With just a few rods and the prospect of some trout Johannes Bulfin hit the road.
I was restless. I needed something new, something I hadn’t experienced before, a place I hadn’t seen.
“Just go! See where the road takes you, don’t worry about anything just go”, my wife’s words not mine! With a blessing like that I had no excuse to be moping about anymore!
So I loaded the bike (bicycle that is, not motorbike) up with a tent, sleeping bag, a change of clothes, cooking equipment and of course my fly rods. A five weight and a nine weight, trout and pike covered.
So I set off not knowing exactly where I was going, I had an idea though. I had heard of a river that used to be “one of the finest trout rivers in the country”, the words of Peter O’Reilly (famous author of many Irish fly angling books). The River is the Ahascragh and its name was on the permit I held in my hand. It was in the direction of the Ahascragh that I pedalled.
The bike loaded up. Stopped for lunch by the River Shannon
Along the way I passed a customs check point, chatted to an elderly gent who clearly thought I was someone else, followed the flight route of a defeated Irish chieftain in 1603 and passed the site of the Battle of Aughrim; one of the bloodiest battles in Irish history.
The sun was beginning to go down but I still had a few hours of light, the joys of summer! I crossed a stream and peered in over the bridge. Two fat trout hung suspended in mid-water directly below me, I stared for a long time, hypnotised by their rhythmic swaying in the current. A passing tractor broke the trance and I decided to move on as I was close to the river now.
My first glimpse of the Ahascragh didn’t fill me with excitement. The river was small and choked with weeds, the result of slurry and fertilizer run off from the surrounding farmlands. On the map I spotted an area of woodland about four miles north, through which the river ran. At least if the river was a disaster I’d still have a quiet and inconspicuous place to camp for the night.
Campsite for the night
As I approached the river again I could hear crashing water and my heart rate quickened! The little river cascaded over a weir and below it there was fast and streamy water! Oh thank God! What a relief! I quickly went in search of a suitable camp site, I found an area where others had clearly camped before me but decided to pitch my tent further away down the river so as not to disturb or be disturbed, it was state owned forestry anyway.
The river was so clear and shallow that I could see almost everything, there were lots and lots of trout in it! Some nice ones too of around a pound I would guess. However they were extremely spooky and the slightest movement or flick of the rod would send them scurrying downstream, scaring more fish as they went. I decided to cook my dinner and wait until dusk.
Some nice water. Although it was still too early.
As darkness descended I crept back to the river, the trout were rising frequently and my hopes were high. I tied on a little black spider and cast downstream, it took me some time to hook into my first fish but when the line went tight and I felt those pulses of life vibrating up the line I could have jumped for joy! I had a caught a trout from a new water! Its flanks were buttery and its fins were tipped with brilliant white.
A pristine little trout.
After that the action was frantic for about 45 minutes until it was pitch dark, I caught none of the bigger fish but every fish that came to hand was as welcome as the very first. There was something incredibly rewarding about fishing a new stream and managing to catch a few of its pristine residents. Bats whirled around overhead snatching their share of the little gnats hovering above the water. I fished on for a little longer but the rises had died off.
Just before dark was the only time the trout were willing to be give me a chance.
I made my way back to the tent, and a couple of roosting pigeons scared the life out of me as they took off with a thunderous clatter of wings!
Just so that this doesn’t sound like something out of “one man’s wilderness” or something like that; when I crept into my tent and peeled off my wet socks I turned on the smartphone and to my delight saw that the latest edition of Eat Sleep Fish had been published. No sleep for a couple of hours more then!
Enjoy more from Johannes via his excellent blog Road to Water