'All my friends are gone now, all roads lead to one spot and a river runs through it , I am haunted by waters ' 

The final words of  Norman Mclean's celebrated book are nonetheless appropriate to me hence this Villanelle

I have fished the Rockland beat of the River Wye that straddles the English Welsh border for going on  25 years. During that time I have watched the demise of the Wye as the finest Salmon river in England and Wales. That demise has been presided over by a succession of Government environmental bodies, not least the last two custodians, The national Rivers Authority and finally the environment agency, who have successively allowed over fishing in the estuary, unchallenged poaching, the afforestation on the upper head water causing acidification, the blocking of spawning grounds, and the blind refusal to allow the stocking of fry into the headwaters, on the grounds that it will ruin the genetic strain of fish returning to the river.

The poor fools do not seem to understand there are no fish returning even enough to sustain the species.

In 1978 the River had a record Rod catch of Salmon 8,800 fish. This year it will be less than 1000.

I am leaving the river because of matters to do with the heart and yesterday I fished for the last time.

Robert Pashley, 'the wizard of the Wye' fished the river either side of the years of the second world war. He was a proffesional fish catcher and earned his living by selling the fish he caught.
For eight successive years during the 1930's  he caught over 300 salmon before the beginning of May. The beat he fished was Rocklands where I fished yesterday. 

This one is for Katherine .

And no one came this day at all except for the ghost of Pashley
The day started misty but promised fair
With my heart in her hands I doubt I will ever fish here again

It was the beginning of Autumn, October sunshine
As I walked again on Rockland shores
And no one came this day at all except for the ghost of Pashley

The sunshine was beautiful towards noon
Yet could not compete with memories of the paradise that is her smile
With my heart in her hands I doubt I will ever fish here again 

I lay in verdant sleepy grasslands and dreamed of her 
Heard her rapturously calling my name and I drowned in her peace 
And no one came this day at all except for the ghost of Pashley

I came haunted to this place and twice fold 
At once by circumstance and at twice by her devastating beauty 
With my heart in her hands I doubt I will ever fish here again 

For my love is all a new world symphony
This love complete for an Albany rose 
And no one came this day at all except for the ghost of Pashley
With my heart in her hands I doubt I will ever fish here again