I have documented here in this blog why I don’t fish in the Irish angling competitions. I do however perform boatman duties sometimes, and I was called upon to do just that last Saturday. It was the National finals day and the venue was lough Conn. There was one small problem for me, my boat is still under repair, awaiting a new keel no less. My mate Ian lent me a boat though, saving the day for me (not for the first time, so many thanks Ian).
Earlier in the week I had pulled my engine out of the shed, cleaned and serviced it and gave it a test run just to make sure all was in order. There was a little bit of old petrol in the bottom of the fuel tank, so I emptied that out and bought some fresh petrol. Those of you who are thinking about firing up your engines using petrol more than a month old should ditch that plan and invest in some new petrol. Modern fuel does not keep and if you do use it a fine film builds up in the carb. Sometimes, the engine simply won’t start, but often the damage done is unseen and only later will the engine run poorly or stop as the jets in the carb clog up. On Friday I looked out the gear I would require and left it in the hall, ready for the next day.
Up early on Saturday, I did my usual household chores, ate a bit and made a few sandwiches for lunch before loading up the car with all the gear and setting off for Ian’s. Heavy rain showers gave way to sunshine and this pattern would stay with us throughout the day. On arrival there was the normal chat with Ian then I donned waders and loaded up the boat, squelching across the boggy ground with engine, fuel tank and all the rest. The lough is still far too high for this time of the year, I estimate it is about 4 feet above the usual mark. Ian was boating as well, so we set off in tandem across the lough to the harbour at Gortnore, Crossmolina where the competition would take place. Even though we were early, finding a space to haul up was not easy but we squeezed into spots between the throng of 19 footers. Ashore, I headed through the glorious chaos of anglers and tackle to the check in point to find out the all important question of who I would have in the boat with me for the day.
The rules vary from competition to competition, so both boatman and anglers need to pay close attention to prevent any unfortunate infringements. For this competition, I was issued with a measure but in fact the competitors would do all the measuring themselves. The size limit was 33 centimetres from the point of the nose to the fork of the tail. Two fish could be killed and weighed in, any subsequent fish were to be measured and released with the lengths noted on a scorecard provided. International rules applied apart from that. I signed in, collected my measure and checked the whiteboard with all the names on it. Today, Ann and Chris had drawn the short straw and would have to put up with me for the day. Now the difficult part began, finding my anglers. I had never met either of them so this might take a bit of time. Fair play to Chris, he found me pretty quickly and he dumped all his gear near to the boat while we waited for Ann. Someone said they had seen Ann over at the far side so I legged it over there and caught her attention.
As you would expect for the finals of the Nationals, both my anglers were very experienced. However, while Ann had fished Conn before, today would be a first time on this lough for Chris. Based in the midlands, he fished Sheelin, Owel and the other big loughs in that area. As usual, I said I would take them anywhere they wanted, but suggested the shallow bays on the west of the lough. My reasoning for recommending this part of Conn was two-fold. Firstly, trout are always hanging around in the western bays at this time of year and with such high water the deeper parts of the lough would likely not fish. Secondly, Joe Quinn’s excellent YouTube videos are hugely popular over here and his recent angling blogs have seen him catching a few trout over on the eastern shore, in places like Cloghan’s bay and Brakawansha. For that reason I suspected a lot of boats would head down that side and it would be very crowded. The lads gave me a free hand to go where I wanted and so we piled everything into the boat, pulled the cord and backed out from the shore.
Boats jostled for position before the start, small collisions and near misses abounded, spiced up with the customary banter and curses. The hooter sounded, engines roared into life and boats sped off down the lake. While my trusty 6 hp Honda is reliable, she is not overly quick, so I was soon left trailing behind the pack. While the loss of a few minutes is of little consequence most days, it does mean I have to battle through the wakes of the other boats for the first while. The boat bucked and dipped and I worked the engine to keep on my chosen course. Soon though, the 15 and 20hp powered boats were far in front and we puttered along sedately through the gap and into Bog Bay. A north west wind made me decide on a drift across good open water. With Ann up front, Chris at the back and me on the oars in the middle, we set about our business. It is around this point in the day that the boatman gets to see how competent each angler is. Their casting ability and water craft quickly become apparent, and today I was blessed with two excellent anglers. Pulling on the oars, I guided the boat on it’s stately course across the sparkling waters of the bay. This was lovely!
Before we left he harbour I had cautioned my anglers not to expect to see much, if any, surface activity. High, cold water meant the hatches were very late and the trout were not looking up. Both had started with sinking lines of different descriptions just to get down a little bit. We had been fishing for about forty minutes when Chis had a solid take, his rod bending hard into a trout. Whoops of joy from that end of the boat turned to a slightly worried ‘oh, that’s big’ when the fish jumped and then ran away to the right, pulling out most of the slack on the bottom of the boat. While it was a good fishing day I didn’t expect there would be a huge catch at the weight in, so hooking a good fish this early was a real boost – if he could get it in the boat. We were in open water and a clean bottom, so there were no snags to worry about. The fish gave a little line then pulled more out, all the time moving around to the back of the boat. Neither angler had thought to bring a net, but I had one of course so I extended the handle and watched closely as Chris fought the tiring fish. Thrashing two yards in front of me I resisted the opportunity to attempt a netting, instead I kept talking to Chris and told him the fish was not ready yet. The trout went deep, came back up and this time lay on its side where Chris could slide it towards the meshes. Once in the boat we could see what a fine fish it was. Chris was over the moon, his first Conn trout and it was a beauty. I despatched the fish, tidied away the net etc and we got back on the drift to see if there were any more fish around.
No further action on that long drift, so I moved down to a spot I know and set up a drift hard along the edge of a wooded island. 100 yard in Chris had an almighty take which bent the rod, only for it to spring back in seconds. He thought is was only a small trout but I believe it was a good one going by the savagery of the take. We fished out the rest of the drift without further action, but I doubled back and did it again. This time it was Ann who had a good pull, but that one too failed to stick. It was time for a bit of lunch. With the lake so high all my usual lunch spots are under water, but I found a grassy bank with a hollow in the gorse bushes which gave us a comfortable area to eat and stretch out stiff legs. A hail shower blasted over us as I lit the Kelly kettle but it didn’t last long nor did it dampen our spirits. Another boat pulled in beside us and all 6 of us enjoyed a steaming hot cuppa and lively banter amid the luminous yellow of the gorse flowers while being serenaded by chaffinches in the bushes.
Revived, we headed back out again, determined that Ann had to catch a fish. I felt we had as good a chance of more trout in or around Flannerys bay so we fished hard around the islands and down the shore line there. The wind was rising and falling away but never died completely. My anglers were flagging a little so I got them talking about their fishing and suggested some fly changes. About 4pm Chris hooked a small trout which was only 26 cm long. The pretty wee fish was quickly returned and a few minutes later Ann had an almost identical fish. Chris rose one as Ann was playing her fish, so there were obviously a good few around. Not even 10 minutes later Ann struck into a slightly better trout, only for Chris to hook up at the same time. A double hook up was not on my bingo card for the day! Both trout seemed to be about the same size, both were coming in at the same time. Which one do I net first? Ann’s was going round the back of the boat while Chris had his right on front of me, so I scooped his up first, shook it out of the net and swung around to net Ann’s. Agonisingly, Chris’s fish was 2 millimetres short and had to be returned. Ann’s made 34 and was a keeper. We went on to rise a few more small fish but no more were boated. The pair fished hard all day but at 5.15pm I said we had better make our way back up the lough as the boats all had to be ashore by 6pm. We made good time and tried a final few casts just on front of the slipway but to no avail and I swung the grey boat on to the concrete slope a little before actual stopping time.
Making sure the boat was secure, I trudged over to hand back my measure and receive my brown envelope containing a cheque for my efforts. Anglers milled around, some glumly moaning about the lough fishing badly, others with wide grins and brown trout slopping around in wet bags. Padraig ran the weigh in, hollering weights into a megaphone to the assembled masses, universally dressed in in olive garb. He looked up at one point and calmly said ‘somebodies boat has drifted off, would they please go and get it’ Much laughter ensued as an embarrassed Gary B ran down to rescue his errant craft. At the heel of the hunt, my mate Peter won the competition with an impressive two trout plus two ‘on the card’, ie fish which were above the 33 centimetre limit but were released. For that, he received a startlingly ugly silver cup and a place on the Irish international team. My man Chris scraped into the team too, coming in tenth and thus filling the last berth on the team. Ann won the ladies competition, and she received a nice silver cup. I am happy to report both fishers were delighted and we all agreed it had been an excellent day afloat.
Hopping back into the boat, I motored back to Ian’s place, bathed in warm sunshine, the mist hanging on the top of Nephin and the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull making for a memorable end to the day. Once back in his bay, I tied up and removed my gear. We had a chat about the day and made arrangements for me to come up next week and we would work together to finish the repairs to my boat. Finally, at 7pm I started the car and drove off down the pitted dirt lane to the main road and a swift journey home, thus concluding a fairly typical day in the life of a boatman. The hours are long, the small fee you get barely covers your costs, yet I love doing this work. Meeting fellow anglers, seeing them enjoying the day and just being out on the water mean a lot to me, much more than money can buy.
The fly which did the damage for my anglers was one which Chris had tied. A black stimulator with an orange thorax. There was a black body hackle, black wing and tail made of deer hair and a grizzle hackle over the thorax. At lunchtime I saw Chris cut the successful fly off his leader and give it to Ann. She caught her fish on that fly. I think that simple act sums up Irish angling.
Claretbumbler 