Back to the Robe

For the past couple of months I have been thinking about fishing, preparing to go fishing but not actually managed to do any fishing. Apart from a solitary coarse session I have been confined to quarters, of my own volition I must say. There has just been so much going on that angling dropped down my list of priorities for the whole for January and February. There is work being done on the house you see. Indeed, I had planned to be bankside on Monday but a tradesman I had been waiting for called to say he would be at the house in an hour, so that was the end of that. I’m guessing I am not alone in this sort of derogation of duties at this time of the year so I won’t dwell on it. It is well into March now though and high time I was about my business.

The all important weather forecast was good for a change. That hateful east wind of the past few days had gone, replaced by a warm zephyr under grey skies and temperatures just scraping into double digits. It felt like trout fishing weather, so after a bite of breakfast I gathered up a few essentials and headed down to the river Robe for a few hours. I’ve hardly fished the Robe since covid, it just sort of dropped off my radar for no good reason. OK, so the fishing is a shadow of what it was even ten years ago, but I can usually still winkle one or two brownies out of my preferred spots.

This was always going to be a short session. I have a mountain of work to do at home and my left arm is still not 100% after I torn the ligaments a while back . This apparent loss of core strength is entirely due to my largely sedentary lifestyle during the final two years of my working life. Long days spent in meetings, driving long distances, not much physical activity – it all added up and I have been paying the price for it in the form of debilitating aches and pains. I have made the situation worse by throwing myself into house renovations, wielding a variety of tools and pulling at heavy materials on a daily basis. Oh the joys of old age!

The Robe fished very poorly last season by all accounts, so it was not just me who blanked or caught only tiddlers. March has often been a good month for me on this stream though, maybe not in terms of large trout but there are usually a few small to normal sized fish feeding on anything like a reasonably mild day. Optimism was high as I rolled across the greening Mayo landscape, first to Claremorris and then over to the hamlet of Hollymount. A grey car was parked at the solitary parking spot by the bridge so I left the old Toyota outside a nearby farm house. I’m in the habit of leaving a note inside the windscreen when I go fishing so if my car is in the way of the local farmer he can call me to move it. Blackbirds sang as I tackled up, the daffodils in the farmhouse garden were a brilliant yellow and the air smelled of gorse flowers. It was bloody marvelous to be out!

The grey car sported rod carriers, so at least one other angler was fishing this stretch today. I began with a team of three wets, a Plover and Hares Ear on the bob, a Partridge and Red in the middle and a beaded Hare’s Ear on the tail. All three are proven flies for this time of year and I had no doubt they would work if the trout were in the mood. Down on the bank I could see an occasional stonefly hatching and a trickle of Large Dark Olives taking to the wing. My only concern was the water itself, it was exceptionally low for this time of the year, not a good omen for the rest of the season. And so I started casting, only to catch some dead rushes and snap off the tail fly after a couple of casts. Re-tying the leader took me ages just because I am out of practice making the knots and my eyesight is so bad. At last I was back in action and I fished reasonably well down through 3 pools without stirring a fish. Nothing was rising to the stoneflies or olives but I felt it would just be a matter of time if I fished diligently. Sure enough, as I covered a lie on the far side of an underwater rock I felt a sharp tug and a trout was on. Just a wee lad, it was never-the-less my first of the season and that makes it a special fish, no matter it’s size. The Plover and Hare’s Ear had done the business once again.

I fished on with no further action until I came down to the lad who’s car I had seen parked up at the bridge, so I stopped for a chat. Mark and I compared notes and talked fishing for a while before I departed and took off down river. Bypassing a number of pools and runs which I deemed to be too shallow at this height of water, I made my way down to the old weir. Minutes passed as I studied the deep water hoping to see some signs of life but no, it was very quiet in the slow water so I pressed on down the river. More pools and runs were checked but didn’t look ‘fishy’ to me today, so I passed them by. Eventually, just above the village itself, I found my way barred by an imposing new barbed wire fence. It took me a while and some death-defying manoeuvres to negotiate this barrier, but I got across it in the end and fished down one of my favourite pools. No joy, not so much as a rise, and so it was onwards to the next pool.

This next pool is an interesting one which has lots of features and structures. I gradually fished the neck and then into the main body of the pool where I suspected trout could be holding in the deeper water. I rose one but the splashy rise failed to connect and the fly swung away without touching the fish. I cast again to the same spot but the fly tracked over where the trout had been without a touch. A couple of yards on though my line tightened and I was into a nice fish. This spirited wee lad ran up and past me, charging through the fast water of the neck and up into the pool above. I turned him and led the trout back to where I could beach it on a gravel spit (I had no net with me). A lovely fish but of about three-quarters of a pound, I took a quick snap and popped him back into the cool water.

That fish had taken the Partridge and Red in the middle and made a mess of the leader, so I stopped to re-tie the whole thing, but retained the same three flies. Back in action again, I felt there was still a fish to come from this pool and sure enough, a strong pull turned out to be the best one of the day. A great scrap ensued before it too slid up on to the gravel and my waiting grasp. A cracking brownie of well over the pound, it had taken the Hare’s Ear on the tail.

I fished on for a while longer, rising a couple more trout but not connecting with them. The hatch petered out to nothing and by now I was a long way away from the car, so it seemed to be time to call it a day. Retracing my steps, I took in the glory of this spring day. Wagtails, both Grey and Pied were paired up and flying over the river. A pair of mallards exploded from under my feet, noisily taking to the air in unison and flying off, no doubt disgruntled at this human disturbing them. A snipe zig-zagged away as I approached, unseen until the last second. Bees buzzed and the air felt softly warm and welcoming. It felt marvelous to just be out in nature again after the long winter.

So, I am off the mark at last for this season. My left arm aches now, telling me I still have a while to go before that arm is back to normal. I was more unsteady on my feet than the last time I fished this stretch, both my arthritis and vertigo are worsening with the passage of time. Still, the small amount of pain is a price I am willing to pay for days like this. No monsters, or ‘PB’s to be sure, but I am well past caring about such things. A few nice trout and some time away from depressing news and the worries of the world. What more could you ask for?