Sunday was a fishing day. Thick clouds scurried across the sky, driven by a strong south-westerly. The air was warm and moist. There had been rain last week and the ground was still damp. Yes, Sunday was most definitely a fishing day. The only trouble is that nobody had explained this to the fish. ContinueContinue reading “All quiet on the western lakes”
Fishy tales from the West of Ireland
Claretbumbler 