The blue rod

This tale all begins many months ago when one of my followers on this blog got in touch about a post I wrote on old ABU rods. Keith had a similar love of the Swedish rods from the 1970’s, and indeed we both actually owed examples of the same rods. We agreed to keep in touch and meet up sometime this year as he spent his summers in county Mayo. True to his word, Keith reached out to me recently and even went as far as to offer me one of his rods as he was not fishing any more. I drove over to meet him a couple of weeks ago and we chatted about the fishing, our lives and families and, of course the old ABU tackle we both used. He presented me with a fine example of an ABU Atlantic 403 S rod, which due to ill health he not longer fishes with. This uncommon generosity was clearly the mark of a man who loved his fishing and wanted someone else who appreciated the fine rod and would continue to use is. I promised him then that not only would I look after the rod but that I would use it when trolling on lough Conn.

Fast forward to yesterday evening when my phone buzzed as a text from my mate Ben came in. Did I want to go out on Conn for a few hours on Sunday morning? Well, that didn’t take a whole lot of pondering and arrangements were made on the spot. The idea was we would be fly fishing but when I got up early on Sunday there was no wind to speak of so I packed a couple of trolling rods with all the rest of my gear. Ben drove and we caught up on the local fishing gossip as the still green countryside spilled past. My boat, with 6 inches of water in her from all the recent rain, was ‘moored’ in Gillaroo bay. I say moored but in truth she was simply pulled up into the bushes as the lake was so high the normal moorings were all under four feet of tea-coloured water. I set up the immaculate 403 with a small ABU multiplier and made a trace from 15 pound nylon. On the end I tied a 20 gram blue and silver Toby spoon, my favourite colour on a bright day.

The weather was still and warm with only a slight breeze coming in from the south east as we tackled up and loaded the boat. The ‘click’ as the central locking of the jeep was activated, the splash of the oars as we edged out on the smooth water and the soft burble of the four stroke engine as I engaged forward gear and we headed out into the main body of the lough, all sounds so familiar and reassuring. Baits were let off to stream behind us and I set a course past Seagull island and the four pins, around Massbrook and up into Victoria Bay. The blue fibreglass rod was perfectly suited to this kind of role. The old ABU’s were wonderful casting tools and were made to last, the only downside with them is their weight. They are heavy in the hand if you are spinning with them for any length of time. Trolling means that is not an issue as the rods are propped in the boat, ready to be grabbed when a fish strikes the bait. The tip nodded rhythmically as the Toby flickered over the bottom far behind the boat. This was all very peaceful.

The multiplier I was using today is one of those small ones designed for the American bass fishing market and it lacks that most fundamental of trolling reel features, a ratchet. I was messing about with something or other in the bottom of the boat and when I looked across all I could see was the blue rod hooped over, the tip jagging backwards and the line fairly melting off the reel. Ben saw what was going on at the same instant and we simultaneously yelled ‘FISH’. I grabbed the rod and hit the kill switch on the engine. Line was still pouring off the reel and I leant into the fish to try and slow it down. In this situation it can be hard to figure out exactly what species has taken your bait. Slow, pulsating runs are usually Pike, while those rough, sharp head shaking runs are usually a salmon. This fish did not really feel like either of those options but it was clearly a very large fish as the rod was bent hard over and it was showing no signs of stopping any time soon. I felt like everything was in hand, we were perhaps two hundred yards from the shore, so had plenty of sea room. The bottom hereabouts has scattered weed beds but no major rocky snags to worry about. I was confident in my tackle and knots. What could go wrong?

The sickening, sudden slackness was all too familiar when it came. I had turned the fish and he was now moving roughly in line with the shore far down wind of us. While it had taken an awful lot of line but I had felt it was well hooked. Apparently not! Checking the treble hook when I retrieved the Toby did not solve the mystery, it was in perfect condition. The great fish had simply fallen off. Just one of those things I suppose. It is far from the first fish to fall off on me and it will not be the last. The Toby has a deserved reputation as a wonderful attractor of fish but a poor hooker, so in all likeliness this was just one more fish that lunged at the spoon but the hook failed to find a good hold. Ah well, at least that was a bit of excitement. Knots and trace checked, I tugged on the pull cord and started the engine again, then set us back on course for Victoria bay.

As we trolled the wind began to pick up and by the time we were up as far as Victoria a nice 12 inch wave had developed under a hazy sky. That was enough metal dragging for now and the fly rods were unearthed from the pile of gear in the bottom of the boat. Scanning my wet fly box I decided on a leggy Green Peter for the bob, a Golden Olive Dabbler in the middle and a Silver Invicta on the tail. Perhaps not the most original of flies but in truth the very high water had me doubting if there would be any action today at all, so fly selection was pretty far down my list of priorities.

Setting up on the first drift, I found I had misjudged the wind direction slightly and so had to start the engine again to push us another hundred yard further to the east. To the unknowing eye this must have looked like a pointless exercise, all anyone can see is just the same open, featureless water. To me though, the shallow strip of gravel I know stretches out into the lough would be missed unless I set up in exactly the right spot. Happy I had it right this time we started to fish, each cast carefully extended and fanned out so we covered as much water as possible. The old grey hull drifted true and needed only slight pulls on an oar to counter any wayward gusts. This was lovely fishing, fifteen yard casts, dibbling the bob fly for the last few feet before a clean pick up and a repeat of the last throw on to the rolling waves. Classic Irish fly fishing.

We were maybe half way down the long drift when I rose a salmon. What was interesting about this was I saw the whole thing in minute detail. Normally, you get a splash, or a flash of silver under surface. Sometimes there is a ‘boil’ on the surface as a salmon turns away. This time I got all of those plus some more! Finishing a cast, I lifted the rod and was dibbling the bob fly from quite far out. Suddenly I saw the water behind the fly go smooth and I could see the brown shape of a stale salmon not a foot from my Green Peter as it furrowed through the waves. ‘Take it’ I muttered, but the fish turned down and out of sight for a split second. I kept the fly moving and up he came again, this time boiling as he slashed at the fly without making contact. ‘Can you see him?’ I asked Ben. ‘Oh I see him alright’. Still I held the Peter on the surface and didn’t yer man come rushing at it like a veritable torpedo, only to swerve off at the last minute and vanish from sight. I re-cast in the direction I thought he went, as sometimes they will take a fly as the swim off. Not today though. During all of this I could see every detail of the fish. It was a stale springer of about 7 or 8 pounds, as brown as oxtail soup and with a kype on him which left me in little doubt it was a male fish. While it would have been nice to hook him in reality such fish are best left unmolested as he would have been returned anyway.

A couple more long, leisurely drifts over silvery satin waves were fruitless so we decided to go back on the troll. In the distance we could see another boat and we recognised the distant voices as anglers we knew. Funny how some boats are nearly silent while others are riotously noisy. That following wind pushed us along past the bundle of rocks, the caravans, the sandbank and over the shallow point before Pike Bay. We had just agreed it was time to turn for home when didn’t the blue rod get another hard rattle but this time the fish was gone as soon as I picked up the rod. Who knows what that one was!

And so we swung in a wide arc, pointing the bow into the waves and motoring slowly South into the warm wind. Nephin appeared from the mist which she had been hiding in all morning, the flanks of the mountain starting to show patches of purple where the heather is coming into bloom. Today is the first day of autumn, but after the awful July and August we have endured it felt more like the first day of summer. Forecasters are telling us we will have warm weather for a couple of weeks but I’ll believe that when I see it. We fished over the best lies without stirring any more fish and finally wound in with a mile or more to motor home at full throttle. This is always a good idea so the engine gets a bit of a run after ticking over at trolling speed for hours on end. Another day on the lough over and I was fishless despite three good chances. Not to worry, there are much worse things happening on this planet than an angler with a dry net.

For those interested in the ABU Rod, here is a bit of info on the 403. These were iconic spinning rods which were made in the 1970’s. The striking blue blanks made them instantly recognisable and ABU went on to develop a range of different 403’s. Some had a normal fixed reel seat while others had that sliding reel seat which, while it seemed to be very popular, I personally never really got on with. The 403S which Keith passed on to me is different. The ‘S’ denotes this model has the famous ABU ‘Speedlock’ reel seat, specifically designed for reels which are mounted on top of the rod. It is also ringed with the smaller diameter rings for a multiplier, instead of the over sized ‘ABUFLEX’ rings which were used on the spinning versions of the 403. The 403 range were hollow fibreglass, 9 feet long, two piece and joined with metal furells.