The couple of hours between 3 and 5pm on a Saturday afternoon usually find me in the same place. At the fly tying vice slurping endless mugs of coffee, tying flies while listening to the football on the radio. Not for me the fancy-shmansy television coverage; I prefer the old school approach to soccer. IfContinueContinue reading “A new pattern”
Fishy tales from the West of Ireland
Claretbumbler 