On my local stretch of river you can choose what kind of water you fish. There are broad shallow pools, there are riffles and reaches where the river twists and turns, where it speeds up or it slows down. And you can find fish in much of this water if you look closely. To the gypsy barbel the deeper pools with reasonable currents offer prime real estate and the shallow sills where the river empties into them can be relied on to produce a few fish which hold in the shallows but, if they are disturbed, that can reverse effortlessly into the relative safety of the deeper water. Continue reading
Category: Other bits and bobs
The mayfly is up at the moment and everybody in Ireland with half a brain will be out chasing trout. It just has to be done. The best advice for any fisherman at this time of the year is this: divorce your wife if you need to and, if it comes to it, be prepared to abandon your kids. If things are busy at work consider pulling a sickie or, if you have a little business of your own, just stick the “Gone Fishing” sign and get the hell out of there. Continue reading
Nobody seems to know how old Brutus is. Brutus is our dog. Before making a home for himself with us he used to belong to a local farmer. He was probably supposed to act as a kind of guard dog. We used to see him as we walked around the corner and up the hill. He just looked at us with a kind of indifference. Maybe he remembered vaguely that his job was to appear menacing but he was beyond caring. He might have lifted one of the brows above his dark eyes but that would be about it. Continue reading
I don´t know if there is anything that can surprise me any more. On Saturday afternoon, as has been recently reported, I caught a fish that wasn´t in the river at all but was swimming around in the grass. At around the same time Harry Abbott sent me a picture of his fly fishing buddy David Blair travelling to his fishing spot in two seater airplane with his dog sitting in the back. I don´t know if mermaids are real but I am keeping an open mind. From time to time I glance around on the banks of the Guadalhorce, just in case. Continue reading
I don´t know how you feel about it, but life can begin to seem pretty grim at times. The UK today signed off on an engagement and involvement with Europe that they had maintained for 44 years, and for no single good reason that I can fathom. They have set sail blindly into uncharted waters without a map. And idiotic as that may appear, the first prize for idiocy goes, as usual, to Donald Trump who is busy reversing any rational policies of his predecessor. Next in the firing line is the environment. I happen to teach Science for a living and I could probably wander into the primary section of our school and find dozens of youngsters who are more scientifically literate than this bozo. Continue reading
The fish on the Río Grande must have nerves of steel. On the face of it, theirs might appear a pretty chilled existence, but things are not always as they seem. The world seems to conspire against them. Not only does the protracted summer heat suck most of the water out of the river, marooning the barbel in isolated pools, but even in the good times they are subject to noisy intrusions on their lives. Not only do you get guys like me sneaking up on them trying to ruin their afternoons by fooling them into taking a little artificial nymph, but there are cars and farm vehicles motoring across the shallows and goats being driven from one side of the river to the other. Continue reading
I heard a good yarn yesterday from Norman Smith when I joined him and his wife Maureen for a bite of lunch and a few beers at the local watering hole in Villafranco.
A few years back Norman was fishing for carp in a stocked water close to where we both live. It is not a big water, this one, and it is quite easy to observe your fellow anglers. After a little while Norman noticed there was something a little odd about an angler on the other side of the water. He seemed to be keeled over. It turns out that he had dropped down dead. Continue reading
At this time of year I am deep in armchair fishing mode. The forecast here is for a weekend of rain. My local river will be colouring up now and the fish will be sulking.
I imagine that I am joined, while in armchair mode, by the vast majority of the world´s fly fishermen who, I imagine, live predominantly in the northern hemisphere. They are likely to be pacing around now annoying their wives and waiting for the onset of the spring and the prospects of a new season. Continue reading
Harry Abbott has been tormenting me again. At the moment he is down in the South Island of New Zealand helping himself to some of the large trout swimming around in the Clutha river. So when I arrive home, weary with the burden of work and responsibility, and I sit down to open up my emails who should I see grinning at me but Mr Abbott. Continue reading
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