Category: Fishing reports


Every now and then my brother Sean and our old friend Mark arrange a little rendezvous in the west of Ireland to see if we can catch a few trout and yesterday we convened in Westport for this long-anticipated fishing trip.

Mark Twain once said that the worst winter he ever experienced was a summer in San Francisco and, while things are not quite that bad here, to begin to imagine summer weather in the west of Ireland it is helpful to consider winter weather in as a starting point. Continue reading

Harry and I headed out on Rutland again today to do battle with the trout. It was a quiet day for everyone and the fishing people back at base told us that very few fish had been taken. Harry and I had one fish apiece.

Rutland is, very crudely, a V shaped body of water with one arm north of the other and so they are called the north and south arms respectively. On the far side of where they meet, again very crudely, is the club house where boats can be hired (there are 65 of them) and you can buy a ticket to fish it. The boats float (an important design feature in my view) and have an engine at the back. You need an engine here as it is a big water – 3100 acres. Continue reading

I have just spent a day on Rutland Reservoir boat fishing with Harry Abbott. Harry used to be a mate of mine but today he caught loads of fish whereas and I caught nearly none and so now I hate him. If he were writing this blog he would be speaking about fish landed, others lost and a big lump of a trout that swam off and emptied his reel of fly line in a matter of a few seconds before the line parted. He has just headed off to bed and I bet he will be tossing and turning now and will have trouble sleeping as he relives the drama of those moments.

We never saw that fish but Harry reckons it was significantly heavier than his four pounder which was the first and best fish of the day. Continue reading

It has been a very hot summer here so far. It can seem sometimes as though opening the front door is like opening the door of a blast furnace. Outside, our dog Brutus is panting away. He lies in the shade but it is not  cool even there. Brutus is a campo dog and he has never been in the habit of being indoors but even he will sneak in just a little and lie just inside the front door where the tiles on the floor are a little cooler.

The heat has also put the brakes on fishing to a large extent. The river is warm and the fish are in the same kind of torpid mood as Brutus, the other dogs and the rest of us. Where it is deep enough on the reservoirs the bass will leave the shallows for much of the day and early morning and late evening are likely to be the optimum times to catch them. Continue reading

Yesterday I received a short message by email and a single attached photograph. It came all the way from British Columbia and showed the irrepressible John Langridge holding onto the tail of a fish he had just landed.  This fish, a white sturgeon, was about the weight of me, my wife Catriona and our two teenage kids put together!

I have only a few details about the capture of the fish. It was taken in the Fraser River which is the longest river in British Columbia and took 45 minutes to subdue. It towed the boat along as if it were a dog being taken for a walk and was eventually landed a full mile from where it was hooked. Continue reading

We have family here at the moment and I have been unable to slip quietly away to the river for a bit of “psychological readjustment.” The result of this is that I have been unusually grumpy for the last couple of days. The weather hash´t helped. It has been punishingly hot and so we “retreated” indoors for much of the day watching Wimbledon on the telly.

While we have all been competing for the most comfortable spot on the sofa to watch Andy Murray, or arguing about whose turn it is to do the washing up, others have been “living the dream” and headed out to sea to do battle with giant fish. Last week Steven Lawler reported on a great big tuna a neighbour of his caught out on a charter from Sotogrande. He tells me that it took three of them an hour and a half to finally land it and they estimated its weight at 200kg. Continue reading

I reckon God must be getting old. Old folks often feel the chill a little and like to turn the central heating up and that certainly seems to be happening here. The weather people say we are experiencing a little heat wave which should pass in a few days. Maybe. I figure it is just God twiddling the dials that adjust the thermostat.

On Saturday morning I collected Leo from a friend´s house in Fuengirola and took him to the river to see if the fish were up and about. They were, but they were sluggish, as was Leo himself after a night on the beer and just a few hours of sleep. Continue reading

Feckin flies

I spent Sunday afternoon and evening with Steven Lawler on the Guadalhorce river. Steven has recently been out in Bosnia fishing for trout and grayling and he showed me some of the tiny nymphs and dries used to catch them in gin-clear water. He said he figured I would like Bosnia and after listening to tales of his adventures there I must admit that it sounds like my kind of place.

We had no prospects of catching trout or grayling on the Guadalhorce of course but were looking forward to catching some barbel and maybe, if the gods smiles on us, a carp or two. Continue reading

Today was as good a day on the river as I can remember for some time. As I was heading out I was trying to decide which of two stretches of river to visit and I opted, in the end to go to Estación de Cártama and just walk upstream for a way. There were quite a few people having picnics and barbecues, this being a popular area with the public, but it took just a river crossing and a short walk upriver to find myself alone. Continue reading

I was driving home from the the river today and bumped into my neighbour Andrés. He is another fisherman, just like me, except that he fishes only in the sea. I told him I was had been to the river and had caught three barbel. He asked me what kind of size they were and I used the universal gesture that indicates the length of the fish as the distance between the palms of the hands. I told him the best fish might have been a kilo and a half, mas o menos.

Then he put me to shame by pointing out that he had recently caught a “mero” of 14kg in Algeciras. “Jesus, that´s a big fish” I thought “but what the hell is a mero?” Continue reading