A day in the midlands

I could ill afford a day away from the house renovations, but I was feeling exhausted by the stresses and strains of the project, so on Tuesday I took myself off for a bit of fishing. There was a vague sort of a plan which sounded overly complicated even to me, and indeed the first part of the plan crumbled to dust before I went to bed on Monday evening. The early start and hit the first of two venues had failed to take into account a pressing family commitment on Tuesday morning, (old age/diminishing memory, etc). Once I had done my duty at home I just headed off with a car full of gear and hoped for the best.

As I was making for the midlands I decided to drop in past my old work and catch up with a few of my former co-workers. It has been 7 months since I saw any of them, time enough for a lot of changes both for me and for the site. Yes, it felt very strange driving into the car park. Stranger still not to have my pass on me to allow me to enter the building. I was greeted like a long lost brother, hugs and handshakes were the order of the day and my expected 30 minutes ended up being a couple of hours chatting and hearing the news. All to soon it was time for me to hit the road again and with a final wave over my shoulder I crossed the road and got back in the car. I have to say it was quite emotional for me, seeing some of the people I had worked so closely with for two years.

Socialising completed, my attention now turned to the fishing. My plan to fish one of my favourite stretches of the Royal canal near Ballymahon was shelved and instead decided to try out a venue new to me at the little village of Cloondara in county Longford. It is here that the Royal canal meets the river Shannon via a short section of the Camlin river. I had been hankering to fish here for a long time, but it was only now that I had the opportunity and inclination to give it a go. The main road to Dublin passes close to the village and over both the Shannon and the Camlin meaning a large chunk of my life has been spent hurtling across the bridges wondering what the fishing would be like there.

The geography is a bit complex in and around the village but basically the canal comes up from the south and meets the Camlin river where it loops around in a ‘U’ shape. A man-made cut joins up the two ends of the ‘U’ so there is a one-way system for the boaters. As you will gather, there are lots of spots to try but I plumped for the section of the Camlin right where the last lock on the canal empties into it. This was based on the ability to access a grassy bank just a few yards from where I could park the car, thus reducing any stress on my arm (and indeed the rest of my ancient frame). I was also hoping the flushing effect when the lock gates opened would have scoured some deep water close in to the edge.

The day had been grey and windy, with the odd splash of rain from a passing shower, just like the day before, but the sun came out as I was driving the last few miles to Cloondara. The wind was gusty and very strong, making me wish I had thought to bring some heavier gear. It took me two trips from the carpark to my chosen spot with all my gear, mainly because I had brought my feeder chair with me. Setting up with my back to the wind worked fine to begin with but the gusts swung through 180 degrees over the course of the session before moderating a bit towards the end. I fed a swim just a rod length out and then fired a small maggot feeder into the middle of the river. Next, I set up the float rod and settled back to await events. Well, I didn’t have to wait too long!

The first cast with the float had barely settled when the float shot under and I lifted into a fish which promptly threw the hook. Ok, let’s try that again. Two casts later the float slid under and I had a nice wee roach ashore in jig time. More balls of groundbait went in as well as some loose fed maggots, in an effort to keep the fish which I had luckily stumbled upon, feeding right in front of me. Frenzied action ensued with near constant bites on both waggler and feeder, mainly a good stamp of roach [lus the occasional small perch. This was all good fun, the only fly in the ointment being a high rate of lost fish on the float.

My float rig was bog standard, a 2BB waggler attached via a tiny link swivel to 6 pound main line with a 4 inch four pound look length to a size 15 spade end. I was growing suspicious of that hook though. When making up hook lengths I had used some crystal bends which were in my box of coarse hooks. I have never been a huge fan of that particular design, the relatively narrow gape makes me uncomfortable. It would have been the work of a few seconds to swap the hook out but the bites were coming so quickly I persevered with what I had on. After an hour or so the bites began to slacken off and I bit the bullet, cutting off the hook length and replacing it with another 4 inch one but this time with a size 14 round bend spade on it. To be fair to the much maligned crystal bend, the now hook didn’t perform a whole pile better. It was noticeable that virtually all the fish I landed on the waggler were hooked in the very front of the mouth, usually just nicked in the top lip.

I munched on a warm, greasy sandwich and looked around me. This was a lovely spot, quiet and yet not far from busy marina. Where I was on the grass is a temporary mooring where boats stop and tie up as they start the process of negotiating a lock which leads into the basin. That basin was thronged with small craft tied up two deep all the way around it. Three young lads were chucking huge soft baits into the shallow basin in search of pike while in the distance I could make out another angler. Cloondara is a popular spot for us brothers of the line.

The lull in action ended when a strong bit on the feeder resulted in a good hybrid which required the net. Two more followed then it went quiet again and I relaxed back in my far to comfy chair taking in the glorious Irish summer around me. Trees on the far bank and behind me were full of birds and amongst the usual suspects such as blackbirds, chaffinches and bullfinches I could hear the insect-like song of a grasshopper warbler. I’ve never actually seen one, but their song is unmistakable. Swallows darted over the brown water as the wind which had been such a pain in the arse died off. I lazed in the warmth, a dishevelled figure, smelling of maggots and groundbait, utterly and completely happy with my lot.

The quiet spell ended when a shoal of bream showed up. Not massive fish but they kept me busy for a while with their rod bending bites. They did not hang around for long but I landed a few and paid for that success by having everything coated in slime. once again, the swims went quiet and this rime is would prove to be an end to my sport for the day. I fished on, simply enjoying being out on such a lovely day, and was planning on fishing into the dark in the hope there would be some tench around. But, the midges had other ideas. Now the wind had dropped the wee monsters could come out to play and swarms of them appeared out of nowhere. Clouds of they rose and fell in the air around me, dancing specks of gold in the sunlight. That’s when the biting started and all thoughts of rod-bending tench were forgotten, it was time to go!

Two short trips along the grass and over a lock gate delivered all the gear back to the car. One of the tree youngsters was reeling in a tiny jack pike as I passed. Little more than a pound in weight it had ambitiously grabbed what looked like an 18 cm paddle tail. The young fellas were elated at this success, as I suspect I would have been at their age. It still seems incredible to me that I’m in my mid-sixties now, where did my life go? I am not sure I would want to be a kid in this modern world though, I suspect I was very lucky to grow up when I did in much simpler and innocent times.

I loaded up the car, divested myself of jacket and wellies then pointed the old Yaris west and into the setting sun. An hour-and-a-half on the largely deserted road brought me home. It had been a day of mixed emotions. While it was lovely to meet up with my former colleagues, it was sad knowing that part of my life has gone for good. That was tempered by the long drive and recalling early Monday mornings when I used to set off for work and be gone for a week or sometimes more. The fishing reflected the fleeting nature of life, one minute the rods were in near constant action, the next it all went quiet for no obvious reason. Even those three lads, whooping and laughing as they chucked out lures on cheap rods, silhouetted in the golden light of the westering sun, were like a carefree metaphor for my long lost childhood.

Cloondara is a lovely spot and I will definitely be returning there to try both the river and the canal. There is also some fishing on the Shannon at the nearby village of Tarmonbarry where a weir tames the mighty river. In high water I suspect the shoals of roach and bream move out of the main flow and in to the relative peace of the back waters below the weir. All of this is within driving distance of home for me

The jury is still out on crystal hooks for me. I have a load of them, bought when I was starting out on this coarse fishing malarky. Maybe I’ll give then one more try, but if I don’t feel happy with them I’ll flog them on eBay. There are still some maggots left in the bait box, now resting in the cool darkness of the fridge at home, enough for a short session if I can fit one in soon. My injured arm continues to slowly but surely improve, with less pain and slightly more mobility in it now. I’m hankering after some trout fishing from the boat but I know myself I am not fit enough for that yet.