fishydreams

The pints we consumed were not celebratory as they had been the previous night but a consoling remedy after a day´s rejection by the trout of Lough Carra.

To be honest we needed little consolation. Everyone who plays the trout fishing game might expect things to be inconsistent, particularly at this time of the year but we were nevertheless surprised at how little activity we observed. Sean and Mark each had a couple of furtive rises but put these down to small fish but my own flies were untroubled over the several hours they were on the water. If we failed to catch it was not from lack of effort. We offered those damn trout everything they might have asked for, wets and dries and buzzers, and we drifted over very promising looking water. The weather conditions seemed fine. Who knows why things pan out this way sometimes. It is what it is. C´est la vie.

Not that the day did not have its moments. Sean invented a series of jokes which were generally too vulgar to repeat here and we chanced across a meadow of wildflowers when we pulled up to boil up the Kelly kettle an act which, in itself, is deeply symbolic to us despite the fact that none of us can quite figure out what it is supposed to symbolize – freedom maybe. As we approached this shore a deer walked across the meadow and disappeared into cover. Unfortunately I was on the oars and had my back to it and when I turned round it was gone.

Meg susses out the prospects