Our weather has finally turned warmer after months of cold. Unfortunately, it has gone from one extreme to another and today we had high temperatures and cloudless skies over Mayo. Far from ideal conditions, but I had two clients who had booked a day on lough Carra, so undeterred, we set off for the clear waters of that gorgeous lake.
Carra, for so long but a shadow of its former self, has improved a little this season. The mayfly hatch has been OK, nothing spectacular, but a steady trickle of duns most days. The trout responded with occasional rises to flies on the surface, something we have seen very little of for many seasons. Is this the beginning of a long term return to former glories? It is far too early to say that but we will take any small glimmers of hope and cherish them.
My boat is still up at the far end of lough Conn and my new car does not yet have a tow hitch fitted, so instead of using my boat on Carra I borrowed one from a mate. This kind of arrangement is common amongst us anglers here in the west. I borrowed Liam’s boat today, he might borrow mine next week. A quick phone call to make sure the owner isn’t using his boat and a promise to update him after the days fishing is all it takes. When talking to him the previous evening Liam told me that he heard the trout in Carra were feeding avidly on Alder flies. This was the second time I had learned this snippet of information within the previous 24 hours. The thing is, I personally have never seen a trout eat an adult Alder fly, not once in a long lifetime of fly fishing. That is not to say the fish don’t eat alders, but I suspect it is a pretty rare occurrence. My suspicion was the fly which was being consumed was one of the medium sedges which are so common on Carra (and indeed the other western loughs). On lough Mask last week I saw trout slurping down dark sedges but leaving newly hatched greendrakes untouched.
My own tying of the Alder is a deliberately vague imitation as I wanted a fly which could be taken a dark sedge as much as for an Alder. A size12 hook and black tying silk, a body of dark brown synthetic dubbing tied fat and wings made from slips of peacock wing feathers. At the head I wind two cock hackles together, one chocolate brown and the other black. I then trim the bottom fibres off so the fly floats flat on the surface.
Early haze burned off quickly and we were left to bake under azure skies. Expectations are curtailed on days like this, Irish trout seem to dislike the sun and I rarely see good fishing on flat calm days of brilliant sunshine. Having said that, just being out on a lough in glorious weather is good for the soul, so we drove down to Castleburke, only stopping at Ballintubber to fill the fuel tanks. Under the ruins of Burke castle we tackled up, applied thick dollops of sunscreen to every inch of exposed skin, then pushed out on the turquoise waters.
With no wind at all, the mirror like surface of the lough stretched before us. The boat would have sat in the same spot if I did not move it with gentle paddling of the oars. We did a couple of long, slow drifts into Quinn’s bay without seeing any movement, then we motored down the lake to the reeds off church island. Here at east we saw a couple of half-hearted rises but we failed to elicit any sort of response from the fish. By now the temperature was rocketing and we all decided to repair to the island for a spot of lunch in the shade of the trees. Tea was brewed and drunk, sandwiches nibbled and conversation flowed. Leaders were checked and flies changed by drowsy anglers. To be honest, none of us really felt like heading back out into the blazing sunshine again, but finally we shamed each other into packing the kettle away, applying a further coating of white sun cream and then pushing out through the swish of the reeds into the clear water for another crack at it.
Once back out again I headed over to the shallows near Castle Carra, hunting for an elusive ripple which I never did find. The air felt leaden, casts flew out over the water and dry flies sat perkily under the burnished sun. Of fish there were no signs despite some sedges hatching out around us. I moved again, more for something to do rather than any expectation I could find a fish willing to take. Sweat streamed down our faces and saturated out clothes. Hope, thin and mercurial at the start of the day, had dissipated completely and by 4pm an executive decision was taken to call it a day. An hour later we were downing well earned pints in the pub with faces as red as tomatoes.
On the face of it this was a terrible day with no signs of fish at all. In truth, as experienced anglers we knew there was next to no chance of bending a rod into a good trout in such difficult conditions. Yet, we went off and gave it a lash. Old anglers don’t have to catch fish to enjoy a day on the lough or river, just being out there is enough for them. Today was one of those days, when the beauty of the natural world was on display in sun-kissed Mayo. Tomorrow might be a better fishing day so I’ll head out on the oars once more. Someday, and it may not be that far off, I’ll be too sick or infirm to go out in a boat with anglers to ghillie for them, or to fish myself. For now, I’ll take every chance there is to spend time on the water, even in a heatwave like today.
Claretbumbler 