I wasn’t the first person to notice how good Carmelo is at spotting fish in the river. I imagine that most of his clients point this out to him. Carmelo and I were born within a year of each other and, being of a certain age, we might be expected to struggle somewhat in the eyesight department. This is certainly true for me, but it is not at all true of Carmelo. Few situations reveal deteriorating eyesight as clearly as tying tiny dry flies or attaching them to fine tippet, yet Carmelo can do all of this without the aid of glasses. When we discussed this, he pointed out that his mother, now 103, can still read the newspaper without spectacles. I guess it’s all in the genes.
Continue readingCategory: Flies and fly tying
Through Carmelo´s eyes
An idiot´s guide to fly fishing for carp
The weedbeds and shallows of the Embalse del Ebro are full of carp and yet you wouldn’t know it. Most have the good sense to conceal themselves, many in the thickest parts dense beds of weeds. Occasionally they reveal rubbery lips at the surface or the arched surface of their backs between the head and dorsal fin. More often than not, you will not see them at all. What really really gives them away is the kissing sounds they produce as they slurp under a giant tangled green blanket. And those kissing sounds seem to be coming from everywhere. It is like you just walked in on a Roman orgy!
Continue reading →Three ugly sisters
A couple of nights back I tied up some flies for black bass. They were as ugly as Cinderella´s sisters and, even worse, there are three of them! Whatever the aesthetic shortcomings of these flies, I doubt it will have much bearing on whether the bass decide to eat them. Bass have history for ingesting any kind of thing when the mood takes them. They are not the wine connaisseurs who will take a tentative sip only after rolling it around in a glass and sniffing it. They don´t even drink wine. They don´t know what it is. It is beer for them and they slug it straight out of the bottle.
Continue reading →From pheasant tails to flies
A little over a week ago, I spent a few days in Ireland with my brother and my mum. In the mornings, before the others surfaced, I would head out for an hour or two and watch the day breathe life into the fields beside the quiet country road to Portlaw.
Continue reading →Solstice Grayling
The last time Paul Reddish and I were together in the north of Spain he was kind enough to extend an invitation to fish for grayling on a chalk stream back in the UK and, never having caught a grayling or fished on a chalk stream, I would have been crazy not to take him up on his offer.
Continue reading →The trout flies of Cervera de Pisuerga
Paul Reddish and I were in Cervera de Pisuerga the other day, a mountain town in the province of Palencia in northern Spain. We paused briefly on the street to count how many griffon vultures were circling overhead. We more or less agreed on our best guess — twenty-five and then, when we lowered our gaze again to street level, to our surprise, we found ourselves staring straight into the window of a fishing tackle shop.
Continue reading →Sean´s little flies
There is a room in my brother Sean’s house where he can close the door, leave the family and various dogs on the other side, and settle down to tie up some flies. I know the room well—that’s where I sleep when I visit. There’s a single bed with a Munster rugby duvet cover. Sean coaches one of the local Ballincollig rugby teams, and his sons, John and Dan, along with his daughter Nancy, are all club rugby stars. A few feet from the end of my bed, there’s a desk nestled under a skylight, with Sean’s work computer and paraphernalia—and, of much more interest to me—his fly-tying vice.
Continue reading →Catholics in a seaweed bath
Carp and barbel are the kinds of fish whose diet is often described as “catholic” which is probably a word now out of favour, presumably because it might be an exercise in advanced silliness to compare their “catholic” diet with those of other fish which could, presumably be described as “muslim”, “presbyterian”, “hindu”, or “buddhist.”
Continue reading →A little fly for trout
I bumped into a very good fly fisherman on the river and we got to chatting for a little while. He told me that he fished dry flies exclusively and, even though there was no discernible hatch on and no evidence of trout feeding on the surface, that an attractor pattern could bring the trout up. I asked if he would show me what fly he was using and he was kind enough to open his fly box and show row after row of very similar patterns differing mainly in size. Generally those flies were pretty small – no bigger than a size 14 but perhaps mainly 16 or smaller. They each had a post, usually white, but often with some pink or orange added to enhance visibility.
Continue reading →Why flog a dead horse?
My brother Sean and our old angling buddy Mark have just completed their annual pilgrimage to Lough Arrow in search of brown trout. They do this every year but, unfortunately, I am never able to join them for reasons of work and geography. In dribs and drabs they have been sending over information, mainly in the form of Whatsapp messages and emails with attached images and I am piecing together them together. I asked them if I could write a few words about their adventures on this blog and they graciously consented, possibly because they thought that if I said anything they did not approve of nobody would be likely to read it!
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