Those hardy souls who regularly follow this blog are no doubt fed up of hearing how much I dislike angling competitions and the fact that I have not fished them in twenty plus years. All this pontificating was never going to end well and sure enough, yesterday I found myself taking part in a fishing competition. Let me justify this vault-face.
Lough Carra was the first of the great Irish lakes that I fished, almost five decades ago now. I fell in love with its stunning beauty and thrilling trout fishing pretty much at first sight. Over the years I have enjoyed great sport and the wonderful company of local anglers. The lough’s well documented decline to the very edge of collapse led me, and many others, to leave Carra alone and fish other lakes instead. While I missed Carra greatly I simply could not waste valuable fishing time on a water which was practically barren. Years rolled by without me every fishing Carra, my only visits being days on the turquoise waters as a ghillie (usually with no fish being caught). I kept in touch with some of the guys who still fished it, ever hopeful they would have some good news, but no, Carra was a disaster and best avoided.
Then I retired and amid the flurry of other changes I decided that with time now on my hands (ha ha), I would re-join the Carra Anglers Association and get back into fishing my old love. I showed up at the AGM and made the acquaintance of some new members while saying hello to the old stalwarts I knew from years past. Then a couple of weeks ago I received a text with all the info for the club annual Mayfly competition. Slightly amazing myself, I put my name down. The very next day I was in a local hardware supplier and at the counter I bumped into Liam, an old neighbour and fishing buddy. We had not seen each other since well before Covid so we got chatting and the subject of the Mayfly competition on Carra soon came up. ‘Was I fishing it?’ Why yes I was. ‘Who are you in the boat with?’ Eh, nobody yet. ‘Grand, you can come in my boat!’ And there it was, after all those years avoiding competitions I was now going to take part of one on Carra.
Sunday rolled around. Waking early, I started into the daily chores and then got talking to the electrician who came to do more work in our soon to be installed kitchen. Some of the gear from the previous two days I had spent ghillieing on Lough Conn had to come out of the car, while other essentials such as rods and reels were hunted out and chucked into the Toyota. In the cool grey morning air I studied the jumble of tackle in the boot and on the back seat, all seemed to be present and correct and so I set off on the short journey to Castleburke. Arriving on time, I waited for Liam to appear, looking out on the once pristine lake. If lakes were women then Carra was a beautiful princess, demure, intoxicating and intriguing. Now though, she was a long term patient lying on a sick bed, her beauty faded to a memory.
Liam is a Kilkenny man but like me, he blew into Mayo many years ago. You hear Liam before you see him, his strong southern Irish accent never left him and the volume control on his voice is permanently stuck at 10. A kinder man you will not meet, nor one who can talk as much. Greetings were exchanged and we loaded up his boat at a leisurely pace while chatting to other anglers as they did the same. This is the best part of angling competitions for me, just meeting up with other fishers and swapping news. We were the last boat out, partly due to me hunting in my small car for my warm fleece. Surely I had packed it? No, I would later find it at home under a pile of other clothes which were being packed away.
I set up with a sinking line and a cast of three wets. Liam opted for a floating line (as he always does) and a couple of flies. The cold wind was blowing out of the west and soon after we started to fish a dirty shower soaked everything in the boat. During our first long drift we saw two natural rises away in the distance and hope was briefly boosted. As we had not fished together for many years there was an awful lot to catch up on, and Liam is never short of a bit of chat at the best of times! So we talked and talked as the fly lines swished through the damp air and our flies were pulled back under the waves. One or two medium sized caddis were hatching but otherwise the lake was lifeless. We moved, drifted, moved again, drifted some more and repeated the process all morning without so much as a touch. By 1pm we were cold and fishless and ready for the lunch. Smoke was rising from one of the islands so we drove over, pulling up on a shingle beach and clambering out of the boat like men 20 years older, so stiff were we from the cold.
Two of the other lads were busy cooking steaks, sausages, potatoes and God only knows what else in a black iron frying pan which took two hands to lift. More banter ensued and we were joined by another boat, the six of us sitting on mossy rocks under dropping green trees while eating, talking and laughing. Nobody was in any great hurry to get back to the fishing! Eventually we dragged ourselves back to the boat and backed off out through the reeds and opened the throttle, heading south. Stopping off at the jumble of rocks outside the castle we fished over perfect water but without meeting or even seeing a fish. Liam decided he would switch to dries but he had no dry flies with him. Chucking him one of my dry fly boxes, I suggested a Green Wulff might be worth a go. He tied one on, plus a brown sedge of my own tying then we moved again.
The wind by now was dead north and exceptionally cold for the month of May. This would push us along the western shore at a nice pace so we set up drifting 100 yards off the reeds and rocks, me still hammering away with the sinking line while Liam sat grimly at his end of the boat fixating of his dry flies. With nothing to impede us, we drifted a long way down the lake. A very occasional greendrake was hatching but no trout were rising. Then, out of nowhere, 5 yards from the edge of the boat the water erupted and the Green Wulff vanished. I turned to Liam and his rod was curved right over. ‘You have him by God!’ No jumps, but short, jagged runs and lots of nail-biting thrashing on the top kept Liam on his toes, but he led the fish around the back of the boat in style. I had the net ready and scooped the fish into it once it had tired enough. A fine trout it was too!
The mood in the boat changed of course and we re-lived the take the fight and the gloriously spotted prize. Another boat had seen the action and motored over to admire the catch (and of course find out what fly had done the trick). I belatedly changed over to a floating line and a pair of dries, then we doubled back and drifted over the same area again. No good, so we shifted out slightly and tried there but it seemed Liam had found the only taker. My teeth were chattering by now, so cold was the wind. At 5pm we motored all the way back up to Castleburke where we did some more drifts until it was time to pack up. It’s a long time since I was so glad to get ashore and into the car where the heater was turned up to full blast until I began to thaw.
While helping Liam to empty and secure the boat I got a call from home, there was a problem with the new kitchen and could I come back asap? That meant I did not go to the weigh in, always one of the highlights of any competition day. So be it. Liam kindly invited me to fish with him in the remaining 5 club competitions on Carra this season, something I will look forward to. We parted and I drove home to sort out a couple of annoying little problems which will add further expense and delays, but in reality are not the end of the world.
So how was my first competition for ages? Being in the boat with an old friend who I had not fished with for years was great. I really enjoyed the day out, despite me stupidly being under dressed for the day that was in it. Carra is not in good shape but the angling club and many other local agencies are working hard to try and restore not just the lake but the surrounding area. Intensive farming is at the top of a long list of threats to the lough and its wildlife, so this is going to be a long and difficult battle against powerful enemies. Oh how I would love to see the princess rise from her sick bed!
In the end, 23 anglers weighed in 7 trout, with junior McGahan taking first prize. My man Liam came third with that lovely trout which weighed 2 pounds 6 ounces.
Claretbumbler 