My fathers old rod

My mobile rang on Saturday afternoon as I was tidying up in the kitchen. Frank was on the other end, asking if I fancied some trolling on lough Conn the next day. After some deliberation, and checking herself had no plans for the Sabbath, we agreed it was worth a lash. It looked like it would be a bit wet and windy but what else can you expect in March. Gear was dusted down and I stashed the jumble of waders, clothes and bags beside the front door so it was at hand for Sunday morning.

The word on the street was the trout were still not showing on Lough Conn but there were a few pike being boated, so with that in mind I packed some wire traces and unhooking tools. As regular readers know, I am not a pike angler and have little knowledge about the species. Over the years I have had a couple of twenty pounders and a great many in the upper teens of pounds, but those successes have been more through luck than judgement. To be honest, all I wanted was a day out on the water and if I caught anything it would be a bonus. We would be fishing with Ian Wise out of Cloonamoyne and if anyone was going to put us over fish it would be Ian.

The arrangement was I’d pick up Frank at 9am and we would head of to meet up with Ian on the shore. As usual, Ian was ready and raring to go when we arrived, so we wasted little time and loaded up our tackle then set off across the wind swept bay. The promised rain was missing, and indeed it would stay dry until the last half hour when we were out on the boat. Both air and water temperatures were low and the lake is still very high, so conditions were far from ideal. Having said that, Ian had a boat hired out the day before and those anglers returned with two good trout they had picked up on the troll. Frank set up with his usual trolling rods, enormously long telescopic jobs with large fixed spools on them. He fished out one side of the boat while I stuck my solitary rod out over the opposite gunnel.

I was using my fathers old rod, a lovely Daiwa powermesh dating from the early nineties. My dad retired with no real hobbies and so I bought him a rod, reel etc to try and get him interested in angling. He had access to a short stretch of a salmon river and I figured if I could get him hooked on fishing it would be something to get him out from under my mother’s feet. Alas, cancer took him after only a couple of years after he received the watch and the tackle returned to me after his funeral. The rod had lain unused for all those years since then, carted about with me when I moved around, then stored with the other rods when I settled in Castlebar. Over the winter I had taken it out of the black cloth bag, checked the rings were all in good order and decided it was time to give this rod some use. It is a ten footer, rated 10 to 60 grams and would be ideal for trolling. A new-ish Daiwa 4000 fixed spool fitted it perfectly, the only slight oddity being the 15 pound black feeder mono which was on the spool. Look, that would do for now and I can always change the line at a later date.

So there we were, Frank in his preferred position in the bow, me in the middle and Ian on the engine. We were full of chat to begin with, catching up on each others news and discussing the prospects for the day ahead. Frank put up a large holographic Mepp on the longer of his rods and plumped for a Storm Minnow on the shorter one, while I began operations with a 10 gram copper Toby. Thirty minutes in I swapped the copper out for a silvery Tassie. This is typical of me, I’m forever changing baits when I am trolling. I like to try out different lures, a tactic which can work spectacularly well or just frustrate the hell out of me. We stuck to the inner bays as the strong wind would have made travelling across the lough uncomfortable and we felt we had a better chance of contacting fish in the calmer, shallow water. Around 20 minutes after changing to the Tassie a had a small brownies on the Antipodean Devil, my first trout of 2026. Still not completely happy, I changed to a gold and red coloured Tassie and soon I added number two and was playing number three in equally short order.

As I was tiring out the third trout Frank announced he had stuck on the bottom and yanked on the big rod to free his spoon. Then the bottom moved. All attention to my landing the brownie immediately switched to what Frank was doing. I netted the good trout, unhooked and released it then turned to see what the commotion was all about. From the bend on the rod and the look on his face it was evident Frank was into a very big pike so I set my rod aside and prepared his massive landing net for deployment. It is one of the nets with a telescopic handle so I extended it fully and waited for the fish to tire. Frank asked me to wind in his second line to prevent it tangling but the pike swerved off and before I could wind in the second line it had wrapped up on the tight line to the fish. There ensued a frantic untangling of the snarled up lines, aided by choice words and helpful/unhelpful suggestions from each end of the boat. Somehow I got the stray line disengaged and wound out of the way. Miraculously, the fish was still on and thrashing the water 5 yards from the boat. I bided my time and as the great fish surfaced in front of me scooped it up in the meshes. Phew!

Those of you who know Frank from the tackle shop in Castlebar will know he is not a vain fellow and hates any fuss or bother. I asked him for a photo of him holding the pike but the best I could get was the fish in the net and the only sight of Frank is his wader clad legs in the background. The picture does the fish a grave injustice, it really was a fine pike which we all estimated at around 18 pounds. Safely unhooked and released, it swam off strongly, leaving a breathless crew in the boat. That huge pike had chomped on a 7cm plug.

Fishing resumed and I boated a further two nice brownies while Frank added a brown and a small jack pike to his tally before we decided to stop for a spot of lunch. Ian pulled into a small bay where we brewed up and munched sandwiches as the wind cut through us and ruffled the grey waters. Refreshed, fortified and bladders emptied, we set off again for the afternoon session, this time moving down the lough a little to fish new ground. One trout apiece came out way, both falling for the charms of Storm Minnows. As we cruised close into the side of Roe Island Frank’s rod bend over and the reel screamed.. Thinking this was another good pike I got the net ready once again, only to clearly see a flash of silver under the waves. Salmon? ‘I’m pretty sure it’s a kelt’ came the voice of the man bending the rod. The fish came to top and we could see it was indeed a spent fish but it fought well despite it’s condition. Not for the first time I dipped the net under the fish and brought it into the boat . I have no photo of the kelt, all I want to do when one of them is netted is to get it back in the water with as little fuss and as fast as I possibly can. Only seconds elapsed from the time I lifted it into the boat and it thrashing its tail and shooting off into the depths. A hen fish, its length suggested it was an eight or nine pounder before spawning but it was two or three pounds less than that now.

After the encounter with the salmon things went quiet. We trolled the same lures but the fish had gone off. Ian took us over new lies, around the back of islands, close to the shore, further out to the rocky shallows and all the waters that lay between. Nothing stirred. Off down the lough now, into a strong wind with the boat bucking in the white topped waves. Through the gaps between the four pins and down the Errew shore where finally, Frank bent into not one, but two brownies in quick succession. I chipped in with two more to my rod before we decided it was time to call it a day and Ian turned the 19 footer for home. I’ll admit that by then I was very cold, with no feeling in my hands and feet. It had been a long day but a very productive one so you can put up with the chilly wind as long as you are catching a few fish. I ended up with 8 trout to my rod, but Frank played a blinder and ended the day with two pike, a salmon kelt and four trout. All fish were returned with the exception of one good trout which was bleeding when I landed it and so I took it home with me.

After defrosting in front of the fire at home I had time to reflect on what had been a lovely day afloat. Obviously, 15 fish landed makes for a good day at any time of the year, but a catch like that in mid-March on a high and cold Lough Conn is very gratifying. More than that though, I enjoyed the company, the craik and the familiarity of being back out on the lough after a long winter. Then there is the emotion of not just using my late fathers rod, but landing a few fish on it. He has been dead for more than 25 years and we never did get the chance to say goodbye, so perhaps that is the part of the reason why today was a little bit special.

The trout are still hugging the bottom on Lough Conn, hoovering up louse and shrimps. We were on the water for eight hours and during that time we did not see a single fly, a rise or any signs of trout other that those we caught. Fly fishing would have been possible and fast sinking lines carrying a team of wet flies would probably have accounted for a few brownies. Trolling is not for everyone, but I enjoy the odd day out with the lures. It bodes well for the season when we met so many trout, all of them lean but otherwise in good condition. I am going to have a hot whisky now and toast my auld fella, I think he would have approved of today.