fishydreams

Let me tell you about our fishing camp. My brother Sean and an old friend Mark convene each summer to fish some of the great limestone loughs of the west of Ireland. If you live a life of squalor and misery, you might picture our camp easily. It’s pretty upmarket if you normally sleep in a cardboard box under an embankment. But, if you are accustomed to snuggling under quilted eiderdown in a sumptuously appointed log cabin, you might want to look away now, or, if courageous enough to proceed, to have a stiff drink in your hand.

We set up camp on the shores of Lough Mask. This is remote and desolate country. The trees are sparse and the winds can be fierce and unrelenting. Weathered limestone bedrock breaks the surface and yields reluctantly to the shallow soil. It is hard to push a tent peg fully into the ground here. More than anything else, though, this country is wet.

In Ireland the boundary between the water and the land is as disputed as the one between the water and the sky. It is in this hazy and indistinct world, blanketed by drizzle, we appear each July and set up our two dome tents. For as long as we can negotiate absences from families and work, this will be our home.

One evening last year we returned to our tents to find them ringing wet. This surprised us because the day had been unusually breezy and dry. It turned out that cows had been pissing on them. While we were away pulling teams of wet flies before the noses of indifferent trout, cattle had come across our lodgings and decided that these would provide a convenient latrine for the entire herd.

It is easy to forget that chancing upon these unusual structures in their barren world may well have been the most exciting event that had ever occurred in the lives of these ponderous herbivores. I can only imagine what they might have said to each other.

“What the hell are these things?”

“Christ knows. I’ve never seen anything like them!”

“Are they alive?”

“They don’t seem to move or to make noise”

“What shall we do?”

“Let’s piss all over them!”

Of course we have learnt to be philosophical about such things. There are a number of methods for becoming wet and, over the years, we have mastered most of the techniques. In Ireland this is part of our cultural heritage and a primary reason we shun umbrellas despite the certainty of rain. But having our encampment saturated in such a novel way greatly increased our respect for these lowly animals.

I am very tempted to pour myself a drink now and tell you all about what we do and say at camp. But such reminiscences create a tremendous yearning to sit once again around our camp fire with a glass of wine in the company of those seasoned bullshitters. I will therefore desist. For the three of us, this is a treat which is strictly reserved for the summer.

Published under the title “Cowboys” Fly Fishing and Fly Tying Monthly, June 2011.

Nudism isn’t everybody’s cup of tea. Why a bunch of people want to wander around buck naked is a bit of a mystery to most of us. Playing volleyball on the lawn on a sunny day may well be more pleasurable without the encumbrance of clothing but I suspect that may not be true of walking through nettles, climbing over electric fences or wading in icy rivers which, let’s face it, is the kind of thing we tend to get up to. You don’t need me to tell you that, as anglers, trying to get over a barbed wire fence could be difficult. And nobody wants to arrive at the riverside with their tackle scratched.

So it is tempting to think that naturists are all simply nutters who have collectively taken leave of their minds as well as their kit, and I have never heard of any convincing argument in favour of conducting our lives “au naturelle”, except for one. And here it is; when we remove our clothes we also remove the labels that define us and we can become, in a sense, equals. One person looks pretty much like another and, as you may have noticed, most nudists look like animated prunes.

I mention all this because fly fishermen really ought to be thinking of ways they can reduce to a minimum the number of things they need to cart around. Coarse fishermen win first prize in the amount of kit that is deemed necessary for a day by the water. Fly fishermen, by comparison, travel light. And, to me at least, it seems that the more accomplished they become the more they feel they can dispense with. First to go is the fully laden fishing vest which, in time, is replaced by a single box of flies and a couple of spools of tippet material. The net is gone too. Every item of equipment needs to argue a strong case in its favour to be included in a shirt pocket or two. If we can do without it why carry it around?

The only down side is that with less stuff it becomes harder to impress your friends with flash gizmos. Have you seen my new waterproof, digital camera? It has an inbuilt photoshop facility which allows you to effortlessly engineer images so that you can simply paste, onto a picture of your outstretched arms, the picture of a ten pound brown trout. You don’t even need to catch the damn thing! And I’ve had a robotic arm welded to my titanium fishing suit! This thing casts all day for me so my hands can be kept warm in my fur-lined hand warmers. They had to club a couple of seal pups to be able to make these but, boy, was it worth it! And of course it’s cleverly designed to allow me to slip my hand out to access to the inbuilt mini bar.

The funny thing is, I suspect, I may not actually need this stuff. Maybe the old nudists have a point after all. Maybe we should dispense with these things and make our lives less complicated. From now on, as far as I’m concerned, less is more, and nothing at all is the very best. I’m going to start going fishing naked. I won’t even carry a rod. My trout will all be caught by tickling as I lie on the stretches riverbank where the nettles are few and far between.

Naked Tout Fishing – published by Fly Fishing and Fly Tying Monthly (July 2010)