking Salmon.  We never stopped anyone from going fishing, but made sure that no Salmon were brought back.  Gradually the less persistent offender got fed up with going out for between six and eight hours and coming back with nothing to show for their toils.

Knowing we could not be there twenty four hours a day we tried to maximize our effect, launching a short time before boats were expected to return from fishing we would wait for their return.  Our slipway at Uskmouth Power Station is just upstream from the entrance to Newport Docks, the river bends sharply to the left before broadening out to join the shallow expanse of the Severn Estuary, or is it the Bristol Channel? I'm never sure.

By mooring up alongside the dredger that keeps the power stations' water intakes clear our presence is undetectable by boats coming up the river, that is until the last minute. 

Once the throb of their engines is heard a quick move into the main flow of the river sends a panic alarm to the incoming craft.  Suddenly they know they are going to be stopped, they know we will search their boat, there's nowhere to hide anything so, over the side goes their catch.  That "easy money" gone! Hours of rowing, and of pulling in the nets. Wet, tired, and all for nothing.  Frustrated, demoralized and angry they come alongside, trying not to let their feelings show.  Smiling and chatting as we check them over, but all the time their eyes cannot lie, we've hurt them, taken money out of their pockets and wasted their time.

We're pleased with the result, but know we haven't really won.  The Salmon they throw overboard are dead, another loss to the stocks, no one profits from this type of attrition, except on odd occasions our local Cheshire Home.  How could they benefit from our actions?  Simple, once a dead Salmon has been discarded back into the water it sinks, if this is done in the main flow then they are gone forever, but, on several occasions fish were dumped as the tide was going out, this together with the fact that the boat was, at the time, in shallow water on the inside of the bend, which has the slowest flow, meant that we were able to recover them from the mud, once the water had receded.  Not regular occurrences, but one's that gave us great pleasure, not to mention a few laughs.

Estuary mud is a peculiar and often dangerous environment, in one place it can be thick and firm, while a few feet away it's thin and watery, changing with each tide in perpetual motion.  The heavy solids no sooner settling before they are churned back into liquid ooze.  Walking on this type of foreshore takes a great deal of care and awareness.  It also helps to be tall and slim, this was dramatically demonstrated one early summer morning when, after seeing objects dumped from an incoming boat we made a search of the foreshore.  As our boat drifted with the ebbing tide we scanned the waters edge, at first nothing showed, then a gathering of gulls pinpointed a slender silver shape lying half covered by water.  As the receding water revealed more it was clear to see that it was a Salmon.  Minutes later a second appeared.  Steve and Simon volunteered to go ashore to recover them.

Dressed in waterproof trousers and waders they climbed over the sea wall and out onto the mud.  At first the going was quite easy, the inner bank, only covered by water on really high spring tides, being made up of heavy solid layers covered with clumps of marsh grass and semi aquatic weed forming a green carpet, which hides the dark clogging sediment.  Further out the wet sticky expanse of mid shore proved too much for Simon, being of large build and with relatively short legs, he struggled to make any progress.  First one leg then the other sank into the glue like ground trapping him like a wasp in jam.  The more he pulled on one leg the deeper the other sank.

Firmly stuck Simon called to Steve, who was by now at the waters edge.  With his light frame and longer legs Steve had skipped across the mud without a pause.  After collecting four large Salmon Steve stopped to assist poor Simon back to the foreshore, like Doctor Foster, Simon "Never went there again!"

Unfortunately, the gulls had given these fish a good pecking, making them fit for nothing but the incinerator at the local refuse dump.  Sadly this was to be the fate of more Salmon than I care to remember. Not only Salmon found abandoned but also those recovered from  numerous cases, both of "poaching" and "handling".  Being kept frozen for months, awaiting the subsequent court cases, rendered the flesh unfit for human consumption.

Amongst those Salmon that did end up as charitable gifts were some found in a sack tied to one of the navigation buoys.  They were left there as a result of poachers being tipped off of our presence.  A number of boats were returning from fishing whilst we were in the process of launching our Patrol Boat, and a small speed boat was buzzing up and down the river.  While the others were busy at the slipway I moved to a position where I could see out into the Estuary. 

Three fishing boats were on their way through the Buoyage the small speed boat came downstream towards them.  As I peered over the sea wall I saw it stopping alongside the first boat, it then carried on out, passing the second boat it continued towards the third boat, it circled this boat and I clearly saw the young man onboard pointing back upstream.  The third fishing boat turned around and headed back out to sea.  Having moved my position again I was just in time to see the boat moving away from one of the buoys and resume its original passage back upstream.

What had he been up to I wondered?  I had a good idea, I radioed our boat, which was just about on the water.  Five minutes later around the corner it came,  "Which Buoy?" a voice on my radio asked.  "Number Four, the red one," I answered.  After going to the appointed buoy the voice on the radio announced "Guess what we've found?"  "I don't know, surprise me."  "Someone left us a present, four fresh Salmon!"  It doesn't take a genius to work out where they came from, but with the absence of any irrefutable evidence we could not prove it, despite the fact that a couple of hours later the same boat came down the river, rounded the same buoy and then returned back up stream.  Purely circumstantial as any Magistrate will tell you.

Faced with loosing their catch on the last leg home many of our clients began to loose heart and would only go out for short times, waiting till the water was too low for us to launch on the ebbing tide, then returning with the first flush of the incoming tide before there was water on our slipway.  This meant they were restricted to fishing for no more then four or five hours on low water.  Not all were this cautious, some carried on regardless, banking on winning more times than they lost.  With two tides a day the odds were in their favour, even so, slowly but surely we were wearing them down.

We were also wearing ourselves down.  Long tours of duty afloat took a lot of patience, both in passing the time and putting up with each other.  It's not easy for a group of men to get on with each other all of the time, especially when confined to a few feet of deck, it's tedious and boring waiting for something to happen, especially when you know there is absolutely no way that you are going to catch the offenders with evidence onboard, the best you can hope for is to stop them going out. 

Some would argue that prevention is better than prosecution, which both saves Salmon and causes hardship to the perpetrator.  Conversely you can only prevent for the time you are there, also prevention is costly.  Five men for an average of ten hours per day, plus fuel, not a lot of change from several hundred pounds.  This done three and four days a week would take the bill well in excess of a thousand pounds a week.  Cost should not be an issue in the preservation of a species I only mention it to make the point that our efforts have not come cheaply.

Prosecutions are also costly, but in most cases have a more dramatic effect on those involved.  Few like the thought of being convicted and having a record, though some accept it as an occupational hazard, but even these find the seizure of their boats and vehicles a hard pill to swallow, as it deprives them of their use for at least several months and in some cases a lot longer.

Even so there were those who still continued to poach Salmon every chance they had, being unemployed and with nothing better to do gave them as much time as they needed.  They would come and see if our boat was about, if it was then they would go away and wait for the next tide, again a quick check to make sure we had gone, then out they'd go.  We would vary our launch times as much as possible and try to catch them out, which would either mean more lost Salmon or they would come down the river see us and do a "u" turn and go back to their moorings and wait for us to go away.  Several of those we did catch were back on the water within days in other boats.  The depletion in active fishermen meant that there were any number of boats lying idle.  Whether those men from whom we had seized boats borrowed, rented or just used these alternative craft we never knew, although a few of the fishermen claimed that the boats were not theirs with no requirement to register boats it was hard to know who owned what.  Thankfully it made no difference to us as the law allows us to seize vessels or vehicles used in connection with an offence, irrespective of who owned it.

During that first two seasons we only actually prosecuted six people for poaching in the Estuary and seized two boats, two cars and a Bedford Pickup.  A third boat was too big to be removed from the water, although the owner was told that if he sold it the proceeds were liable for forfeiture.  However, the overall effect on the poaching community was to reduce it to around twelve boats manned by thirty individuals.  Further pressure eventually depleted this number still further.

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6 - First Locate Your Target

Now that the number had been reduced to, dare I say it "a manageable level" our priorities changed.  The National Rivers Authority was in the process of promoting new Bye Laws, the Salmon Act of 1986 made it possible to make laws governing Sea Fisheries in order to protect Salmon, as the National Rivers Authority were in fact The Sea Fisheries Committee for the area from Cardiff to the Severn Bridge they could propose the new laws.  The South Wales Sea Fisheries Committee, who had control of the coast west of Cardiff, were encouraged to adopt similar measures. 

Without going into too much detail the idea behind the Bye Laws was to remove the right to use a drift net to catch sea fish, ie. Bass, Mullet, Cod Flatfish etc.  It was our belief that the people using these nets, especially in our area, were primarily after Salmon and were using the right to fish for sea fish as an excuse.  In order to enforce these laws we had to prove that Salmon were the main target.  I've very much over simplified the issue, there were many other considerations, but for our part people illegally drift netting for Salmon was our main concern.

We began gathering our evidence by recording the catches of every boat out fishing, with the exception of the odd Bass and a few Sole, these fishermen were spending hours in all sorts of weather for virtually nothing.

Without knowing it they were giving us just the sort of information we needed, although the fact that not many sea fish were being caught was not proof that Salmon were.  To prove this we would have to catch people with Salmon in their possession. 

Once again the 1986 Salmon Act helped us.  It introduced a new offence of "handling Salmon in suspicious circumstances."  Which meant that if we caught someone with Salmon the onus was now on them to satisfy us that they had been legally caught.  It also had the opposite effect, that if we failed to prove who had caught them then the person in possession of them would have to come up with some good answers.  Obviously the handling charge is a lesser offence and our prime objective was to obtain enough evidence in order to prosecute for illegally taking Salmon.

To do this we changed our approach, we kept up our routine patrols but mounted surveillance operations to find out what happened when the illegal netsmen thought we were not about.  Fortunately for us the majority of our fishermen moored their boats along a relatively short stretch of river at Newport Docks.  This enabled us to watch them returning to their moorings and unloading their catch.

It quickly became clear that once back on dry land our adversaries became less cautious and would quite openly carry sacks from their boats, what was in these sacks?  We knew that very few sea fish were being caught, the nets used were left in the boats, there could only be one answer, Salmon!  As we watched crouched in brambles and Blackthorn bushes, which line the river bank opposite the moorings, boat after boat would come in.  The same procedure would take place.  One man would get off the boat, have a quick look around then off would come the sack, or even sacks.  Coal sacks were the norm but Post Office sacks were also used.  You can get a lot of fish into one of these.  Once on shore the sacks would be put into a vehicle and away it would go.

As with any port Newport Docks has controlled entries and exits, this provided us with a means of stopping vehicles as they were leaving.  Our first few cases came from doing just this, although it was not as easy as it first appeared.

We decided that for our first case we would try to make an impact, not only on the fishing community but on our superiors.  We let it be known that we were going to target a certain boat, which was one of the largest being used.  We knew that it was going out on a regular basis and using easily a thousand yards of net.  If this boat was not catching Salmon then no one was.  Our Fisheries Officer declared that if we pulled it off and were able to make a prosecution then he would buy us a bottle of Scotch.  Whether he foolishly thought we would not achieve our goal or it was done as an added incentive, or just an unofficial reward I do not know, anyway he had to cough up, which he did, more than willingly.

For several days we did nothing but watch, logging every movement, getting to know their routine, making sure we were prepared for every eventuality, planning each step.  We had to get it right, we had only one chance.  Blow it and they would be wise to us.

Finally we were ready.  Bailiffs from another area were brought in to help.  The plan was to watch our targets from the time they set sail to the time they returned, never letting them out of our sight.  We split into groups to cover the whole of the area in which they would be fishing.  Our first group were hidden in the undergrowth opposite where the boat was tied up.  Armed with a video camera they were to wait and record the boat leaving. 

Bang on queue the two men arrived in their vehicles,  which had both been seen before and been checked out.  One was a large Transit the other an open backed Pick-up, the latter owned by a local fishmonger.  Once on board they quickly cast off and headed towards the Estuary.  As the boat passed by each group kept it in sight until the next group took over.  Out into the Channel then downstream with the outgoing tide.

As we watched the boat slowed to a stop, a figure could be seen on the stern;  into the water went the net, all we needed then was for them to catch Salmon.  Typically for late June, down came the rain, not just the odd shower but torrential soaking rain.  There's no cover along the Foreshore so we just had to get wet and put up with it.  It was 9.30 am, low water was not until 2.00 pm, the boat would not return until about an hour and a half after this so we had at least six hours to wait and watch.

As the boat slowly drifted downstream we continually moved with it keeping as close an eye on it as possible.  On and on it went drifting further and further down towards Cardiff.  By the time low water came the boat was within a mile of Cardiff Foreshore.

For some reason the boats who fished out of Newport never went any further, and the odd boats which fished from Cardiff never came upstream, whether this was just coincidence or by some agreement we will never know, but that was the way it was.

Anyway, at low water our target started to pull in his net for the second time.  The first time had been two hours earlier during a particularly heavy shower of rain, making it difficult to tell if anything had been caught or not.  This second time however, visibility was quite clear.  During the fifty minutes it took to pull in the net at least two large fish were caught.  This was what we had been waiting for, we now had reason to stop and search these fishermen, believing they could be in possession of illegally caught Salmon.  Radio and telephone calls were made and part two of our plan put into action. 

We had decided to involve the Police as we intended to stop the vehicles just after they had driven out of the dock gates.  They, together with a number of Bailiffs, would move into positions close enough to move to their final positions once the boat was back at its mooring.  We continued to keep a close watch on the boat as it headed back upstream, making sure it made no contact with any other boat.  The last thing we wanted was for them to be able to say that they had got the Salmon from someone else, especially not a licensed fisherman.

This had happened at least once before.  A conviction was lost because a license holders Endorsee had been prepared to say, in court, that he had given the Salmon to an unlicensed fisherman.  We were unable to prove to the courts that he had not.  Today we were determined not to let our target out of our sight.

Without stopping the boat returned to the river and proceeded upstream to its mooring.  We were by this time back in our hideout ready to video whatever took place.  As expected they went through their usual routines, tie up the boat, then tidy up around the deck.  Off the boat and into a small tender and across to the shore.  Up to their vehicles, taking with them a fish tray and a sack.  Frantic radio messages were then exchanged as the excitement and anticipation mounted.  Everyone was in position.  At their vehicles the "Fish" were put into the back of the Pickup, which had a tarpaulin cover.  The driver got into the cab, the other man stood by the door.  They talked for what seemed ages then they parted.  The Pickup pulled away, again messages were passed, "He's coming out, He's in the Pickup."  "OK, we're ready."  "Yes he's heading for the gate."

 

Outside the gate our Head Bailiff and the Police were waiting.  They see the Pickup approach.  The Policeman stands in the road, hand raised, signalling the vehicle to stop, closer and closer the pick up comes - around the Police and on up the road -  "He's done a runner!" the radio blasts.  "He's coming your way!"  Police and Bailiffs all head for their vehicles.  "Which way has he gone?"  "He's heading for the other entrance!"  "OK, We're there"  ------  "We've got him!" 

With one vehicle parked across the entrance and two more chasing up behind him he had no alternative but to stop.  Our Warrants are shown, even though he knows exactly who we were.  Lifting the tarpaulin cover all that could be seen was a tray of flatfish;  heart' sunk, only to rise again as the sack was found behind some boxes - five Salmon, fresh and shining.  We had a case!.

The vehicle was seized along with the Salmon.  The Police were happy too they had a motoring offence as well.  The man was then taken away.  We still had work to do, the other man had disappeared, driven off in his Transit.  Back in the Docks we regroup.  The boat was too big to seize and remove from the water so we launched our boat.  We came alongside and removed the nets.  We didn't like loosing the other man but as we knew his name and address we were not too put out.  A later visit to his home allowed us to issue receipts for the seized net and to report him for the offences.

Several months later both men appeared in court.  Both pleaded guilty to the offence of Illegally Taking Salmon and were fined accordingly.  We had won our first case, it cost those two men several hundred pounds each and our Fisheries Officer that promised bottle of Scotch, as a consequence of this case the Fishmonger was never seen fishing again, the other man is still involved with fishing, but confines himself to taking out Rod Fishing Trips.

Having witnessed a vehicle deliberately being driven through a Police Road Block confirmed our belief, that these people when faced with apprehension, would go to extreme lengths to evade arrest.  We would have to be more careful next time.  To try to prevent people just driving away the vehicles would be approached while stopped at the barrier on the exit from the Docks.  Bailiffs would wait in the Gatehouse until the target vehicle approached.  An unmanned vehicle would be positioned inside the Docks ready to drive up behind it, thus trapping the offenders.  Well that was the theory, in reality we again underestimated their desperation.

We again targeted a single boat and went through the process of watching and waiting for the "Fish" to be in the vehicle - a Datsun Saloon - this time.  I was in the Gatehouse with one of my colleagues, three other Bailiffs were in a Sherpa van parked inside the Docks.  As the car came towards the gate the Security Guard was asked to drop the barrier and stop the vehicle.

Unfortunately, the car we wanted was in a line of traffic.  A lorry in front of it and two other cars behind, Our Sherpa was behind them.  The whole queue came to a stop and, thinking we had them cornered, I approached the Datsun.  Before I could get to it the driver recognizing me swung the car out of the queue and straight at me - moving out of the way - I could see the panic on their faces, the car went to go through the entry gate, but this was also shut.  As it came to a stop I opened the drivers door and shouted "Bailiffs -" before I could finish the car shot into reverse and went backwards with me hanging onto the door and steering wheel.  Somehow I managed to rip the keys out of the ignition and the car stopped just short of our vehicle which had moved to block the road.  The men succumbed to arrest and a search of the cars' boot revealed the expected sack of Salmon, another success, but one which could have gone drastically wrong, I was lucky to have avoided injury, it could have so easily gone the other way.

Ian, who joined us in early 1990 was equally lucky.  I had positioned a hire car across a private road in the early hours of the morning, he got out of the passengers door as the vehicle, a Bedford Transit, approached us.  He stood in the middle of the road with a high powered torch.  The vehicle momentarily stopped then accelerated towards him.  Being young and quite nimble he just managed to avoid being flattened.  The van caught him a glancing blow, knocking him to the floor but not causing any serious injury.  The van then rammed our car off the road, causing several hundred pounds worth of damage.

We eventually caught up with, and successfully prosecuted the men involved.  The driver received a fine of fifty pounds for driving at and knocking down a Bailiff, which naturally makes one wonder if it's worth taking too many chances trying to catch offenders.

Never the less we still do everything possible to secure an arrest.  I should point out that these incidents were by far in the minority and that no one ever evaded us by these actions, if anything they helped to strengthen our case.  Innocent people do not react with violence.

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7 - Capture & Custody

Lying prone on damp grass dotted with thistles and nettles, binoculars pressed against eyes we scan the coast looking for activity.  A steady breeze from the south has whipped up a moderate swell with white crests, on the horizon upstream three dark shapes appear then disappear.  Moving along the rough track that runs along the inland side of the sea wall we drive towards them.

Ten minutes and a mile later we crawl back up the grass bank and peer across the dark water.  Three boats are still some way upstream but can now be seen clearly.  As they pitch and roll in the turbulent water it is difficult to keep them in view. 

Two are definitely Licensed Salmon fishermen, their I.D. numbers show up clearly as the boats turn side on to us.  The third is now virtually in line with us, having drifted steadily downstream with the ebbing tide, its stern facing us, no identification can be made.  As it passes one of the two men on board is sitting facing the shore, he drinks from a cup, his face can now be seen, "Looks like ----."  "I'm not sure, I can't quite see enough."  The boat continues downstream, now the port side can be seen.  "It's a Bandit, there's no license number."  "Has he got much net out?"  "Not sure I can't see his net marker in this swell."  "OK, lets move back downstream and wait for them to pull it in."

We move along the track to where we were at first.  Typical for an English June dark clouds had gathered and a light drizzle had started.  The sea wall is quite steep along this stretch of coast with a flat summit devoid of vegetation making it essential to keep low to avoid being spotted from the sea.  For most of the coast the track we had just travelled was the only access to the flood bank, however a short distance from where we were a Pipe Line from Llanwern Steel Works empties into the Estuary.  An equally rough track runs alongside and up to a Valve House on top of the bank.  A second track runs parallel to the sea wall and joins the Pipe Line track by going over a steep hump.

Flat out on our stomachs, propped up on elbows we watch as the boat drifts closer, the drizzle continues to fall, not heavy, but enough to dampen clothes and make binoculars steam over, making vision blur.  The boat is close in shore a few hundred yards away.  Both men were now standing up.  Dressed in yellow waterproofs with hoods up against the weather it was impossible to tell who they were.  One was standing in the bow, or front half of the boat, an oar in each hand controlling the craft while the other stood in the stern pulling in the net.  The tide was now ebbing fast against the prevailing wind, which was pushing up a fair swell.

Keeping the boat facing into the tide and pulling on the oars helps the man on the net by stopping the boat riding over the net before he can get in onboard.  The drawback is that as the boat rises and falls over each swell water is sent crashing into the netsman.  Slowly yard by yard the nets were retrieved, flat fish, weed and other debris, nothing much being caught.

For twenty minutes or more we watch, then bending low to the water the netsman reaches out with his right hand then straightens up.  Still in the net, but firmly held by the tail he lifts a dark slender fish, still bucking and wriggling.  Turning and laying it on top of the pile of net already in the boat the bright silver flanks flash and sparkle.  Looking at each other both Ian and I smile.  "That's one he's got."  "Yes, it looked like a ten pound fish."  "Try the radio, see if you can get Mark and Steve, let them know we've got action."  Ian made the call as I watched the rest of the net come on board.  The boat had now drifted downstream below us and was a good distance out from the shore.  "Steve said he's at Goldcliff, they're going to wait for these to go past."  There's still a few yards of net left in the water, its taken nearly forty five minutes to pull in.

Finally the black net marker is lifted into the boat.  The man controlling the oars sits down and lays them down, the netsman puts the rudder back into position while the oarsman starts the engine.  Swinging the boat around they start to head down stream back towards Newport.  Ian and I were just about to move away when we noticed that instead of heading straight towards Goldcliff in the distance they were moving diagonally in shore.  "They're heading for the Outfall Pipe."  Ian whispered, it's funny but even though there is no chance of being heard we all whisper when the action starts.  "Damn!  I hope they haven't got someone waiting at the Valve House, they're bound to have seen us up and down this track."  "I'll give Steve a call and get him to come this way, we'll just have to hope that he doesn't pass anyone on the way here."

Checking the area around the Valve House nothing can be seen, no movement, no vehicle, nothing.  "If someone is going to meet them they should be here by now; they wouldn't be able to wait for long with the tide going out this quick."  "Perhaps one of them is going to get off and wait."  Our minds were running wild, thinking of all the possibilities, trying to second guess what was going to happen, trying to make sure we were prepared for every eventuality.

All the time the boat was moving closer and closer in shore.  It was now no more than twenty yards out and must have been in very shallow water, turning the bows back into the tide it hovered, neither moving forward or backwards.  One of the men was back on his feet bending over in the front half of the boat.  Standing up he lifted an anchor over the side and dropped it with a splash into the water.  "They're anchoring up."  "No look!"  A length of rope followed by a dark sack went over the side.  Turning again the boat headed back out from the shore and with engine throbbing and helped by the speed of the tide it was soon a mere dot in the distance. 

By this time Steve and Mark were quite close, their last message said that they were heading for the nearby village of Redwick and would wait for further instructions.  Time after time we called on the radio, no response.  I'm sure radio's are sensitive to human emotions, they often refuse to work when you need them most, or at least it seems that way.  With no communications Ian went to find them.  Being in a hired van he would not be recognised as a Bailiff.

Half an hour later the tide had gone out beyond where the sack had been dropped, still no one could be seen in the area.  Steve arrived to join me.  A plan had been hatched, Ian and Mark had taken the hire van and were going along the second track that would lead to the track alongside the Outfall Pipe.  They would then drive along the inside of the sea wall and watch the area from the opposite direction.  Once they were in position and could see where the sack was Steve and myself would move to the Pipe Line track and hide up as best we could.  We had to take the chance that if someone came they would come along the second track and turn left to the sea wall.  We hoped they would not come along the Pipe Line track as it was much further and rougher.

Within fifteen minutes we were all in position and no one had been seen anywhere near.  Again the mind started working overtime.  Had we been seen?  Had someone been waiting to pick up the sack as soon as the water had gone off it?  Were there any Salmon in the sack?  Or, was it a plant to get us going?  Only time would tell.

Because we had been unable to make a positive identification of the two men on the boat there was no way we would be able to prove who had caught the Salmon we hoped were in the sack.  By waiting and watching we at least had a chance of catching whoever come to collect it.  Within a few minutes of us getting settled a car came along the track.  Sitting in our van which was tucked in the brambles that lined the Pipe Line track, we waited, the car was coming towards us along the second track, as it went over the hump over the pipe it paused momentarily before turning right along the Pipe Line straight past us.  Thinking that we had been blown our hearts sank, but as it passed only one person could be seen, an elderly gentleman who neither of us recognised.  He drove on up the track then got out and went into a field and started calling to his stock.  Obviously the local farmer, thank goodness.

For close on an hour we waited.  We could see the hire van parked a short distance along the Sea Wall track to our right, but could see neither Ian or Mark, hopefully they had found a good vantage point.  The lack of activity and no contact with them reassured us that the sack was still there.  Would someone come for it and if so when?  The tide would not rise over that area of shore for at least another seven hours, it was nearly five thirty in the evening, which meant it could stay there until almost midnight.  Perhaps the cover of darkness would bring the pick up.

Even as thoughts of a long wait clouded the mind another car bumped and rattled its way along the rough pot hole strung track, up onto the hump, again a slight pause, but this time it turned left and up to the Valve House.  A blue Morris Ital with a black vinyl roof, not a vehicle known to us.  At the Valve House which is on top of the sea wall it stopped facing out to sea.  Two people could be seen sitting in the front seats.  First the driver got out and went to the rear of the car.  Opening the boot he took out a pair of waterproof trousers and wellies, putting them on he then walked to the passenger side.  The door opened and the second man got out.  I still could not see their faces properly.  Both stood for a moment looking out across what by now would be mud flats and the channel made by the outfall.  The man now wearing the waterproof's disappeared over the bank and out of sight, the other perched himself on the front wing of the car.  Several minutes passed without movement, then the man on the car got up and walked forward.  We could hear him shouting but could not make out his words.  He pointed to his right put his hands on his hips then disappeared after his companion.  Taking the opportunity of both men being out of sight we quickly moved our position, driving down the track over the hump and a short way along the other track.  Reversing into a gateway we stopped and waited for what felt like an hour, but in reality was only a few minutes, nothing happened, the flush of anticipation slowly built up, palms began to sweat, hearts began to pound.  "Come on, what's happening?"  A rhetorical question, just to break the tension.

From where we were we could see nothing of what was happening.  Then, back over the hump came the Ital.  As it came close Steve pulled out into its path.  Before they had time to stop we were out and moving toward them.  Before they had time to think Mark and Ian in a cloud of dust and flying gravel were screeching to a halt behind them.  Stunned and dumbfounded the pair just sat there staring out of the windscreen.  They obviously recognised us and we certainly knew them.  Holding my warrant against the side window I asked them to get out.  "What do you want?"  the passenger asked.  "We want to have a look in the boot.  "You must be looking for the Salmon we just found."  "Cut the chat and just open the boot."  Mark and Ian were already standing at the back of the car.  Up popped the boot lid.  "It wasn't locked!"  The two men just stood there saying nothing but looking totally fed up.  "Open up the sack,"  Steve told Mark.  Undoing the rope that was tightly tied around the top of the sack took a moment or two.  The thought went through our minds if the sack was still tied how did they know it contained Salmon?  Once open the contents were, as we suspected, Salmon.  Seven fresh Salmon.  After giving the obligatory caution and telling them that the Salmon and the car were being seized we took them to the nearest police station.

On arriving we were told that the Custody Unit was not open so we then had to take our prisoners on to the Central Police Station in Newport.  They in turn told us their cells were full and they had no facility to hold our prisoners until we could interview them.  It was the time of the Prison Officers work to rule, all the main police stations were housing Remand Prisoners.  The Custody Sergeant was his usual helpful self, we've built up quite a good rapport over the years.  He spoke to the Duty Inspector who in turn phoned the station we had originally gone to and told the Officer in Charge that their Custody Unit would have to be opened, not only for us but to detain any other prisoners that may be taken in.

By the time we got back to the first station they already had two customers who were being booked in by C.I.D. officers.  We sat down and waited our turn.  The Custody Officer was having quite a time trying to get things sorted out.  One of the prisoners stood silent while the other ranted and raved about how the police had no right to arrest them and how they had done nothing wrong.  Eventually after taking all the relevant particulars and informing them of their rights the two were put into separate cells.

That was when the fun began.  The smaller of the two men, or to be more accurate, youths, who had been the most vociferous at the desk began to shout and bawl.  The poor Custody Officer could hardly hear himself think, let alone book our prisoners in.  Finally all the paperwork was done and true to form, both refused to be interviewed without legal representation.  This is their right, the only problem was that we would have to wait for solicitors to arrive at the station and our prisoners would have to be put into cells.  With only eight cells at this station they were quickly becoming full.  Our two caused no problem, but the young chap with the big mouth was really kicking up a din, screaming abuse and banging the steel door of the cell.

Time after time the police officers tried to calm him down, without success.  He began to complain that he was claustrophobic and could not breath and had to be let out.  The Custody Officer was at his wits end, he could not let him out, but could not put up with much more.  Reluctantly he agreed to leave the flap on the door open.  His only mistake.  No sooner had he done this than chummy had his head through it and was shouting louder than ever.  "Now cut it out, pull your head back in and sit down quietly, there's a good lad."  The officer pleaded.  "I bloody can't, it's stuck!"  "Don't mess about you've been enough of a nuisance already!"  "I'm not it's bloody stuck!"  Judging by his height and the position of the flap he must have been on tip toe, poor lad, serves him right.  Not wishing to appear callous we struggled to contain our mirth, as did the police officers, it was just like a theatrical farce. 

A short time later the solution arrived, the Fire Brigade!  We expected to see them bring in some fancy cutting equipment to free him, but we were wrong.  After looking at the situation one of the firemen returned with a pint milk bottle full of a green/blue liquid.  "Right keep your eyes shut and your mouth closed,"  he ordered.  Over the lad's head went the whole pint.  "What you B******** doing!" the lad spluttered, "Just shut up and relax."  He was told.  With a twist and a quick push his head disappeared back inside the cell.  With a thud on the floor the youth again began to swear and shout.  "You stupid sods, you've ripped my ears off!"  Of course nothing of the sort had happened, entering the cell the police officer checked him over.  Noticing bruising on the lads arms, obviously caused by his earlier pounding on the door, the officer sent him for x rays at the local hospital.  At last the station became quiet and orderly.

The solicitors arrived and we conducted our interviews, neither man would make any comment other than to say that they had found the sack of Salmon and had done nothing wrong.  Not satisfied by this we reported them for process and released them.  Bailiffs do not charge suspects, we report the facts and our Legal Department does the rest.  All that was left for us to do was compile an Offence Report and sent it in.  That's the theory, in reality we progress the case right through to the court hearing, be it Magistrates or Crown Court.

With the knowledge we had we were quietly confident that we would get a conviction of Handling Salmon In Suspicious Circumstances.  If only we could have identified the men on the boat as the same men who picked the Salmon up.  We were sure they were the same, but unfortunately the courts require proof.  It would have been so easy to say that we could identify them, but that would not be the truth, and it's the truth that must be told.

Being caught and having your car taken away would put most people off, but not this pair.  Within a fortnight they were back at it.  Not as frequent, but never the less they had not been deterred.  One had even started going out on his own, not a clever thing to do, but he had done it in the past and was very proficient at controlling the boat and using the net at the same time.  The only thing that restricted him was the weather, it had to be relatively calm, even he could not cope with rough conditions on his own.  Just over two months later we caught him again, this time there was no question of identification.  It was a bright calm summers evening in August, the air was still and clammy.  Being a Sunday the licensed Salmon boats were all tied up on their moorings (it's a condition of the license that they do not fish on weekends, a small concession to conservation).

Arriving at the coast at around six in the evening a single boat could be seen powering upstream with the incoming tide.  Goldcliff is a favourite look out point for us, it has both easy access and offers a good view of a large part of our area.  As the boat approached it was not difficult to see clearly the one man onboard.  He sat at the rear of the boat leaning on the tiller as he steered around the end of the downstream Putcher Rank.  Wearing waterproof trousers, dark shirt and a baseball cap the man was easily identifiable to us all.  Steve, Mark and myself had known him for some years, having stopped and checked him on numerous occasions, not to mention catching him once already this year.  Ian, our regular summer temp. for the past two years had also seen this guy on a number of occasions.  Kevin our new temp. had only been with us for three weeks and knew very few of those we were likely to come across.

In the distance another craft was making its way out of the River Usk and into the Estuary, once out of the Buoyage the boat slowed and a net could be seen going out into the water.  Steve and Ian left to get closer and watch them fishing.  Our man was now upstream and had began to pay out his net.  For three hours he fished, drifting along way upstream with the rising tide, then back down as the water fell.  We followed his progress up along the coast.  Only when he was virtually back to where he had started did he pull the net back in.  Working alone he was obviously minimizing his effort, it's not easy work handling six to eight hundred yards of net.  The light was starting to go and we could not tell if he was catching fish or not.  Once all the net was back in the boat he started up the engine and away he went back towards Newport.

Meeting up with Steve and Ian we exchanged reports of what we had seen.  They had not seen any Salmon caught either.  We decided that we would wait for our man to return to his mooring.  Unlike the majority of fishermen his landing place was outside the docks, about half a mile further upstream, beyond the Transporter Bridge.  This, hopefully, would allow us to get fairly close without being seen, it would also be dark before he got back.  His boat was moving quite quickly, with the tide behind it, but once back in the river progress would be much slower, pushing upstream against the ebbing water would take time.

Steve and Ian would follow the boat as it returned, keeping it in sight as much as possible, just in case he made a drop off.  Mark, Kevin and myself took the hire car and drove to the area close to where he was expected to land.  You may have noticed that we always had a hire vehicle on hand, this was true, an extra expense but one that was vital to our operations.  Issued vans are obvious, and easily spotted, especially when you are in the same area day after day.  By hiring cars and vans we were able to change them every week or so enabling us to move around without causing too much suspicion.  Once seen in a particular vehicle we would take it back and book out something completely different.

Parking at the bottom of a dead end road we were only a short distance from the river bank.  The road ended at a patch of wasteland which was being developed as part of a new ring road,  heavy barriers would stop any vehicle trying to go that way.  The only way out was past us.  Surprisingly we had good communications, Steve had reported that the target was now in the river and making his way up towards us.

Checking the area no vehicle could be found.  Between the road and the river was a scrap yard and a small row of industrial units, the entrance to these was blocked by a steel gate, which was locked.  Inside the compound a number of vehicles were parked, none of which I recognised.  If the chap we were waiting for had a car then it must be in there, which meant he would have to open the gates, drive out, then close them behind him. 

By now Steve had moved to a position from which he could observe the mooring and inform us when to expect the man to appear.  We did not want to move too quickly in case he got wind of us and would be able to return to the water and dispose of anything he might have.  We moved our car around a corner to keep it out of sight.  The anticipation was starting to build.  Mark and I sat quietly, only speaking to acknowledge messages from Steve and Ian.  Kevin had not been in this sort of situation before, he fidgeted about asking an endless stream of questions, What's going to happen now?  Are you going to arrest him?  What if he tries to get away? etc. etc.  We tried to answer as much as possible, but finally told him to shut up and just do whatever we told him.

"He's just reached his mooring and is tying up,"  Our radio crackled.  "Roger!"  Mark replied.  A long pause followed,  "He's going up the walkway!"  then,  "He's got a sack!"  followed by  "He's going into the compound!  . . . . .  Out of sight!"  Getting out of the car I asked Mark to start the engine and wait while I looked around the corner, once the car was out of the compound I'd signal for him to drive around and block the road.  In the darkness a small light shone from inside a car boot, a tall dark figure could just be seen moving around.  Out went the light as the boot closed, on came the interior light then off again.  The engine fired into life and on came the side lights.  Without putting on the headlights the car moved toward the gate, stopped, out got the man, opened the lock and swung the gate open.  Returning to the car he drove through and stopped again.  As he pulled the gate shut and snapped the lock closed I signalled Mark.  As he rounded the corner he put his lights on full, caught in the beam the man froze.

"Bailiffs Stand Still!" I called.  His face visibly dropped.  "I don't believe this," he stammered.  "You've really got it in for me."  Switching the engine off and taking the keys out we opened the boot.  Wrapped in a pair of oilskins we found the familiar coal sack.  Opening it to reveal six fresh Salmon brought a warm glow to our hearts.  "Right then Mr -------- you are not obliged to say anything . . . . ."  Mark recited the caution.  Kevin just stood there, eyes sparkling, grinning from ear to ear.

Mark took our prisoner to our car to take him to the police station, Kevin turned to me,  "This is no job for grown men, it's just like cops and robbers."  It may appear that way but we definitely take it a lot more seriously.  Being involved in law enforcement brings with it many responsibilities.  This is something he had yet to learn.

Almost as a second thought I remembered Steve and Ian, they must have been wondering what was happening.  "Steve, are your receiving?"  "Yes, go ahead."  "Bingo, we've got him, going to Newport Central."  "Roger, we'll meet you there."  Mark and Kevin led the way with our man safely in the back of our car.  Having told him I was seizing his car I drove it behind them.  It wasn't the usual old banger but a three year old Mazda 626, an unusually posh car for our regular poachers.

At the police station we went through the familiar process, book in, interview, report and release.  The whole thing took less than an hour, no solicitor was requested and the interview consisted of a string of no comment replies to all our questions.  It was now past midnight and because he had no money on him Mark and I agreed to take our prisoner home.  The others had already taken his car to our store and were making arrangements to seize the boat we had seen him using.  This time we could prove that he had been fishing and we had his catch.

After dropping him off Mark and I made our way to join the others at our office.  By the time we arrived the Salmon had been photographed, weighed and put in the freezer.  Steve and Ian sat drinking coffee and writing up their note books.  "Nice job, that's another one in the bag."  Steve beamed.  "Yes, that's two cars and a boat from the same guy, when will they learn."  "Where's Kevin?" I asked.  "He's with you isn't he?"  "No, I thought he left the station with you."  "Oh s***!  He must still be at the police station."

Returning we found him sat where we had left him, in the foyer.  "Come on Kev, it's all over."  He'd been there for over two hours.  Not knowing any different he assumed it was normal.  When we told him he'd been left behind, he simply replied, "That's OK, I'd have stopped there all night, they've got some lovely police women."  Typical! you just can't get good staff nowadays.  (Sorry Kev, only kidding, you turned out alright once you got the hang of things.)

 

At nine o'clock in the morning after being on duty for fifteen hours we were finally finished.  We'd launched our boat in the early hours as the tide again flooded into the river, we seized and secured the fishing boat as soon as it was afloat, not wishing to allow anyone to move it before we could get to it.  As we returned back to our slipway familiar faces appeared on the bank along the main mooring area.  Abuse and gestures rained towards us, this did not upset anyone on board, if anything it made us happier, after all only angry and upset people resort to such actions. If we were annoying them then we were winning our battle, the war would not be won easily but we were determined to go the whole way, however long it took.

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8 - Media Memories

The success of our campaign and the dissatisfaction of our opponents was naturally exploited by the press and local radio.  Management was keen to use them to increase public awareness that the NRA was determined to overcome the illegal exploitation of Salmon stocks and fulfill a statutory duty, also it was a way for our efforts to be acknowledged.  On the other side of the coin our adversaries the netsmen took every opportunity to publicly condemn our actions and accuse us of harassment and victimization.  Claiming that they were honest fishermen, despite the fact that the majority of them had been convicted on at least one occasion and many several times.

For our part, and I refer to those of use who actually undertook the day to day enforcement work, we were happy just to do our job and gain satisfaction from the knowledge that we were achieving our aim.  We felt no wish to have our role glamorized and distorted by the type of sensationalist journalism that inevitably came our way.  I suppose it will always be the case that reporters are not interested in the mundane routine aspects of our work, opting for the confrontational angle, which misguidedly portrays an air of excitement and intrigue.

I cannot deny that there were moments of conflict and danger, but it was only or rare occasions and was never a great problem.

As for the adverse publicity that emanated from those who felt aggrieved by our stand against their unlawful activities.  It only reinforced our view that we were having a severe impact on them and that they were forced into trying to discredit us by claiming publicly that we were in the wrong it may have gained the individuals and amount of notoriety in the local community but I doubt if the wider readership took any notice or were fooled by their bravado and claims of innocence.

In addition to the general one sided view that was the normal outcome of the articles that were written about our activities, it seemed that the reporters brought with them that irrefutable element of bad luck known as "sods law", which as we all know, allows anything that can go wrong, to do just that.  The scope of disasters that accompanied these visits ranged from minor irritations and discomforts, like adverse weather conditions and reporters getting sea sick, to a bailiff almost drowning and an accident involving a near dismemberment.  Actually, neither incident was that severe but I'm sure that had they been reported on they would have been over dramatized I can't remember the reporters name, which shows the lasting impression he made on me, but I do remember he was from "The Times".  Whether his article was any better than the rest is debatable.  I'm not sure if I even got to read it.  The day he came out with us started off quite well.  Everyone arrived on time, the weather was fine and relatively calm.  He didn't have a photographer with him, which pleased us, as we prefer not to have our pictures spread across the pages of newspapers.

We started off with a slow patrol up the River Usk, along the Moorings.  At Newport Docks two "would be fishermen" were on their way down the river to go fishing.  On seeing our boat heading towards them they promptly turned around and went back home, clearly they did not wish to go out knowing we were about.  A few others stood on the top of the riverbank making the appropriate gestures and advising us that we should, in some way, depart and interfere with ourselves.  The reporter made copious notes, while we just smiled, knowing that we were succeeding in our task.

After a quick brew up, while we explained the object of our high profile role was not to stop people from going fishing, but to ensure that they did not keep any Salmon caught.  We moved out into the river mouth and main estuary.  Several licensed Salmon netsmen were busy going about their business, laying out their nets and drifting slowly with the ebbing tide.  In the distance some two or three miles downstream a small white boat could be seen, not a licensed boat because  they were all grey.  The reporter became excited at the prospect of an encounter with what we affectionately called a "Bandit".

As we approached the two young men onboard were busy pulling in their net.  Giving them plenty of room we stood off and waited for them to finish.  We knew who they were and they certainly knew us.  They were doing nothing wrong, they had every right to be there fishing, but the anxious looks on their faces betrayed that they were worried about bringing in a Salmon in front of us.  "What happens now?"  The reporter wanted to know.  With more than a hint of excitement in his voice  "Not a lot."  He was told "We'll simply wait until all the net is back in the boat, then go alongside and check them over."  Naïvely he asked if we expected to find any Salmon onboard.  To his obvious disappointment we told him that if they had already caught any then they would have undoubtedly disposed of them over the side long before we had come near them.  They would know that we would not leave them without being checked.

Once they had finished retrieving their gear they sat on the side of the boat waiting for us to come alongside.  They knew the routine.  As we slowly edged in towards them "Fate" , or rather "Sods Law" played it's hand.  Steve, who was in charge, stepped up onto the foredeck of our boat, slipped, lost his hand hold, and with a perfect backward swallow dive, disappeared into the murky waters.  With a splash, followed by the sound of rushing air, his life jacket inflated, forcing his head above the surface.  With our forward momentum and the opposing current, he was soon several yards behind us and moving away quickly.

"Man Overboard!" went up the cry, quickly and instinctively, the boat was turned and circled back to him.  With life belt and boat hook at the ready we were instantly ready to pick him up.  Totally unperturbed, on his back with his arms folded across the expanded yellow chambers of his life jacket Steve lay there floating and bobbing, totally relaxed as if it were an everyday occurrence.  "Don't bother with that life belt, just help me back onboard." he said.  Within seconds he was stood on the deck.  "Right then, lets get those two checked," and so with his life jacket still inflated around the back of his neck, and down the front of his chest, water dripping from everywhere, including the end of his nose, he went onboard their boat and gave it an extra thorough search, as if nothing had happened.  No one laughed, not even the fishermen.  Not until he was safely back onboard and we were motoring back towards dry land did we succumb to the inevitable fits of mirth that overcame us and him.  We all knew that he had never been in any danger, even if he had hit his head and been unconscious.  His life jacket would have saved him, at least for the minute or two he was actually in the water, thankfully it was more embarrassing for him than dangerous.  The reporter made no mention of it.  Which I think may have been a result of a quiet work in his ear.

Unfortunately for me this inexplicable run of ill fated visits by the press did land me in hospital.  Thankfully it was for nothing worse than a lost finger nail.  A freak accident that I suppose  could have happened anytime chose to take place one particular day.  Launching and recovering our patrol boat is probably the most hazardous part of our routine patrols, we all know what to expect and the precautions to take.

Unexplainably two things happened.  Firstly I put my hand in the wrong place and secondly the winch cable snatched and caught my nail.  A relatively minor injury but extremely painful.  The sort of thing that could happen anytime, but always waits until the very time you want everything to go right.  Conversely something good came out of it.  The patrol was cancelled the Reporter left without a story.  "Sods Law" would appear to have had its way with both of us.

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9 - Muddy Meshes

Looking back through old notebooks reminds me that I have forgotten to mention another aspect of our coastal duties, controlling the use of stakenets.  For those unfamiliar with the term 'a stakenet' it describes a net that is pinned to the sea bed and supported by poles up to eight feet tall and ten feet or more apart, usually set at right angles to the shore just above the neap low water mark.  Placing them here allows them to be serviced every low water.  It's not so important to clear them during the night time, but anything left in the nets in the daylight is quickly scavenged by the flocks of gulls that continually patrol the shore looking for easy pickings.

There's nothing illegal about using a stakenet, provided only sea fish are taken; as with driftnets all Salmon have to be returned, dead or alive.  Inevitably all fish caught in this type of net are dead long before the tide has receded enough for the fishermen to retrieve their catch.  During the winter months some good catches of Codling can be taken while the summer months produce mainly Sole small Pollack and on odd occasions Bass.  Generally it's not a very effective fishing method and requires a lot of work for poor reward.

When I first became a Bailiff it was quite a common occurrence to find this type of net springing up anywhere alone the foreshore, although most were confined to between Newport and Penarth, including Cardiff Bay.  Very few were found upstream of Uskmouth, mainly because of the terrain.  Unlike the flat shallow sloping expanses of the downstream mud flats the peat banks of the upstream foreshore provided few locations where the tidal flow was slack enough not to rip the nets away.  One that did appear was set close to the low water mark of the river Usk on the left of the main channel.  How long it was in use for we do not know, the owner turned out to be the father of my next door neighbour who had only recently moved in.

The father spent a lot of time doing odd jobs around the house while his son was in work.  Having spoken to him a few times over the back garden fence we had got talking about what I did for a living.  As usual, I just said I worked for Welsh Water.  He obviously did not realise I was a Bailiff because he told me he liked doing a bit of fishing along the coast.  I innocently thought he meant with a rod and line and thought no more of it. 

A short time later I came across his car parked at a dead end track near Uskmouth.  Walking to the sea wall I could see him walking along the edge of a peat ledge with his dog.  Funny place for a walk I thought, and left him to it.  The next few days I noticed that he would be working at the house but would leave slightly later each day.  My curiosity got the better of me.

Leaving about an hour before I expected him to, I went to Uskmouth and waited.  Right on queue he turned up, over the sea wall and out onto the mud.  He just seemed to be walking his dog, then he went further out and over the peat ledge.  For a few minutes he was out of sight, then I could just see his head popping up and down as he alternatively bent over and stood up.  I made my way to the dead end track, his car was again parked there. 

After contacting a couple of colleagues we waited for him to return.  An hour passed before the dog appeared, followed by its master, muddy and with a sack over his shoulder.  Stepping out into his path we gave him quite a shock.  He instinctively dropped the sack.  Picking it up I asked what he had been doing and showed him my warrant.  He hadn't realized I was a Bailiff and was more than a little embarrassed.  Opening the sack and tipping it up revealed that it contained 20 yards of net but no fish.  I cautioned him and told him he would be reported.  He asked that I would not tell his son.  I agreed.  The net was forfeit and he received a warning letter.  Thankfully we did not prosecute in this instance, He passed away less than three months later.  I never did tell his son.

Once again the 1986 Salmon Act helped us bring the placing and use of stakenets under control.  The proposed Byelaws would restrict the areas in which nets could be used.  Any nets placed outside these areas would be regarded as unauthorized "fixed engines" and would be liable for removal and destruction.  We made great efforts to identify who owned each net and made them aware of the proposed changes by issuing guidelines for them to follow.  We restricted the use of fixed stakenets to two areas, one at ID, the other at Rhumney Great Wharf.  The areas either side of the Usk, Rhumney and Taff rivers were designated as "no go areas" in which no nets were allowed, this was done to prevent the obstruction of the free passage of Salmon.

The regular full time netsmen soon conformed to our guidelines, although they did not necessarily like or agree with them.  In fact many approaches were made to the Authority and both Solicitors and MP's entered into correspondence on the matter, but, nevertheless they complied.  Those that did not soon found that their nets were removed, as did those opportunists who would put nets in restricted areas.  Few fished for more than a few days before we located them.  They were relatively easy to find by looking for the tell tale tracks of footprints across the mud from the shore to the net.

Once located it was a case of returning before the next low water and waiting for whoever turned up to empty it.  Several people were detected this way but most nets were not visited on a regular basis and rather than waste time repeatedly returning, we removed the nets leaving notices for the owner to contact our office, none ever did, I wonder why?

Removing these nets proved to be a major task.  The  first we tackled was a relatively small affair at 'Red House' in the Cardiff Bay.  Being only 30/40 yards long and some 150 yards from the shore we thought, wrongly, that it would be an easy job to dismantle and remove it.  In truth it turned out to be a nightmare.

Dressed in waterproof trousers and waders a number of us, including our Fisheries Officer, attempted to walk out across the mud flats.  None of us were prepared for what followed; at first four of us set out onto the firm inner shore moving easily across to the softer mid shore, what we were not prepared for was the thick clogging, sticky mass that sucked waders from our feet, forcing us to stop and push our feet back in.  Each time we did this our soles were pushed further into the clay like underlayers, making progress slower and slower.  At least for three of us.  Our Fisheries Officer being 6 ft 7 in, with legs like long poles, had little trouble and had strided out to where the net was suspended.  In his eagerness to get the job done he had cut it from the poles, it now lay unattached across the mud.  That was where the problem started.  We had to get it collected up and taken to the shore, he could not do this on his own, it would take us all to bundle it up and drag it to the shore. 

For what seemed like hours we struggled and fought our way through the strength sapping ooze, finally, tripping and stumbling, covered in mud and without waders, which had been left behind trapped forever and never to be found, we reached the shore.  What we had regarded as an easy job had proved to be just the opposite, a lesson we all learned and remembered, not that it made removing other stakenets less of a chore.

In the five years between 1987 and 1992 we removed over a dozen of these nets, each one proved to be a challenge.  The worst of these were the ones at Peterstone and Rhymney, mainly because of the distance from the shore to low water,.  In places it is over 1,500 yards across a thick, slippery quagmire of dark putrid mud.  A mixture of natural estuary sediment and the residue of years of sewage effluent.  Three of the industrial valleys main outlets are along this short length of coast.

Probably the most difficult removals came from this area, not only because of the mud but the fact that the people using this part of the coast were more Legitimate Fishermen.  By Legitimate I refer to the fact that they had conformed to our guidelines and were Regular Fishermen not opportunists.  It was this that made them so laborious to dismantle, being semi permanent they had been constructed to last.

For some time we had watched a group of three such nets at Peterstone.  No-one had been to service them for several days.  We had left signs and requests for the owners to contact our office, but no-one had.  We were left with no alternative but to remove them.  We selected a day when the low water was at lunch time, which would enable us to be at the net by 10.00 am.  It was mid summer and very warm.  Dressed in one piece dry-suits two of us descended the sea wall and out onto the mud.  Our previous experience had taught us to dress appropriately.  Dry suits with fitted boots were, we thought, the most suitable garments.  They would keep out the mud and prevent us loosing our footwear.  The outward journey posed no real problems, in fact we were pleased with how much simpler it was.  With us we took the front end of a small fibre glass punt onto which we would put the net.  Arriving at the stakes we realized we had again underestimated the extent of the undertaking.  Each structure was in excess of 80 yards and not having been attended to for a number of days were full of weed and debris, not to mention a large quantity of dead fish, mostly Flounders and other flatfish.

We began by cutting down the net, which was braided Terylene Trammel most likely, once removed from the supporting stakes we gathered it up and piled it onto the punt, unfortunately, as the net had been allowed to lie on the mud we had, inevitably, collected a lot up with it, the additional weight of the mud made the load heavier, by the time we were half way through collecting up the second net, we had a full load.  This presented us with a real dilemma, we could not carry any more net, but we had already cut the whole lot down and could not just leave it loose on the shore the next tide would surely sweep it away and so cause a major hazard.  Any amount of net allowed to float freely along the coast could become entangled around the propellers of small boats or may even find its way further afield and end up on some beach and become a death trap for bathers.  We had no alternative but to take the first load ashore then return for the rest.

Harnessing ourselves to the front of the punt we began to make our way inshore, at first it was no trouble pulling the laden sledge across the slimly ooze, but the further we went the more sticky it became.  The weight of the net and mud forced the bottom of the sledge through the soft surface layer to the thick clinging sub level.  Instead of the sledge slipping over the mud it was now ploughing through it making deep furrows.  We struggled to keep our footing as we strained against the ropes, leaning forward to get as much leverage as possible.  Every so often our feet would slip, sending us flat out, front first into the slime.  It was now well passed midday and the sun beat down.  It would have been hot work dressed normally, but in dry suits it was unbearable.  Eventually we reached the shore, it had taken over an hour to cover 800 yards.  As we unloaded and prepared to return for the rest the thought of repeating the journey filled us with a feeling of dismay, once again we had totally underestimated the difficulty of the task.  It had looked a simple chore standing on the sea wall looking through binoculars, both the distance and the size of the net had appeared to present little complexity.  Now after making one trip the whole situation looked different.  Every stride had become a labour and every yard a milestone, and we had to do it all again.

With an empty sledge and with the brief refreshment of a few minutes rest we again strode out across the vast expanse towards the distant rows of poles and the now advancing waters edge.  Our effort took on a new urgency, it was now a race against time, we had to reach and remove the remaining lengths of net before the tide covered and swept them away.

The outward trip took no more than a few minutes, we quickly loaded the mud laden net onto the sledge and began the long arduous return journey.  Again, over an hour later, with lungs burning and limbs aching we reached the shore.  The whole exercise had taken over five hours.  Five hours of extremely hard work toiling under a searing hot sun, sweat pouring off us, had reduced us to the point of exhaustion.  The protection of our dry suits had kept out the grime of the smothering, clinging mud, but had kept in the dampness of hours of perspiration.  Removing the suits the moisture literally poured out.  Our shirts, trousers, socks and underwear were all saturated.  You'd have thought someone had thrown buckets of water over us, we wished someone would.

Finally the job was completed we had battled against both time and the elements, and had won.  The sense of success helped to overcome the sheer overwhelming feeling of being totally drained of energy, it also gave us the encouragement to repeat the exercise whenever the need arose, thankfully the majority of the others were on a smaller scale making them simpler to manage.

One that proved to be equally troublesome was that of a recognized fisherman who had complied with our guidelines and had been known to use for sometime.  He had established a set of nets on the foreshore at Rhumney and kept them in good order, visiting and emptying them at least once a day.  We had inspected the nets and his catch on countless occasions, as we had with the other four netsmen who had claimed this area as their own.  Ian, who had the dubious honour of being the Bailiff who's area these nets were in, made one of his routine visits to check the catches.  Only the one netsman was busy attending his gear when Ian arrived so he settled down to wait for him to return, no point getting muddy going out to see him.

A short while later the figure could be seen making his way back to the shore, carrying a bag over his shoulder.  Between the sea wall and the main expanse of the mud flats is a peat ledge which drops off about 6 feet.  As the man approached he momentarily disappeared behind this ledge before reappearing.  As he climbed over it Ian noticed that he was carrying less after he reappeared than he had before.  As the man reached the sea wall Ian approached him, checked his catch, which consisted of a number of flat fish and small coalfish.  Ian then watched as the man went across the fields and drove away in his car. 

Sure that the man had left something behind Ian made a search of the peat ledge where the man had climbed up.  Tucked in a crevice was a black bin sack containing a single Salmon.  He had been right, the question was, had the man seen him and dumped it or was it his normal practice to leave any Salmon behind and pick them up later, just in case we were waiting to check him. 

Ian replaced the sack and moved away to keep watch.  I joined him shortly after and he told the story.  Together we settled down and waited.  Two hours later the man returned.  Keeping out of sight we watched as he went straight to the spot and returned with the bag.  Again Ian approached him, this time the man was not his usual happy self, he knew he had been caught with his trousers down and said as much.

With a great deal of pleasure Ian booked him and told him we would be removing his net.  This brought protests and pleas from the young man who expressed more concern about what his father would do to him than what the courts would.  Knowing his father I'm not surprised.

The tide had already reached and covered the nets so there was nothing we could do until the water again receded.  We could not remove them at this time, but neither could the owner. 

Ian and I parted company after arranging to meet other colleagues early the following morning.  We actually met at 3 am, low water being 5.30 am and we wanted to have as much time as possible to remove the net. 

Arriving while it was still dark we made our way out towards the stakes.  By now we knew what to expect, four of us made the long trek and quickly started to cut the net from its poles while the tide was still going out, instead of letting it drop to the mud.  Two of us bundled it into a sack as we went along, this stopped too much mud being gathered up with it.  It still took a fair amount of time to bag up over 200 yards of net, eventually filling four large sacks.  Working in pairs we began to drag our loads ashore, each pair pulling one sack made the going bearable but not easy.  As long as we kept them moving the sacks slid quite smoothly but once stopped it took effort to get them going again.

Two trips and an hour and a half later all was secured.  A quick drive back to our depot, unload, wash off and it was down to the local café for a well earned breakfast.

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10 - Tightening The Grip

Without doubt 1990 was the turning point of our struggle.  Our Technical, Scientific and Legal colleagues had finally put together all the background information and formulated the final Bye Law proposals to place before the Government for ratification and approval.  It's easy to forget the amount of time and effort that went into preparing the documentation and formalizing these proposals.

Our local Fisheries Officer, Dr Mawle, was instrumental in initiating and carrying out a lot of the work, for which we will always be grateful.

Not only did his academic efforts play a major part in the legislative process but his enthusiasm and support allowed us to achieve the high level of effort we needed to perform our role of enforcement.

As with all legal documents the proposed Bye Laws take a lot of reading and understanding.  To this end a simplified version was produced to help the fishermen (and us) to understand exactly what they meant.

The biggest problem was that the Bye Laws were proposed for the whole of the Welsh Region and indicated the various methods of fishing permitted, followed by where they were not permitted.  Confusing even to those who knew what was going on.

Taking the Severn Estuary on its own, we were proposing to limit the use of Stake Nets fixed to the sea bed to defined areas, provided they are set above the Spring Low Water Mark, or, covered by three meters of water at all stages of the tide.  Secondly, and most significantly, a total ban on Drift Netting, except by Licensed Salmon Fishermen in the whole of our area.  This, we hoped, would be the final blow that would remove the excuse that people were fishing for Sea Fish and not out solely with the intention of catching Salmon.

After publicly announcing our proposals we received a list of ninety names of people who wished to register their objections of these the vast majority were totally unknown to us, when you consider that we had constantly checked everyone that had been out fishing during the previous three years it was difficult to understand who these people were.  The names we did recognise consisted of only six that could make any claim to be involved in commercially fishing for Sea Fish and only one could produce any evidence of earning a least part of his livelihood from fishing.  The remainder either had convictions for or were high on our list of those heavily involved in the illicit trade in Salmon.

With the prospect of having to take our case to a Public Enquiry, we had already gathered a vast amount of data to show that the area was not capable of supporting any sort of commercial fishery and that in fact very few sea fish were being retained by these fishermen.  What we now had to do was demonstrate that those who were in the forefront of the objections were in fact those most involved in poaching activities.  The only way we could do this was to prove their guilt, by catching them at it.

As had been the case in previous years, Mid March saw the start of the illegal activity, with the odd boat going out on the milder, calmer days, as if scouting for the first signs of fish starting to "run" through the Estuary.  Its cold hard work at this time of year and with very few fish caught it's only the most persistent who will make the effort. 

April 1 produced our first catch of what turned out to be a very busy, and rewarding year.  Two of our "regulars" had been out fishing the high water.  Once back on shore and in their car they were approached.  In a reckless panic they reversed, at speed, and managed to dump the fish over a high bank and back into the water.  Just as they were about to be grabbed, almost in slow motion the fish, a Salmon of around 14 lb tumbled through the air and splashed down into the murky water.

Both men were arrested for obstruction and then taken away to the police station where they were routinely cautioned and reported for the illegal fishing for Salmon.  At the river the  tide slowly receded to reveal the sloppy liquid mud.  Barely visible, the back and part of a tail was all that could be seen of the Salmon as it lay trapped in the sticky sediment, some 30 feet below us, as we looked over the vertical drop from where it had been thrown.

How could we retrieve it?  There was no way of climbing down to it and the mud prevented any approach along the bank.  Acquiring a rod and reel, a line was dangled over the side with a weight and several large hooks.  Time after time the weight was dropped alongside the fish, time after time the hooks failed to take hold.  Finally one bit home, carefully and slowly the tail started to rise out of the slime.  Inch by inch the full length of Salmon could be seen.  The pressure on the line was increasing making it whistle in the breeze.  Just as the head came clear, "crack" the line broke, allowing the fish to nose dive deep into the mud, which closed in around it covering it completely.

 

Disappointed at loosing this piece of evidence we resigned ourselves to the fact that it would be our word against theirs as to what we had seen.  It turned out that they pleaded guilty after electing to go to Crown Court.  Both were fined ten pounds each for each of four offences, not much of a deterrent, but that's the Courts for you.  At least we had secured the conviction which was our primary aim.

Achieving this early result gave us a good psychological advantage, even though the court case did not come for several months.  We had caught them and taken away their boat and nets, which did not stop them, they went out in others, but it did make them realise that we were determined to pursue them at every opportunity, which we did with vigour and enthusiasm.  By the end of August our storage facility was full to overflowing, four boats and five cars had been seized, along with over 60 Salmon.  36 of which came from one case.

For nearly a fortnight we had been watching and recording the activities of a number of fishermen, one pair in particular had been noted as possible targets for closer attention.  We were in the middle of the final stages of planning to tackle them when we received a piece of information that several other fishermen were having their catches collected by another person who was then taking them to a high class fishmonger nearly thirty miles away.

Naturally, the informant was anonymous but it would not be surprising if it wasn't another of those involved who had somehow been left out or not actually gaining from this move, it may even have been another receiver, put out by loosing a bit of easy profit.  Whatever the reason we had to follow it up.  The prospect of apprehending one of the dealers who were making far more than the fishermen ever could, and who were instrumental in keeping the trade going was enough to make us abandon our planned operation and divert our attentions to verifying the information.

Armed with a video camera we set up an observation point on the river bank away from the main boat moorings.  Two small jetties with floating pontoons were to be the focus of our attention.  We hoped that being rather more isolated than the others they would be where the Salmon were landed.  They were also within throwing distance of a known poachers house, very convenient.

It was a Wednesday afternoon and the information indicated that the Salmon were going to the dealers on Friday mornings, after low water.  We had to substantiate as much as possible in two days.  We already knew a good deal about the general comings and going of the people and boats who were doing the actual fishing, so we could be fairly sure of the times to keep watch.

The first evening brought little in the way of activity, one boat went out but returned after just over two hours.  Nothing was landed.  The two fishermen left quickly, within minutes one returned and went back to the boat, which was tied up alongside another.  As he crossed from one to the other he slipped and took a nose dive in between the two boats into the water.  For what seemed like an age he could not be seen.  There was nothing we could do, he was on the opposite side of the river and the tide was ebbing strongly.  Finally his hands and head could be seen as he clung to the side of the boat.  Climbing on board he stood visibly shaking, obviously his mishap had shaken him up.  Relieved that we had not witnessed his demise we could barely refrain from laughter.  The camera captured it all.

The following day we were back in our concealed vantage point.  Crouching in thick vegetation, looking out through a hole in the base of a large bramble bush, is anything but comfortable, thorns scratch, insects bite and limbs ache from being restricted for hour after hour.  Its no good waiting until the last minute to move in you have to be in and set up ready long before the time you expect the activity to ensure that you are ready, without risking being spotted.  We have seen time and time again the fishermen scanning the banks with binoculars looking for any movement that would give our position away.  A sure indication that they were being cautious about their business.

We had already checked the estuary and noted that there were two unlicensed boats out fishing along with five licensed.  One of the boats normally moored on the pontoons we were watching was not there.  With anticipation we waited, passing the time with idle chat about everything and nothing.

All remained quiet with only the squawk of seagulls and the hum and buzz of insects to be heard.  The tide slowly began to turn, rising up from low water.  Sudden movement on the opposite bank had us fumbling to start the camera.

A man had come from the direction of the house that backed onto the river.  Standing at the top of one of the pontoons he looked down the river for several minutes before returning to the house.  The tide was now rising quickly and the pontoons were well afloat.  The man again walked to the bank, this time looking at his watch as if waiting for someone.  He passed back and fro then disappeared back to the house.

A short time later the familiar throb of a boats engine could be heard coming up the river.  As it came into sight we could see that it was the one missing from the pontoons.  Both men onboard sat side by side in the rear.  Turning the boat into the incoming flow of the tide it slowed and edged into the mooring.  With a practised routine they quickly had it tied up and jumped out onto the platform.

All they had with them as they walked up to the top of the bank were two small bags.  Not the sacks we had hoped to see.  Less than five minutes after landing they were driving away.  The feeling of dismay we felt soon diminished as another boat could be heard approaching .  This time one of the men was standing in the front, looking up and down the banks.  With anticipation we watched as the boat pulled in alongside the one already tied up.

Instead of stopping the engine the driver kept it running, holding the boat steady as the other man stepped out onto the other boat taking with him two sacks, which he struggled to lift onto his back.  As soon as he was clear the boat pulled away and headed back downstream.

Bent forward under his burden the man had trouble negotiating the narrow walkway up the bank.  Pausing only to readjust his grip he made his way across the top of the bank before disappearing into the rear of a scrap yard and out of sight.  We had guessed right, Salmon were being landed, but we still had no idea where they were going, or who was taking them.  We had to rely on our informant being right.

It was late evening before we left our observations.  No other activity had taken place.  Steve took the decision to go ahead with the operation and arrange for our colleagues to meet up early the following morning.  The plan was to again watch and film these moorings while others tried to watch the house on the river bank opposite.  Others would be sent to watch the dealers premises, of which there were two.  One in a market town the other a few miles away, which was the main depot from which the wholesale business was conducted.  It was expected that this would be where any fish were taken.  All we could do was watch and wait.

By 5 am on the Friday morning I was heading towards the coast.  Low water was due at 7.30 am.  After checking the licensed boat moorings I could see that there were again two other boats out in the Estuary.  The other Bailiffs were meeting at 6.30 am and would be waiting to hear if anything was happening.

Moving back into the observation position I settled down with camera at the ready hoping that something positive would happen to give us the much needed lead.

Again the man from the house was seen on the river bank, this time with a small boy.  They sat for a while watching the river, then went back into the house.  This time the boats came in within half an hour of the tide turning.  The first simply dropped one man off with a large sack and returned back downstream.  Again the man with the sack disappeared into the scrap yard.  The second boat tied up in its usual place.  While the two men tidied up the man from the house came to the top of the bank and spoke to them, then went away again.  Two sacks were unloaded and taken up to the top of the bank.  Both men walked along the bank and out of sight.  Moments later a car drove away. 

While all this was going on another car had arrived at the house.  The driver had gone in then came back out and drove up the road behind the one with the two fishermen in.  Nothing else was seen, the tide continued its relentless cycle.

Two hours passed before I decided to pack up and move out.  Half an hour later I was within a few miles of the target premises.  Making contact with the others brought the expected disappointment that nothing had happened.  Steve and Ian were concealed very close to the wholesale depot and had arranged not to pull out until mid day.  A decision that was to pay dividends.

As they waited and watched vans and lorries loaded and unloaded.  Fruit, vegetables, even fish of all descriptions, except Salmon.  All came and went, then, as thoughts of disappointment and frustration started to dishearten them a tatty old saloon pulled into the yard an elderly man and a youth got out and went into the loading bay, then back to the van.  Three heavy sacks were lifted out of the boot followed by a number of loose Salmon.

With hearts lifted and pounding they realized that we were in business, they were within feet of a large delivery of Salmon and no one knew they were there.

Barely able to restrain themselves they sat tight and waited, only when all the fish were inside did they move.  Across a brook, up a bank and over a fence into the yard, just as the two came out of the door.

As if turned to stone the men froze to the spot.  Before they could regain their composure Steve and Ian had hold of them, showing their warrants they led the men back inside.  Thirty six Salmon lay on the delivery slab.  The fishmonger still entering them into his book.

No explanation was forthcoming as to where the fish had come from, having been cautioned both men had exercised their right to silence and had been arrested for suspicion of theft.

When questioned the proprietor produced a copy of a license he had been given the previous year.  He explained that he had asked for a current license but had been told that the people making the delivery had forgotten to bring it with them.  Having dealt with them before he had no cause to doubt their validity.  The fact that the license was issued by the Severn Trent Region and that the method of use was likely to produce no more than a couple of fish at a time did not matter.  No court would prosecute him for handling Salmon in any thing other than legitimate business.

The law had provided him with a loop hole big enough to get him out of trouble.  We had come close, close enough to make him think twice before taking fish from that source again.

The final outcome of the prosecution against the two men was to say the least disappointing, more important to us was the fact that we had stopped a major outlet and deprived the fishermen of close on a thousand pounds, they would be reluctant to commit all their catches to one delivery in the future.

Later that year a fishmonger and a wholesaler were successfully prosecuted.  It followed a routine inspection of the fishmongers stall in Newport Market.

It was the 13 September, unlucky for some.  On sale were Salmon marked up as "Fresh Wild Salmon."  An instant infringement of the law, that states that "Wild" commercially caught Salmon should not be put on sale after 31 August.  An inspection of the fish showed that they were marked by nets and so ruling out the possibility of being legitimate rod caught fish.

At first the fishmonger could not verify where he had obtained them so they were seized and he was told he would be reported.  The following day he produced a receipt for a consignment of Salmon from a wholesale outlet in Weston Super Mare.  It was dated 29 August, which would mean these "Fresh" fish would have to be at least fifteen days old.

Still not satisfied we contacted our colleagues in the Bridgewater area and arranged to meet them before paying the wholesaler a visit.  It turned out that he could provide no proof of how he had come by these Salmon, other than to say he had bought them through a contact in Billingsgate, and that the transaction had taken place over the telephone, with the fish delivered directly to Newport.

He was cautioned and told we were not happy with his explanations and that unless he could substantiate them with the relevant documentation then action would be taken.  Nothing was forthcoming, not even the name of his contact at the fish market, so proceedings were taken against both him and the fishmonger.

The cases were heard separately, the fishmonger was fined fifty pounds for the sale of fish out of season while the wholesaler received a fine of one thousand five hundred pounds, plus two hundred and fifty pounds cost.  The Magistrates, quite rightly, took the view that without these people the illegally caught Salmon would be a lot harder to dispose of and penalised him accordingly.  The fishmonger got off relatively lightly but remembered his lesson.  Towards the end of August the following year a new sign appeared on his market stall:-  "Fresh Wild Salmon, only a few days left."  At least he hadn't lost his sense of humour.

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11 - What Value Videos

Catching and prosecuting these villains had never been easy, it may have appeared that way but each case took a great deal of time and effort, watching and waiting, gathering and recording the evidence.  Now that we had reduced the number of people involved the remaining few were becoming more and more careful.  They were learning how we operated and the amount of evidence we had to present in order to secure convictions.  Most of all we had to catch them with Salmon, or at least be able to prove that they had caught and retained them, even if they managed to dispose of them before we could actually arrest them.

We had used the evidence of finding large amounts of Salmon scales on the boats and in the nets on a number of occasions to prove that the people caught with the Salmon had actually caught them and not received them from someone else.

However, this evidence was of no use on its own.  The accused would simply admit catching Salmon by mistake and had put them back, which is all the law requires of them.  So in order to prove our case we set out to record the capture and retention.

From the beginning of our units existence we had used video cameras to film various aspects of our work.  We routinely videoed each stop and search of boats after seeing them fishing.  We also recorded them returning to their moorings.

Our biggest problem was the distance at which we had to operate, very often we would have to be upwards of a quarter of a mile away to avoid being seen.  The video cameras we used were quite sophisticated semi professional outfits, but lacked sufficient magnification to make positive identification at more than 250/300 yards.  What we needed was a really powerful lens that would allow us to record and identify people and fish at distances of up to three quarters of a mile. 

This requirement was fulfilled by the acquisition of a "Questar" Video System, an American imported system with variable lends and apature settings which was capable of giving magnifications equivalent to 4,500 mm which in layman's terms meant that at a distance of a mile a man would almost fill the whole of the picture and a cars number plate could be read from well over three quarters of a mile.  The only draw back was the amount of equipment that made up the system.  The lens unit alone is over 18 inches long with a diameter at the front of 8" and a foot square flange at the rear.  A separate monitor and cassette recorder, together with a portable 12 volt battery and an assortment of leads all had to be carried, not to mention the heavy duty tripod which was necessary to hold the assembled camera steady.

Armed with this new piece of technology we once again changed our approach.  Instead of mounting operations to catch these people after they had been fishing, in the hope that they had Salmon with them we concentrated on more detailed surveillance of them while they were fishing.

Our plan was to mount regular boat patrols during the low water periods in the hope that they fish the high water, which would bring them closer inshore and provide us with easier observations.  At low water our targets were in excess of one thousand yards from the sore, even with this powerful lens we would be pushed to make positive identifications, unless the weather was totally calm and clear.

During the high water periods fishing takes place within half a mile of the sea wall, this provided us with the ideal opportunity to make detailed observations.  The sea wall rises twenty feet from the shore with block-stones facing seaward and a grassy slope inland.  Apart from the odd clump of bramble the  top of the embankment provides little cover, it was therefore important to keep below the summit to reduce the chance of being spotted.  The other alternative was to disguise our presence.  The barrenness of the coastline provided little prospect of this, our only possibility was to act in a completely obvious manner.  What better disguise than to be openly visible, positioned on top of the sea wall with a couple of fishing rods and a large umbrella; nothing would look out of place, only a boat very close inshore would be able to recognise us.

As expected our low water activities encouraged several boats to fish the high water.  Our trap was set, all we needed was a bit of luck to spring it.  For several days we watched as they fished, noting the times they were active and how often, and where, they pulled in their nets.  It would be vital for us to be in a position to see the nets being retrieved in order to film whatever was caught.

A pattern soon became clear.  Two hours before high tide the boats would start fishing; not shooting their nets until they had motored upstream past Goldcliff.  They would then drift all the way up to high water.  The nets were then pulled in and re-shot before drifting back down with the ebbing tide.  An hour and a half later the net would again be retrieved before the boats headed, under power, back to Uskmouth and up the river to their moorings.

It is mentally hard to undertake long repetitive observations, going through the same routine day after day, trying to watch every movement, instinctively you get to know the best course of action, provided they stick to a routine, even if that routine changes from day to day two factors will always remain - they must catch Salmon and they must be brought ashore - its the other little deviations that cause the problems, it's also hard to stand back and watch knowing that on every trip they are likely to be taking Salmon unchallenged.  You can only resign yourself to making a good job of catching them and consoling yourself with the knowledge that their time would come.

For two of them, their time came on 1 June, it had been overcast and windy for the best part of a week, all the licensed boats were active, fishing every daytime tide, some were even stopping out for both the low and high waters.  A sure sign that there were Salmon to be caught.

May is normally a good month with the start of the "Grilse" run, these Salmon are generally smaller than the early fish, averaging between eight and ten pounds, but come in greater numbers.  The steady south westerly winds drive them up the Estuary, where they congregate waiting to run the rivers.

The dry springs and early summers which have become common and the subsequent low river flows cause the Salmon to linger on the tide, going back and forth with each cycle, waiting for a flush of fresh water to help them on their way into the river systems.  The hot calm weather this particular May had made fishing difficult, but now it had broken, the Salmon were becoming impatient, eagerly coming inshore looking for the fresh water that would guide them to their native river.

The tides were rising from neap to spring, each day the boats were moving further up the Estuary.  As the depths of each successive tide rises it allows more of the coast to be fished.  Nets of eight foot depth are best fished in not more than ten feet of water, and no less than six feet.  Too much water and fish can escape underneath, too little water and the net will snag on the bottom.  The ever changing extent of the fishing grounds made little difference to our opponents, they continued with their routine of fishing two hours before the high water and one and a half hours after.  Servicing their nets twice.

Of the five different boats we had seen fishing the previous week, only one was consistently seen, this became our target.  Again, it is hard to concentrate on one boat when you know that others are taking Salmon unhindered, it is simply impossible to target more than one boat at a time, we've been accused of harassing and picking on certain individuals, but this is not true, we simply picked the most active, irrespective of who they were.  On this occasion the two men concerned both had previous convictions, but still habitually carried on taking Salmon, knowing we had to prove that they had intentionally caught and kept them.

With our new video system we hoped that if we could show them catching Salmon and not throwing them immediately back, then even if we did not recover the fish we would have enough evidence to secure a conviction.

Finally everything was set.  A target had been identified, their routine learned and Salmon were being caught.  All we needed was that one bit of luck that brings everything together.  Luck does indeed play a part.  On many occasions we've thought we had things lined up only to have to abandon the operation at the last minute because no Salmon were caught.  Yet on other occasions everything falls into place without much preparation.  This particular day all the preparation was done and the luck was with us.

We set out early and were on the coast long before we expected to see any activity.  We waited at the mouth of the River Usk, one by one six of the eight licensed boats went out.  It was a perfect day for fishing, dull, overcast and a force five strong breeze.

For ages no more boats went out.  Gradually the feeling of mild disappointment and frustration started to build, only to be quickly dispelled as the familiar sound of diesel engine thumped across the water.  Ploughing through a moderate swell a single boat pushed against the rising tide as it made its way down the river.  "Who was it?"  At first we could not tell, both men had waterproofs on with their hoods up.  The boat, a grey eighteen foot G.R.P. looked the same as several others.  We prayed it was our target, but even if it wasn't they would be it - no-one else went out.

Leaving our colleagues to prepare our patrol boat Steve and I left the river mouth and moved to the sea wall further upstream, where we expected to see the nets being pulled in.  There was no need for us to rush, we knew we would have to wait for some time before we would see what we wanted.

When we arrived people were fishing from the shore, positioning ourselves away from them we set up our equipment.  Two beach casting rods on tripods, tackle box and a very large umbrella, under which we set up the video camera.

It took a fair amount of juggling to get everything set up and concealed as much as possible, but still giving us an unobstructed view.  by the time we were set up three boats had passed us, drifting upstream.  One had been a licensed Salmon fisherman, the other two were not.  We had made positive identification of both sets of fishermen.  Our chosen target was one of them.  Our luck was holding.

As they drifted with the ever rising tide they disappeared behind a promontory of the shore line.  We knew that now the long wait would begin before they would reappear with the falling tide.  Focusing the camera on the water offshore we settled down to wait for their return.  Idly chatting and eating sandwiches the time soon passed.  The tide reached it peak, hesitated then began to rush back out.

Being a relatively shallow estuary the water recedes at quite a rip.   I believe it is one of the strongest in the country.  Walking up along the sea wall we could see the boats drifting quickly back towards us.  Returning to the equipment Steve stood by the rods alternatively reeling in and recasting.  I should say that neither rod had hooks or bait but simply a lead weight tided directly to the line.  It wasn't that we were not interested in fishing, rather the opposite, but it would be "Sod's Law" to catch a good fish just as the action started.  We had enough to cope with without that.

In order to keep as much out of sight as possible we'd mounted the high power lens and camera on a low tripod and positioned the recorder and monitor around it.  To operate and view the recording meant half squatting and half leaning on the steep bank, at first this was not too difficult, but quickly became cramped and awkward.  As the boat we intended to record came into view we were surprised at the speed it was drifting.  Starting the recording and adjusting the magnification and focus proved more difficult than I had anticipated, the higher the magnification the harder it was to keep the boat in view.  Each time I made an alteration the boat would momentarily go out of view.  Finally I had to compromise the amount of magnification in order to maintain constant visual contact, even so the speed of their drift took a lot of concentration to keep up with.  Even so, at a distance of between 600 and 800 yards I was able to identify both men.  One sat in the front half of the boat, keeping it side on to the tide by steadily pulling on the oars.  His companion stood in the rear and began to pull in the net.  The boat rose and fell in the heavy swell, pushed up by the action of wind against tide.  The visibility could not have been better, even the mesh of the net could be seen.  Several small fish went on board only to be unceremoniously flung back into the heaving water.  After momentarily pausing the man began to pull in the net slower than before, almost gently, the reason soon became apparent as he bent forward and lifted the net and pulled a large silver fish quickly into the boat.  Sitting down with the catch in front of him he leaned forward and picked up a short fat club like implement and with an almost brutal disregard began pounding the fish, surely one good blow would have been enough to dispatch it, instead of the five he gave it.

Once he was happy he'd knocked the last bit of life out of the fish he began to untangle it from the mesh of the net, then, holding it by the tail he swung the fish length wise into the front of the boat.  During this time the man on the oars just sat there, alternatively pulling one then the other.  The tide was now at its strongest.  Despite the opposing wind the boat was now moving so quickly it would soon be out of view of the camera.  In the matter of fifteen minutes I'd swung the camera through nearly 180 degrees.  Reluctantly the recording was stopped, it would have been good to see another Salmon caught but at least we had enough to act on.

Rolling onto my back and stretching soon relieved the tension of being crouched and twisted into all manner of shapes, pointing the camera in one direction and watching the monitor in the other was not the easiest of operations, but better than having to keep an eye to a viewfinder as with most other video cameras.

Steve kept an eye on the boat with his binoculars while I packed the kit away.  He thought the rest of the net had come in without anything else being caught, but could not be sure.  What was certain was that as soon as all the net was in the boat the engine had been started and the boat was heading back downstream.

By now our boat would be ready to launch and it only needed the go ahead, which Steve duly gave.  It did not take us long to get back to Uskmouth but instead of joining the others on board we went along a track inland from the foreshore, then across a single field to the East Usk Light which gave us a panoramic view of both the upstream approaches and the mouth of the river.

Our boat's crew were to keep out of sight in the river until the fishing boat was well into the Buoyage.  We would set up the camera and record the fishing boats return and whatever might occur as it was approached by our boat.

Still moving at speed with the tide and its engine propelling it through the choppy water the fishing boat rounded the last mud bank into the river.  Now the opposing flow slowed it down making it appear to have almost stopped.

Before I started to record I decided to change the battery in the recorder as it was registering low.  Moving the unit to gain access I pulled out one of the leads.  Everything went off.  Frantically I inserted the new powerpack.  The lead had not come completely out but there was a break in the circuit.  By waggling the connection the picture came and went on the monitor.  Several times it held then, blink, it was gone again.  The fishing boat was by this time almost half way along the buoyage, we could wait no longer, we had to call our boat in.  To maintain continuity Steve kept up the observation using binoculars, while I made every effort to rectify the fault.  Keeping up a running commentary Steve unwittingly added to my frustration as I became more and more flustered an annoyed at not being able to get the system running again.

In a fit of uncontrollable despair I unplugged the offending cable and hurled it to the floor.  Steve turned around and calmly told me to take it easy because it was all over.  Dejected I slumped to the floor feeling totally drained.

What had transpired was that as our boat approached theirs they had emptied a sack over the side.  Exactly what we had expected and what we wanted to record on film.  Never the less the fishing boat had been boarded and the two men apprehended.  Our colleagues on the boat had the situation well in hand, so without rushing we again packed the kit away.  Luck had been with us and against us.  I blame bad luck rather than admit to my incompetence in breaking the equipment, but then again you make your own luck be it good or bad.

After having their boat and nets seized the two fishermen were taken to a police station to have their addresses verified, then they were released.  In the mean time we had collected all our stuff together and joined Kelton on the patrol boat.

 

While I had been occupied with the disastrous attempt to film the "Dump" as they jettisoned their illegal catch over the side Steve had been able to pin point the position by lining up various markers on the river bank, now on board our boat we asked Kelton, the coxswain to return to the position that he had first seen the boat.  Without any prompting from us he went to almost the exact position that Steve had already noted.  The mud along the shoreline was smooth and shiny a sure sign that it was also soft and watery.

Our boat cannot go right to the edge because of its draft, so we launched our rubber dingy and waited while the tide, inch by inch, dropped to uncover more and more of the gently sloping mud flats.  Once again our luck returned.  Two slender shapes gradually appeared as the water slipped away.

Quickly into the dingy and across the thirty yards to the waters edge.  We had to be quick, the shallowness of the water meant that for every foot the tide dropped a yard of mud would show.  In waterproofs and waders, clutching the bow rope I slipped over the side of the dingy and straight up to my thighs in mud.  Just managing to grab the fish I pulled them towards me, then passed them up to Steve in the dingy.  Half laughing and half concerned at the sight of me thigh deep in mud, and powerless to help as the dingy started to drift away from me with the receding tide.  I still had hold of the bow rope, but was firmly stuck.  Both legs were in the mud up to the top of my waders, there was only one thing for it, twisting to face backwards I leaned forward and pulled on the rope.  My feet came out of the waders and I lay, almost flat out across the slimy mud.  Getting an arm over the side of the dingy I pushed as much as I could, to keep afloat.  Suddenly a hand grabbed the back of my trousers and I was dragged into the dingy.  Covered in mud and laughing loudly we returned to our patrol boat.

 

The two Salmon of 18 lb and 12 lb could only have come from one place, even though the actual "Dump" had not been filmed the recovery of these fish and the undignified covering of mud made me feel that the balance had been redressed.  You  fail in one area but succeed in another, we should not judge ourselves on individual events but on the overall conclusion.

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12 - Stuck In The Mud

Sometimes the very thing that has helped you achieve your aim decides to conspire against you as if to get its own back, not an easy thing to explain.  Its just the way it is.  On this specific occasion it was the ever present mass of esturial clay like sediment that both aided then hindered what was never a straightforward operation.

After going through our usual routine of picking a "Target" and studying his "modus operandi" for several days we had planned to film them fishing the high water and hopefully see them taking fish.  We would then wait for them to return past Goldcliff.  With the camera on top of the headland and our boat out of sight behind it, we aimed to film them again and their reactions to seeing our both suddenly appear in their path.  We expected to see them disposing of their catch over the side, at such a close range there would be no difficulty in showing that they were Salmon. 

That was the plan, reality was somewhat different.  Our chosen Target did go fishing, but heavy winds and high seas made filming almost impossible; it got so bad that instead of returning back to Newport and our waiting boat, these fishermen decided to take shelter in "Magor Pill" a small but safe inlet close to where we were set up to film them fishing.

The entrance to this haven could just be seen from our concealed look out, the rest was totally obscured by the sea wall embankment.  At the time we did not realise what was going on.  More than forty minutes past without us seeing them.  A car arrived then left, but no contact was made.  Had he been a pick up?  Had he seen our vehicle and backed off?  What was going on?  We could not get into another position without being seen by anyone waiting inshore, but we had to make a move.  After contacting the boys on our boat and letting them know what was going on.  I phoned the local police and asked if they could send a care to the area in case we needed them to stop a vehicle or help if more people arrived.  There were only two of us at the scene and if there was going to be a "pick up" there would be at least two of them plus the two on the boat.  It did not take long for the police to arrive and after explaining what was going on we moved along the inshore side of the sea wall to where its close to the Inlet.

The boat had been in there for so long that I assumed they would be onshore, possibly hiding any Salmon that they may have caught.  "Wrong!"  As we appeared over the top of the Flood Bank the two fishermen were still standing in the boat.  One was throwing a line to the shore the other saw us, bent down, picked up a sack and heaved it over the side.  All we saw was a quick glint of silver as he emptied out its contents, instinctively turned it inside out and swilling it in the water, they knew we would use any fish scales to prove that they had had Salmon on board.  Why they had stayed on their boat for so long we'll never know, they did and they had managed to dump their illegal catch right before out eyes.

They came ashore and with the usual bravado and cocky attitude denied that they had been fishing for Salmon and that they had only thrown some rubbish over the side, never the less, I took a chance and cautioned them and seized the boat, which brought the customary claims of injustice and threats of wrongful arrest, even though they had not been arrested, there was no need, we knew both of them well and only needed to issue a receipt for the boat and tell them that they were being reported.  We don't charge anyone, our Legal Department sees to that after they receive our reports.

Cheekily they asked the police for a lift to the nearest bus stop so that they could get back to Newport.  The police obliged, which left us with a problem.  Our colleagues could not get to us for sometime, they were still on our boat heading back to Newport.  We could not board the fisherman's boat and sail it home because we could not leave the scene.  The tide was ebbing fast and the boat would soon be high and dry.  There was nothing we could do but sit and wait for the others to arrive and contemplate what had happened.  It did not take as long as expected for the others to get to us but it was too late.  The tide had gone out leaving the fishing boat stranded 20 feet from the bank, resting on the thick mud, there was no way of moving it until the next high tide.  There was however one thing that had to be done as soon as all the water had drained out of the Inlet.

Dressed in a one piece rubber dry suit I clambered over, or rather through the filthy, slimy quagmire to where the boat lay.  Working my way along the bottom of the now empty Inlet Channel I felt around in the liquified putrid sediment that remained.  At first I found nothing but crabs, then with heart lifting satisfaction I found what I was looking for, a dead but fresh Salmon, then another, a bit further and two more.  Four recently killed and netmarked Salmon.  There could be no doubt where they had come from.  They had been washed away from where they had been dumped from the boat, but not far enough to be swept away by the main run of the tide.  The thickness of the mud had slowed them down and trapped them, giving us the evidence we needed.

It took two appearances in Crown Court and tests by independent sources to prove that Salmon could be found after being disposed on from the boat in the Inlet but we finally won and the two men were convicted.  That was several months later.

 

We were now faced with another problem, the boat, which had been officially seized, was now in our care, pending the outcome of the prosecution, at which time the Courts have the power to order forfeiture, after conviction.  It was therefore our responsibility to ensure its safety and to preserve any evidence that may be found onboard.  We routinely have seized boats and vehicles forensically examined for fish scales, blood and other evidence that Salmon had been caught.  With the tide now approaching low water it would be at least five hours before the boat would be again afloat.  In addition the weather forecast was worsening with gale force winds moving in from the west.  The option of taking the boat back along the coast to Newport was totally out of the question, the only alternative was to take it off the water where it was.  We had done this a month earlier with a licensed boat that had been caught using too much net and fishing in a restricted area.  It was not the easiest of operations but we had managed it quite well.

On that occasion we had used a Landrover to position the boat trailer at the edge of a rocky causeway which ran out to a sewer outfall running parallel to the Inlet.  This time we were able to have our tractor on sight, which should have made it even easier going over the rough ground.  "Wrong again!" under normal conditions everything would have gone smoothly.  The actions of ever increasing wind on a higher than usual tide almost brought total disaster.  Thankfully we escaped without any physical injuries, apart from a few minor bruises.

The two men had been caught, reported and the boat seized at 1 o'clock in the afternoon.  It wasn't until after 9 o'clock in the evening that the waters started to flow back into the Inlet.  Being early August it stayed light quite late, even so it was starting to dim.  In the nine hours that had past all the Bailiffs involved had gathered and made sure all our kit was ready in the best possible position for the boat trailer had been identified and the tractor positioned so that we could secure the boat at the earliest opportunity.  By 10 o' clock the boat was just afloat.  Two of us got onboard and tried, without success, to start the inboard engine.  Not wishing to waste too much time we rowed it out along the Inlet.  We had to take it to the mouth of the channel before going slightly downstream to the waiting trailer.  The tidal rip was not too bad, but the now howling wind was rapidly whipping up a heavy swell in the main run of the estuary.  By the time we got to the trailer it was well submerged, but there we waves of around two feet rolling over it and breaking against the tractors large back wheels.

Without any great difficulty we positioned the front end of the boat into the guide runners of the trailer.  The winch cable was attached to the bows and it was started to be wound in.  We were within a couple of feet of having it secured when one of those freak waves, which always appear to be twice the size of the others, lifted the boat at least four feet clear of the trailer runners.  Being only attached by the front end, the boat rose and swung around so that the stern was facing the shore.  There was no way could we possibly get it re-positioned properly over the runners.  It was now buckling and heaving uncontrollably, the winch cable had to be released.   There were now four of us in the water, up to our chests, desperately trying to keep control of the situation.

I was the lucky one, I had on my one piece rubber dry suit, brought for when I'd gone in to look for the Salmon, the other three were in ordinary waterproofs and were now totally soaked.  Having freed the cable the force of the waves pushed the boat, and us, closer to the shore.  Trying to keep it from smashing onto the rocky causeway was almost impossible.  Each time a wave hit the boat it rose above our heads.

Things were starting to get serious.  With an effort we managed to guide it to a patch of shoreline that was mainly mud, where we could let it run aground without causing any damage.  The tractor - trailer had been hurriedly moved further in shore and reversed back into the water ready for us to try again.

This time, after a couple of attempts to line it up properly, we made it.  Which was not easy with large waves pounding the boat virtually side on.  Standing clear of the trailer and getting a chance to look around it was a surprise to see how dark it had become.  I had not realised how long it had taken, it was now close to 11 o' clock, but then came the final blow.  The tractor was not moving.  The engine was screaming, the wheels were turning, but nothing was moving.  The damn thing was stuck!  One of the boys ran to our Landrover and drove it down the causeway and attached its winch-cable to the tractor.  He tried to pull the tractor clear, then the cable snapped.  We were doomed.  We had no other choice than to free the boat.  It could not be left attached to the trailer with the tide rising and the weather getting worse.  Two of us got back onboard and again tried to get the engine started.  From nowhere the owner appeared and jumped in to join us.  With his help the engine fired into life. 

It was now quite dark, and with no lights on the boat we headed almost blind away from the shore.  The boat was tossed about as we ploughed through the surging wavers.  Strangely the owner stayed with us, and steered the craft.  He could easily have had nothing to do with it and let us struggle to row the boat to safety.  Sat in the very front of the boat I peered into the blackness trying to guide us back into the Inlet.  As we turned with the full force of the sea behind us the rear of the boat rose almost vertically, as if we were going to dive beneath the water.  Ian who was onboard with me, had been sat towards the rear with the boats owner.  He was now by my side with his hand on my shoulder.

"If we're going down I want to be with you, not him!" he shouted.  We just looked at each other.  We didn't sink, the owner, who knew his boats capability and the geography of the coastline, soon had us back in the shelter of the Inlet.  I shook his hand and thanked him.  You've got to acknowledge help when you're struggling.

Once back onshore the boats owner left.  There was nothing more we could do that night.  The boat was safe and so were we, the same could not be said for the tractor.  All attempts to move it had failed.  The rear wheels could get no grip, partly due to the slimy mud and partly because the water had risen to almost half-way up the sides and the air in the tyres had made the back end buoyant, so that there was less downward weight to keep their grip.  I had to be abandoned to the sea, which had by this time reached the driver cab.

Wave after wave thundered into the side of it, rocking it to and fro.  Several times it looked as if it would be tipped onto its side, but it wasn't.  Suddenly, as if giving up its last spark of life, all the lights came on.  Headlights, indicators, even the orange beacon on the roof.  Just as suddenly, they died.  The water had got into the electrics and caused a short circuit.  The tumbling stormy sea had claimed its prize as wave upon wave swamped over the tractors roof.  The combined elements of mud, tide and wind had won.

We were left to ponder, reflect and wait 'till day break.  We could not leave the boat, it was still our responsibility to ensure it was not tampered with.  Cold, wet and just a little despondent we settled down to wait.  Dry clothes were brought for those who needed them and from somewhere odd bits of food and drink arrived.  Apart form the howling wind it was a mild summers night.  By 4 o' clock in the morning it was starting to get light.  We had taken turns to grab a bit of sleep, but were all starting to get weary. 

5.30 am our Transport Department arrived with an enormous tractor to rescue ours.  The weather had changed completely by now.  The storm had given way to a light breeze and clear skies.  In the face of the early morning sun it was hard to believe how bad it had been only six hours ago.  The tide was now well out and the tractor high, if not dry.  Amazingly there was little damage to it, apart from being waterlogged, which was no great problem with a diesel engine.  The only other breakages were the cab windows.  Without too much effort the other tractor pulled it clear.  Fate now took a hand to help us, a set of keys that had been lost in the night were found embedded in the mud that encrusted the tractors wheels.

Its hard to explain but it was as though the mud was alternatively helping us by trapping the discarded Salmon, then going against us with the tractor, now helping again with the keys, or perhaps I'm looking too closely.

Eventually the tide flooded back in for the second time since the boat was seized, this time it was totally calm.  We decided to take the boat to Chepstow, which was further upstream along the coast.  It would be quicker than going all the way back to Newport against the rising tide.  Two of us got onboard and started the engine, we'd learnt the trick from the owner.  Off we went.  By the time we got to Chepstow it was high tide, which made putting the boat onto the trailer easy.  We finally had it locked away in our Storage Depot by 2 o' clock in the afternoon, which was over 24 hours since it was seized.  A record we hope never to repeat, or beat.

Shortly after 3 o' clock I was back home.  I had gone out at 7.30 am the previous morning.  The whole episode had taken over 31 hours.  We would never plan to work for so long, but when things go the way they did then, there is no alternative, you cannot just walk away from it, it must be seen through.  The satisfaction of completing the job is compensation for the discomfort.  Even if we don't get any overtime.  Having said that, I for one was totally whacked and exhausted.  The two rest days that followed did the trick.  Clean fed and refreshed, I was ready to go again.  Well that's not exactly true.  I may have been ready, but after two days of paperwork and routine jobs I went on leave, a fortnight in Greece, can't be bad!

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13 - Old Hands - New Tricks

A full twelve months has now past since I first put pen to paper.  It hardly seems possible that time can have past so quickly.  Nature has once again gone through its endless cycles.  The Salmon are once again returning to their birthplaces ready to begin their spawning frenzy in the cold shallow waters that gave them life, a few short years ago.  All the indications show that the numbers returning this year are higher than they have been for many years.  The most positive tangible source is the rod catch returns for the Usk. 

With more than a month of the season left the figures show almost a 90% increase on last years final total.  Reports of single fishermen catching 4, 5, & 6 fish in a day have not been heard of in recent years but a number have achieved this in the last few weeks.

Late run Grilse are being reported throughout the river.  The wet weather during the normally dry summer months must surely have some bearing on the situation but the removal of the illegal driftnet fishery off Newport can only have added to these numbers.

Unfortunately our Estuary work has not been as quiet as was hoped for.  The "No Driftnetting for Sea Fish" Bye Law has without doubt had the desired effect.  No longer do we have the persistent poachers who used to go out day after day, knowing that the odds were in their favour because we had to prove beyond reasonable doubt that Salmon had been caught and kept, or at least that the intention was to do so.  Instead we now have the opportunists who wait for the right time, when they know good numbers of Salmon are about.  Not a hard thing to determine, considering that both the legal and illegal fishermen live side by side and in fact several of the Endorsees on licensed boats are former convicted poachers.  The law, unfortunately, does not exclude them from becoming legal fishermen, mores the pity!  Once the legitimate catch starts to increase the temptation becomes too great and those who have not been able to fish for fear of being caught for a little gain cannot resist.  Their only chance of going unhindered is to fish at night, although even this does not give them any great advantage.  Modern "Night Vision" and "Infra Red" equipment enable us to see those who would wish to be unseen.

Once such "Chancer" came to grief in Mid July, on the 13th, to be exact.  Not that I'm superstitious, but a number of our successful forays just happened to have fallen on that date.  Actually the events started on Monday the 12th, but the capture came in the early hours of the infamous 13th.

The previous Friday many of the licensed boats had returned home with better than average catches.  The law prevents them fishing on weekends, but they had been out fishing on the Monday with similarly good results.  Temptation did the rest,  The only other influencing factor was the right bit of information which had us out and looking for what turned out to be one of our more bizarre encounters.

Just after dusk two colleagues had taken a large "Night Vision Scope" to Goldcliff, which offers an excellent view of the area normally fished by boats out drifting with the rising tide.  At first nothing could be seen except for dark open expanse of calm flat water, with little breeze to ruffle the surface.  It was easy to see if anyone was about.  On rough days it is often hard to pin point boats in the daylight, let alone through the green glow that all Night Vision equipment gives.  I do not know why its always green, perhaps its more easy on the eye.  Even so, after a few hours of looking through the eye piece your vision definitely needs time to recover.  It's a strange sensation to have one eye seeing normally and the other as if looking through dark glasses.

As time past and the tide rose only the rhythmic flashes of the marker buoy lights broke the otherwise inactive scene.  At first unnoticed another small light had started to blink.  Unlike the others, which maintained their static position, this one slowly moved along the coast, towards our lookout position.  Once spotted it was soon possible to see the dark outline of an open boat a short distance from it.  It was without doubt someone out fishing, the light that had given them away was there to mark the end of their net.  For all we knew it could have been a licensed Salmon fisherman.  Unlikely, but never the less possible.  Having said that our gut feeling was that it was without doubt a poacher.

Fired up at the prospect of our first "catch" since the Bye Laws came into effect ten months previously, we hastily made ready and launched our boat.

In total darkness we lowered it down our slipway.  The rising tide made it a lot easier, as we only had a short distance before we were afloat.  Once on board we slowly made our way out of the river and into the blackness of the Estuary.

There are very few lights along our stretch of coast line, but the glow of those on the English side, around Avonmouth, made it impossible for us to see anything between us and our colleagues at Goldcliff.  Radar will pick up large objects but sixteen foot GRP's are all but invisible, occasionally the metal of their inboard engines will give the odd "blip" but not enough to steer to.  Our only chance was to keep in telephone contact with the shore and to be guided in.  "Left a bit", "Right a touch,"  "Not to fast,"  Keep on coming,"  "Can you see them yet?"  "They've seen you, there's activity, looks like their pulling in their net, you'll have to go for it."

Our plan had been to try to reach them while their net was in the water to prove they had used it.  There's no offence to just having one in the boat.  Suddenly silhouetted by the lights on the horizon we could see the boat.  On went our lights, capturing them in their powerful beams.  One man stood in the rear of the boat, still pulling in the net, about 30 yards were still in the water.  We had them!!

We slowed almost to a stop, about 60 yards short of them.  Using a loud hailer my voice boomed out into the silence of the night.  "NRA BAILIFFS, STOP PULLING YOUR NET.  WE'RE COMING ALONGSIDE."  The man pulling in the net turned to face us.  His expression said it all, like a child caught with his hand in a sweet jar.  He gave us a sickly grin, then turned his back to us and carried on pulling in the net.  In those few seconds his identity was unmistakable.  An old adversary, with a string of convictions.  Again I called to him, this time by name.  No response.  He just kept on pulling.  The whole time his companion sat motionless in the front of the boat, dressed in yellow waterproofs, with the hood up and facing away from us it was impossible to tell who it was.

Gliding across the calm water we edged alongside, before we had completely stopped I was off our boat and into theirs.  Over the years we've developed a routine of one of us boarding and confronting one of the occupants while the others hold the two boats together and watch the other fisherman, there's not a lot of room for more than three people and a pile of net in a small open boat.  The last yards of net came onboard and the marker flag was thrown into the bottom of the boat.

 

Now facing me the man stood motionless with no expression of his face.  He just listened while I "Gave him the words"  Once cautioned and told he would be reported he gave his name and address, not that we didn't already know it.

This only took a minute or so, but for that short time I had been oblivious to what was going on around us.  I knew the others would be watching my back so all my attention was focused on what I was doing.  Turning around I was confronted with something of a shock, the second fisherman was still sitting motionless and bolt upright.  For a moment the reality did not sink in.  I could see all my mates looking at me and then at the silent figure, waiting for me to realise that it wasn't another man, but a dummy - made out of a water proof coat with a five gallon drum inside and part of an oar holding the hood up.  "What the hell is that?" I asked.  The fisherman did not reply, but simply grinned.

"Right then, you've been cautioned do you have anything to say?"  "No nothing."  He replied, he knew the routine, he'd been through it all before and not only for poaching.  He didn't bat an eyelid when he was told his boat and nets were being seized and calmly got onto our boat and sat down.  Reaching into his pocket he produced a "Sinex" bottle and took a long sniff.  We're sure he must be addicted to the stuff.  On one occasion when he was searched five part used dispensers were found on him.

Checking that everything was secure on his boat before we took it in tow, the final twist came to light.  On each side of the "Dummy" was a plaque made from wood painted black with white lettering on them.  They were face down in the boat but could be hung over the side with the lettering showing.  Surprise, surprise, the lettering was that of a licensed Salmon fisherman.  The whole thing had been set up to look like a legitimate netsmen's boat.  From the shore we'd have seen two men on a boat with an identification number on it.  He could well have got away with it, especially as he would have been going out as it got dark.

Naturally there were no Salmon on board, they would have gone over the side long before we had reached him.  There were, however clumps of scales in the nets and a large patch of fresh blood on the boats deck, which should provide enough evidence to prove he had been catching Salmon, and the way the boat had been rigged up should convince the courts that he intended to keep them.  I say "Should" because courts, especially Crown Courts can be so unpredictable.  Still, whatever the outcome of that part of the case he will have to plead guilty to breaking the no Driftnetting Bye Law, With his previous record we should at least get forfeiture of his nets. 

What will they try next?  We'll have to keep a close eye on things.  If they think we're easing off and not paying as much attention as we have in the past they're wrong.  We know that the Bye Laws are just one more pitfall in their path and that those who are determined will always try to find ways around them.  Besides that, we still have to keep an eye on the licensed Salmon fishermen.  They have little regard for Bye Laws that restrict their fishing.  Someone once said, "All the fishermen in Newport are the same.  The only difference between them is that eight boats are Licensed."  This has been proven true this year.

Before the start of the season the Authority was approached by the licensed mens representative who explained that they were having problems obtaining nets that conformed to the legal dimensions and construction.  Basically the nets must be "Gillnets" made of multi strand nylon with a specific minimum mesh size and be no longer than 300 yards.

What they requested was a reversion back to using "Trammel" nets, which had been legally acceptable in the distant past, before nylon "Gillnets" had become available.  "Trammel" nets, as previously described, are without doubt more deadly than "Gillnets."  It was for this reason that the Authority insisted that they could use "Trammels" provided that they used no more than 200 yards, instead of the 300 yards they wanted to.

Reluctantly they finally agreed.  Before issuing their licences we traditionally check and tag the nets.  Several had to be re-checked because they were found to be over length, not by a great deal, but none the less they were too long.

At the same time they were told that now the main "Illegal Fishery" had been brought under control they could expect us to pay them a little more attention.  For too long they had regarded us as some sort of protective force who's job it was to keep the Estuary clear for them to operate unhindered.

Nothing could be further from the truth.  It has always been our prime concern to safeguard fish stocks from over exploitation.  The fact that we had concentrated our efforts on removing the illegal element did not mean that they had a free hand to do as they wished, it simply meant that they had not been checked as vigorously or as often as we would have liked.  Now things would be different and they were left under no illusion that this would be so.

They obviously either did not believe us or thought we would do nothing.  By the end of the season all but one of the licensed boats had been reported for breaking the Bye Laws.  In particular - carrying and using too much net.  The amounts used varied from 200 to 400 yards in excess or twice to three time the permitted length.  Hardly a minor oversight, others were also found fishing in a restricted area.  One had been fishing during the weekly closed time and another without the license holder onboard.

All this meant that we had to keep as close on eye on them as we had on the unlicensed driftnetsmen in the past.  Hopefully the resulting prosecutions will make them realise that they must toe the line, or pay the consequences, which could be more drastic than they might imagine.  At present there is no restrictions on who is allowed to hold a license, it normally follows that whoever holds a license this year automatically regains it next year.  Maybe a string of convictions will change this in the future. I wish!

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14 - Back To The Beginning

Once again the coastal fishing season came to an end on the 31 August.  Both the Putcher Ranks and the Driftnetsmens' boats have been put away for the winter.  All obstacles have now been removed from the Salmons' path, at least in the saline waters of their approach into our rivers.  We still have to safeguard their passage through the rivers as they head upstream towards their ultimate goal - the act of procreation.

The long wet summer has allowed Salmon to ascend to the middle and even a few to the upper reaches of the Usk, which has produced the best rod fishing season since 1987, which was another wet summer.  Throughout September the river has continued to rise and fall, each time the gauge reading level climbed a little higher than its previous reading and each time the level didn't fall right off.  It's as if the river knows that there are more than normal numbers of Salmon waiting to travel through it's fresh life giving waters.  For once man and nature appear to be working together, a partnership that even the most dedicated poacher cannot combat.  They may outwit us mere mortals but if the river is full of hard pushing water they stand little or no chance of being able to strip more than the odd fish from the even fewer nettable areas.

Even the anglers who have enjoyed such a bountiful year have been hard pressed to find more than the odd days sport in the last three weeks of the season.  Near flood conditions have prevailed with the Usk rising to over one and a half metres above the most productive fishing height of 0.70 metres on the Chainbridge Gauge.  Happily the anglers loss is the ecology of the rivers gain.

Once again our attentions are focused on the upland streams and brooks, Salmon and Sea Trout have been seen and legitimately caught since mid summer in many of the tributaries.  How many is not known as most are uncontrolled Fisheries, owned by farmers and other landowners.  Normally only odd anglers pick their way along the banks, "Free Lining" worms for the occasional Trout.  Now that the Rod Fishing Seasons have finished all should be quiet.  Nature should be allowed to slowly slip into it's annual hibernation.  Trees uncontrollably turn orange and brown, while Woodland creatures forage for nuts and berries to store away for the long cold days to come.

This would be the normal pattern of events for Mid October, but the presence of mature Salmon surging up through the tumbling waters of brooks swollen to fuller than would usually be expected levels for November, has changed all that.  The crisp clear air seems full of anticipation; or is it just our minds that waits and expects something to happen.

We know that Salmon have already returned to their ancestral birth place a full month early and you can be sure that those who would prey upon them with no regard for the irreparable damage that they are doing to the ecology of our rivers also know.  Not only are they killing individual fish but destroying future generations.  Each Hen (female) will be carrying up to 8,000 eggs which will produce a minimum of 80 returning adults.  Nature itself does not give a very high survival rate, predation depletes numbers still further.  It's these precious eggs that many of those who rape these fish are after.  The carcass of a "gravid" Salmon that has been in the rivers for a few months is of little value, but the eggs are almost worth their weight in gold.  Properly prepared and processed into a paste it can be sold for almost fifty pounds a pound.  Not for human consumption, but as a bait for Trout.  Totally illegal, but one of the most deadly used by those unscrupulous anglers whose only concerns is to catch as many Trout as possible.  The ever growing number of stillwater "Put and Take" Fisheries with their regular stockings of Farmed Trout are the local targets for their attentions.  The use of such baits may also be the reason for the decline in Natural Brown Trout stocks in many of our rivers.

Our early patrols have shown us that there are good numbers of fish are well into the upper reaches of the Southern Tributary's which are our responsibility, colleagues further north report similar results from their areas.  How a mere ten Bailiffs are supposed to safeguard so many locations I do not know, but we will do our best, and then a bit more.  We know that the increased numbers of Salmon are partly due to our past efforts and will not let anything destroy what we have worked so hard to achieve.  Our job, like nature itself has come full circle.  Salmon that were born three or four years ago are now within a short time away from completing their cycle of life.

They must succeed and so must we.  It's easy to put a price on what is gained by those who take these fish, but not on the loss they cause.  Unfortunately financial consideration dictates how much effort we are allowed to put into our protective role and the numbers of staff employed to fulfill that role.

Within the next six months our local Bailiff Force will be cut from 20 down to 14 full time officers.  What this will mean for the future is anyone's guess, it is certain that as long as fish have tails to swim with unscrupulous men will always prey on them for monitory gain.  We can only hope to keep the initiative in our favour.  Locally we have solved one problem, the fruits of which are now the attention of another potentially devastating group of individuals.

 

Far from being the end our story is only just beginning.  One part of our work has come to an end.  The Coastal netting has been brought under control.  We must now rise to the challenge of keeping the river environment a safer place.  It has always been a major part of a Bailiffs job, but with the hopefully increasing stocks the poachers will without doubt, fancy their chances, with the prospect of bigger rewards the temptations will also be greater.  Another chapter in our story has already begun.

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Epilogue

Time has once again surged on, like the never ending ebb and flow of the tide. So much so that the 21st Century has already begun. Since our dedicated group of Bailiffs disbanded, or rather changed priority in 1994 the Estuary and its fishermen have had little more than the minimum of our attentions. Even so, it has been made quite clear to them that we have not just gone away and left them to slip back into their illegal ways, far from it. Several of the licenced salmon driftnetters have been brought to task for infringement of the byelaws. Now, without the many poachers who used to operate the fleet of boats that caused us so much trouble in the 80's and 90's, we have been able to dedicate our time in protecting the all too vulnerable areas of river into which the salmon gather and wait after leaving the sea. Not a peaceful prelude to the frantic rush into the winter spawning ground, but a time when again men and even women, try to catch as many as they can.

Sport fishing for salmon is big business, a rod for a day one day a week can cost £1,000, and in some cases more on the prime beats. The more salmon caught and killed the higher the price, and the more valued the fishery.

Inadvertently our success in stopping the illegal exploitation of our coastal waters has made the "in river" fishing more prolific. The more fish that get caught the higher the price next year.

The higher the price the more fish have to be caught to justify the cost. The spiral goes on and on.

You could be forgiven for thinking that we would be happy with this, but we are not. Saving salmon in the sea only to see them being slaughtered for profit on the rivers has no satisfaction.

As expected the increased numbers of fish in the rivers brought with it greater temptations to those who would use whatever methods they could to strip the summer pools of as many salmon as they could, then in winter the shallow spawning brooks would become their target.

Our "spawning season" activities have not changed that much over the years. Wait for the first good flush of water in October, watch the falls and weirs to see what fish are "running", then concentrate on protecting them until they have safely laid down the spawn for the next generation. It's as easy as that!

I don't think I'd be giving away too many secrets if I told you what it's really like, but I'm keeping quiet for the sake of those who's task it still is to ensure the continued protection of the

salmon whose survival is dependant on the number who successfully complete the journey and put life back into the system. Why, you may ask, has it become so important to safeguard fish that have matured and returned to breed? Surely, there should be enough survivors to more than produce sufficient eggs, fry and parr to sustain the "runs" of fish in quantities which are capable of satisfying normal exploitation. You would have thought so. Those thousands of fish the estuary poachers are no longer taking must have entered the river systems.

Yes, for a few years an increase in the stocks, and the river poachers with their super fine gill nets, which were stretched across the full width of the river had a bit of a bonanza. So too did those of us who were committed to combating them. Dozens of people were caught in the act.

Large scale anti poaching operations were then the order of the day.

Highly motivated groups of enforcement officers spent the six summer months of each year totally committed to catching anyone who tried to plunder and rape the precious stocks of salmon, not only on the river bank but undercover within communities which were in some cases up to 50 miles away from the rivers.

One such operations took twelve officers to the South Coast for ten days gathering intelligence regarding a fish monger who was known to be taking fish from poachers operating on the South Wales Rivers. This followed the capture on the river Usk of one of a gang who were making regular trips of over 180 miles just to one area of river.

Who knows what else they were doing, these were not your run of the mill local poachers. They were the ultimate X professionals. Motivated, equipped and as dedicated to catching salmon as we were to stopping them. Cunning and ruthless they were hardened criminals. Authority of any kind was totally despised by them. All had extensive records of violence, which they were not afraid to add to. It would be more than vain to think that we caught them all, indeed we know we did not. But enough were to have an effect. Slowly fewer and fewer were prepared to risk it.

The opportunist were the first to disappear. Three or four fish a night were not enough to risk the penalties of being caught. Convicted poachers were regularly being ordered to pay large fines by the Courts, some even received terms of imprisonment.

Slowly only the most professional and habitual poachers took the chance, these became increasing hard to catch. Many would only go out when they knew things were right.

Individual pools were selected and watched. Only when good numbers of salmon were in the pool would an attempt be made to net them. Dummy runs, to try and draw out any waiting bailiffs would be made.

Nets and other equipment would be hidden up weeks in advance. Even when they were ready to "have a go", they would be hidden in some vantage point many hours before they intended to actually set the nets, watching, waiting, using scanners to detect our radio transmissions. Night vision 'scopes, not as good as the one's we used, but good enough to detect our movements, were all common tools of their trade.

Indeed, any good nocturnal villain is now equally well equipped. A few hundred pounds for an ex Russian 'scope that might save you being caught, is money well spent. This new breed of organised poachers had learnt their lessons well. I dare say some have, even now, never been caught.

In the early days it was normal for nets to be put in just after dark and not taken out until just before daybreak. In mid summer they would be fishing for up to six hours. This made it easy for us to find them and wait for the poachers to return to collect their catches. Some would even go away and do a few burglaries or farm thefts before returning to collect their nets.

These were easy catches and many were caught over and over again. Unemployed local's with nothing better to do.

Some began to learn and instead of just leaving the nets and going away, began to sit away from them and watch to see if we came along. If we did they would just leave the nets and go away.

This meant that they could not occupy their time doing other mischief. Their night time activities became less profitable. Some continued out of sheer defiance. To them it was a challenge they could not resist, rather than a high profit occupation.

There were also the organised groups who thought they were professional, simply because they had spent a bit of time sorting out the logistics, planning escape routes, arranging pick up's and lining up a chain of dealers who would buy the fish without asking questions. Some of them even had cover stories, just in case we dropped in on them. These groups were populated by individuals who had already been caught by us, but who felt safer as part of a bigger group.

They shared information and ideas, they may even have had a joint pool of funds to pay for equipment and any fines. Although I doubt that all the proceeds were shared out. These groups were also heavily engaged in deer poaching, farm thefts and not least, drugs, the former being a way of raising finances to buy their "fixes".

Then there were the true professionals. Very select, very discrete. Small groups and even individuals, who kept themselves to themselves. No boasting or showing off in the pubs. Just

quietly and methodically making the most out of their activities. So good were these ultimate poachers that it was nearly a challenge we could not rise too.

Thankfully, we did, but not without a bit of luck. We knew that a particular pool had been emptied more than once. Indeed many poachers had been caught actually in the act over the

years. This particular year, 1997 I think it was, we found evidence that the pool had been netted the previous night. This was nothing unusual, twelve Inspectors (our new title, we were no longer known as bailiffs since the privatization of Welsh Water) could not be watching every pool every night. As things were relatively quiet elsewhere a bit of time was put into that area.

Night after night nothing happened, then, a full month later someone was disturbed close to the same pool. It had not been netted, but it was pretty clear that this had been the intention. The water level was the same, the lunar cycle and tides were the same, and most importantly a large number of fish were in the pool. It was obvious that this pool was the target of some major poachers attention.

It therefore became our priority to do what ever we had to in order to catch them at it. Banking on the fact that we believed they were attacking this pool to a routine, based on the natural cycles of the moon and tide, we set out to watch and wait for their next visit.

Again, night after night went by without a sign of anyone even paying a passing interest. No one was seen or heard anywhere near. Had they given up? Were they watching us? No one knew.

Every night was quiet, not even a visit from an opportunist. Nothing moved except the increasing number of fish in the pool. True the rods were catching a few, but nowhere near the number that had built up.

Then, almost to the hour, exactly four weeks since the person was disturbed and two months since the pool was last netted, they arrived. Two shadowy figures, down the bank and out onto the water, dingy already inflated. It was gone 3 am when they were first seen, already the approaching dawn had lightened the horizon.

Across the river they went, net streaming out behind them, over to the other bank then back again. A few yards downstream another net was laid was laid, back and forth until four nets had been set, all within ten minutes. No sooner had the fourth net been tied off than they were up the bank to where the first net had been set. They then set off back across the river, this time pulling in the net, complete with their catch.

Our "eyes on the ground" saw it all. A few quick radio calls, with pre arranged messages, was all that was needed to bring in the rest of the team. Meanwhile, totally oblivious of our presence, the men continued to retrieve their nets and fish.

Our ambush was set, by the time all the nets were out and everything was on the bank the two men were pretty tired. They were confident they had achieved their goal. Now they began to relax, the adrenalin was starting to wear off. Our team pounced, it was all over in seconds.

Caught, handcuffed and cautioned before they knew what was happening.

These men were good, four nets in and out. Fifty three salmon caught and all the kit bagged up in forty seven minutes. If we had not put in the time and effort they would have come and gone and only very bad luck would have stopped them.

We had achieved a major coup, these were very good, well respected, poachers. The word soon got around that we had pulled it off. Caught two of the best. It made the others think. Not only did they realise that despite the various criticisms that we were not doing enough and the decease in our numbers, we were still capable of being effective.

The Courts were also making a firm stand against these villains. The two in question were each given prison sentences. On release one went away to live in Scotland, maybe he felt he would be safer up there.

The net effect was that the committed poachers became fewer and fewer. Poaching will never stop, not as long as there are fish to poach. We can only make it as hard as possible for them to get away with it. Our biggest worry now is the general state of the salmon stocks.

Despite all our efforts both coastal and in river for some reason the salmon as a species has taken a nose dive. In recent years rod catches have plummeted from an average of 5,000 on the river Wye in the early 90's to less than 500 in 2000. Stocks are at an all time low, it is not that they have all been caught, legally or illegally, it is a combination of many factors.

Exploitation, predation and climate changes as well as who knows what else, have all taken their toll. Many of the problems will be difficult, if not impossible, to put right. All that we can attempt to do is to rectify the loss and damage done to the habitat where juvenile salmon once thrived.

Forestry, farming and land drainage practice have all played their part in degrading the once pristine nursery streams. Habitat improvement projects are now the order of the day.

Suddenly our "customers" have seen the light. No longer do they blame poor rod catches on poaching.

That was the easy excuse. They now acknowledge that stocks have been diminishing for years due to poor recruitment.

This is why we must safeguard the few remaining adult salmon that do return each year, for they are the future.

Juvenile habitat can be regenerated but it will take time. It has slowly fallen to its present poor state and it will only slowly recover. Until it does we must preserve the handful of fish that remain.

Unbelievably we have gained allies from within the rod fishery owner, once our biggest critics, they have now helped to do the one thing we have strived for for so long. The estuary driftnet fishery has finally been closed. The licenced netsmen have been struggling for the past few years. Our enforcement of the rules, a shortened season and fewer fish to catch, has worn them down. The only reason some of them had to keep on renewing their licence was the fact that the framework of the law is such that if a licence is not re-issued each year then it is done away with for ever.

In fact two of the eight did decide that enough was enough and did not apply for renewal this year. Unfortunately for them a much talked about, but unconfirmed buy out was in hand. The Wye Foundation, a body set up to preserve salmon fishing, finally came up with an offer to pay the netsmen not to fish. They could not actually buy up the licences, as this was not legally possible. What they could do, and did, was to pay the existing licence holders not to fish. This effectively closed the driftnet fisher once and for all.

The "putcher rank" owner at Goldcliff, near Newport, was also paid off, but unlike the netsmen he actually holds a certificate of privilege, which basically means it cannot be sold. However, by accepting the pay off he cannot fish for the next five years. Whether or not he will resume remains to be seen, it will all depend on how the salmon stocks fare.

So, it is with a strange mixture of emotions, that I bring our story to an end. An overwhelming sense of pride that we achieved our objective of stopping the illegal exploitation in the estuary, satisfaction that the "in river" poaching has, at least for now, been curtailed and the pleasure of knowing that even if stocks rise again to their former levels, no more netting will be done along our coast.

It is also with sadness that the ill-fated salmon has fallen to such desperately low levels. We must all now rise to a new challenge, a challenge to right some of the wrongs man has done to nature.

A challenge to recreate a healthy and sustainable environment in which nature can re-populate our rivers with that once supreme king among fishes, the salmon, only then will we have truly

"turned back the tide."