Left overs

My endless ranting on these pages about the lack of maggot sellers within 50 miles of me have altered that despicable situation not one jot. The shop in Claremorris tried selling maggots the year before last but gave it up as a bad job. ‘Too much hassle and not enough sales’ was the owners take on stocking maggots. Here in Castlebar, Frank in my local tackle shop tells me the same, so unless I order them online I have to trek many miles just to buy some bait. When I do, I buy at least one full pint, usually using half on that day and the rest coming home with me to be stored in my bait fridge. That is exactly what happened this week, and with half a pint of left over mixed maggots I decided to use them up on another session.

There is a short stretch of the river Breedogue which I have meaning to try for years, but never got around to. I expect most of you have never even heard of the Breedogue, and that is little wonder as it is a small, inconsequential stream in north west Roscommon. Rising close to Elphin, it is little more than a drainage ditch for most of its length, straightened and deepened by generations of farmers. Joined by the river Owenaforeesha, it increases in width and flow as it winds through flatlands and bogs, to empty into Lough Gara on the Roscommon/Sligo border. I know of nobody who has fished this sleepy backwater, but I had a hunch there would be some roach in it at this time of the year. You see, Lough Gara is a noted roach fishery, so I placed my faith in the notion some of those fat silvery fish would swim up the loops and flats of the Breedogue in the cold weather. Anyway, I had those maggots to use up.

It rained hard the whole day on Wednesday, pools of water forming on the dun coloured garden. Friday is promised wet again, but there looked to be a window of dry weather on Thursday for a couple of hours either side of midday. Would that be long enough for a short session? These days I am not up for fording the wide, deep drains which lead into every river around here. These are dug by farmers to drain what used to be bog to turn the land into fields to grow grass. Some you can easily jump over, but most are four to eight feet wide and vary in depth from a few inches to a few feet (and no way of knowing until you plunge into the brown water). One such drain was at the end of the first field where I intended to fish, thus limiting me to about a hundred yards of fishable water.

My plan was to trot the Breedogue, and if that was not fishing well I would drive over to lough Key and try there for an hour. I figured my chances of success were low to non-existent, but at least I would be out in the fresh air. An early start in cold darkness, setting off just as it was getting light, then keeping up with the traffic along the road to Frenchpark where I turned north and on to the wee bridge over the river. Car parked, I wrapped up well, hopped over a five bar gate and crunched across a frosty field to the edge of the river. Slithering down a steep bank, I found a flat rock to stand on and, after setting up the 12 foot Shakespeare, I started trickling in a steady stream of maggots. The current was perfect, meaning each cast could drift downstream in a leisurely manner with me controlling the speed by dabbing the spool.

I am crap at trotting. The mechanics of this style of fishing are not the problem, it is finding the fish which causes me sleepless nights. I never seem to be where the shoals of roach are. The YouTube videos I watch are virtually all from the UK where they have chub, gudgeon, ruffe, and grayling to target on rivers. None of these exotic fish live in Ireland, while dace are only found in a few rivers in the south of the country. So in my neck of the woods it is roach only, with the possibility of some skimmers on selected slow moving rivers. I get the impression the shoals of roach move around a lot, depending on temperature and water height, so finding them is the first, and biggest hurdle. What were the chances some fish were swimming around in this particular 100 yard stretch?

Some of you dear readers are probably thinking that a 12 foot rod is too short for trotting. I expect you would be correct in this view, but aside from my heavy old 13 foot ABU this is the longest rod I have. The notion of investing in a 13, 14 or even a 15 footer does appeal, but justifying the expense of a rod which would not be used very often is just not possible right now. For today, the small stature of the Breedogue presents no big problems for the 12 footer, but then I am not long trotting. The reel I used was my bastardised ABU 505 which sports a rather natty copper coloured shield from a 503 (same size,, just different colour). So began operations, trickling in a steady flow of maggots, casting out and trotting down about thirty yards or so. It was bitterly cold, but there was no wind and the blue sky looked gorgeous. More maggots, more casts. No bites. I fiddled about with depth in case the roach were sitting higher in the water but that was no use either. I bit over an hour passed like this and I was thinking about packing up due to my numb extremities. Looking to the south over my shoulder I could see rain clouds building and that made the decision much easier. Whatever about being cold and fishless, the idea of being WET, cold and fishless certainly did not fill me with joy unbounded. I wound in and retraced my steps, getting everything packed away just as the first fat drops of cold rain fell. What to do now?

I headed for the south side of lough Key where there is a harbour which might hold some roach. On arrival there though I was greeted by a phalanx of white coaches and scores of young kids in running gear. There must have been some sort of cross country event on, but I was not going to be stuck in the middle of all that noise and mayhem. Plan ‘C’ was to re-visit the marina where I had some action on Tuesday, so off I set again. It was after 11.30am by now and I had not had a bite of any sort so far.

The marina was busier than earlier in the week, with more dog walkers and joggers doing their thing on the towpath. Nobody else was fishing though, so I began to set up on the same floating pontoon. I had barely started erecting my chair when the rain came, well, more like sleet actually. Just to add to the excitement, the pontoon was already like a sheet of glass with black ice. Although there was a feeder rod in the car I decided to leave it there and just fish with the float rod. In a show of spectacular laziness I even kept the trotting rig on the rod, not bothering to take it off and set up with a waggler. I figured the roach would most likely still be close in and so the alloy stick float would not hamper me too much.

For the first twenty minutes the silence was deafening, not so much as a nibble. I kept dribbling in a few maggots with each cast and stuck to my task, still confident I could pull a few fish into the swim. Sure enough, the float finally gave a nod and in came a small roach, lip hooked on the size 16. From then on it was largely a bite each cast. If anything, the fish were more numerous than they were two day previous. Lightening fast bites were still in vogue though, and I missed more than I hooked. Virtually every roach I did land was hooked in the top lip, many of them falling off as I lifted them ashore.

Mercifully, the rain eased off soon after I started to fish, but everything I touched was cold and wet. My left hand went numb not long after I started to catch fish, I guess this was because it was getting cold when I was unhooking the roach. The right hand was not nearly as cold, but my feet were like blocks of ice. Seventeen roach had come to hand before the first small perch showed up, swallowing the double maggot like greedy perch do. About 1pm the sun came out, bathing me in welcome warmth for the first time. For about 40 minutes it was lovely sitting there catching wee roach in relative comfort, but rain clouds started to build in the north once again.

I was fishing like a machine now, cast, strike the bite , swing in the roach, unhook and return it, re-bait and cast again. The fish were universally small, but somehow there was great pleasure in keeping the rhythm going. I became aware of just how hard I was concentrating, how every detail was so important to me! Time flew, but I was in my own little world here on this icy pontoon. In my haste to get fishing I had also left the ABU 505 on the float rod and I have to say the old reel did a sterling job.

Those rain clouds were edging ever closer and my long suffering hands were moving from the numb stage to downright painful. It was time to call it a day before I got a good soaking. All my goods and chattels were flung into the car and I washed my filthy hands with a bottle of water which I found on the back seat, before setting off on the road home. The final tally for the session was 65 small roach and 4 small perch. None of the fish required the use of the landing net, and the only slight disappointment of the day was the lack of even a single good sized fish. Not to worry, nearly 70 fish in a short session in January is good enough for me!

This may sound perverse, but I will leave the marina alone for a while. Just bashing small roach has its limits. The Breedogue on the other hand needs further investigation. It is a lovely wee river and I remain convinced there must be roach in it, I just have to find them. Maybe today it was just too cold for them, or perhaps they prefer to hold up further downstream. In any case, I will go back again sometime soon to try and unlock this charming streams secrets.

In case any of you are thinking I must be suffering from frostbite after today, let me assure you I am writing this post in front of a roaring fire. Part of being outdoors in all weathers is an appreciation of luxuries like hot water or a blazing fire. As you can see, the cats love the heat too.