For once I will not be starting a post by moaning about how cold and wet it is here in Ireland. Instead, we have life-threatening heat to contend with! Listening to the news it sounds as if we are far from the worst to be affected by the unusually high temperatures but it is still far from ideal angling conditions. Never-the-less, I ventured out today with my mate Ian to do a bit of trout fishing. Before you alert the relevant metal health authorities and have me carted off to the nearest asylum for the insane, let me explain why this was not such a bad idea after all. We were going to fish lough Talt, that wee jewel of a fishery high in the Ox mountains. While it would still be very hot up there we figured the ‘sink’ of cold water in the 140 foot depths might just regulate the whole body of water enough for the trout to still be active. I’ll grant you that this hypothesis would not stand up to rigorous interrogation, but to hell with it, it was worth a try.
We met up under the cooling beech trees in a car park not far from Crossmolina, transferred my gear into his car and we set off for the lough in high spirits. Life has been busy for both of us lately and we had not chatted for a while so there was much catching up as we sped across country. Through busy Ballina and sleepy Boniconlon, thence up the braes and inclines to the sun dappled lough. The boat, moored out of sight in a bank of reeds, was retrieved and we loaded up then applied thick dollops of sun cream to every exposed inch of flesh. At the second tug on the cord the 4 horse Yamaha burst into life and we were away, cutting across the wavelets and making for the far bank under the hill. Here the deep water extends close to the shore, but that narrow strip of only a few yards where shallows join the land to the abyss are fertile ground for trout fishers such as us. The talk subsided as we turned our focus to the job in hand.
I had set up a cast of three wets while Ian opted to go dry. A dark sedge, a yellow tailed black pennel and a grouse hackled beetle we my starting line up while Ian put up a dry dark brown sedge and a black spider. A few casts in I rose a small fish but missed it by a country mile, bringing laughs from the other end of the boat. I missed two more before finally hooking a small trout. I was not in the least bothered by the small dimensions of the lad, I was only glad to have caught something on such a bright, hot day. At the end of the first drift I removed the tail fly and put a golden olive in it’s place. The next drift produced another flurry of offers, most of them too quick for me to hit. I did however manage to boat two more trout of modest proportions while Ian chipped in with a handsome pounder on the black spider.
Moving over a bit closer to the island, I boated a cracking looking three-quarter pounder which snaffled a Pearly Bibio which had only just replaced the sedge on the bob. More short takes plagued me before a smaller trout took the Bibio and I rounded off the drift with another three-quarter pounder on the golden olive only inches from the reeds on the shore. One more drift in the same area only produced more short takes.
The wind was not strong and Ian suggested we head for the far end of the lough to try it out before we lost the breeze. I took the opportunity to consume my sandwiches, which in the heat had welded into one unappetising mass, but I scoffed them anyway. Extensive shallows down the shore were pock marked with aquatic weeds, home to some lovely trout. The same old story of me moving lots of trout to the wet fly but successfully hooking only a tiny proportion continued unabated. Flies were changed again, this time a red bloody butcher went on the tail, while a soldier palmer got the middle berth. That Pearly Bibio survived the cull and held on to its bob fly position for the rest of the day. The wind sdropped steadily, losing power and leaving the merest of ripples on the lough. Ian picked up another trout on the dries before switching to wets, but without any major action.
As we crossed over a sunken jumble of rocks I had a strong pull and the line peeled out of my hand. Getting the fish on the reel I bent into it as it swam off to my right, and promptly three the hook. I never saw that fish but Ian caught a glimpse of it and said stoically ‘that was a good one’. Three more long distance releases followed in quick succession, but after that it all went quiet. Turning to Ian I suggested we had seen the best of the day, which he agreed with, so winding in we started the Yamaha and headed back to the reed bed. In total Ian boated three trout and I managed seven. The list of near misses was extensive for both of us and I lost count of how many trout I personally rose/pricked/lost after the third drift. Let’s say that between us we move about 50 fish to our flies. Not bad for such hopeless conditions.
While lough Talt does hold a few good sized trout, the vast majority are 7 to 11inchers. Many angler would turn their noses up at such small fare but on days like today a handful of small guys was just the ticket for a pair of auld fellas like us. Plans are being laid for another trip to lovely lough Talt next week. I am praying for better angling conditions!
Claretbumbler 