There are days that stick out in my memory from years past of great trout fishing days. Last Saturday morning added to that collection. Not for the quantity or great size of fish, but simply for the day that was in it.
Let me try and paint a picture for you. It’s quarter to ten in the morning when I’m climbing into the jeep, full of fishing gear. The merest whiff of petrol from the tank in the boot greets me as the car is started. I take one last look across the scenic panorama from the front of the house. My eyes fix on the large swathe of lough Cullin that is visible. It is sunny at the moment, but clouds are building fast and there is heavy rain forecast for the afternoon. No boats. But then that means nothing – the competitions usually kick off around 10am. I prayed that I would have the lough to myself as I have so often in the past, and made the five minute drive down to lough Conn where my boat is moored.
Ten O’clock and the boat is loaded and ready for off. I notice a lone mayfly hatching in the shallows. If there’s fly up on Conn, there’s definitely fly up on Cullin. The six horse power Johnson engine is revved up to the max and I make my way steadily through the wave to Pontoon, around Cliff island and under Pontoon bridge. In the south wind, there is always a good wave rolling through into the mouth of the outflow from Conn. By now grey clouds are fast dominating the blue vista above. As I round the foot of the hill on the lough Cullin side of the bridge, I am greeted with the most fascinating of sights. One that only comes around once a year, and this is that once.
To start I am greeted with a battalion of boats that have just launched from Healy’s bay and made their way straight down to the pins at the mouth. This is the competition fleet that fish hard all day and kill all fish over 13 inches that fall victim to their respective teams. I will never support this type of fishing. It is a barbaric slaughter of wild trout for the sake of piece of silverware and whatever material item may be offered as a prize. My personal view – if all pike competitions are catch and release then why can’t all trout competitions be C&R? After all, the majority of fish caught will only be dumped. But that is an argument for another day. For now, we are going to appreciate the windswept nature of this perfect May morning for the spectacle that it is.
Mayfly hatch in their numbers. There aren’t a huge amount of them, but there is a ‘steady trickle’ passing the boat as I motor on through the poles. Sea gulls dive and flutter in and out between the ten or so boats that are drifting in the immediate vicinity, picking fresh duns off the water surface. I notice that their numbers are concentrated in one particular corner where the hatch is most dense. Trying my best not to disturb the water around the pins and around the boats, I carefully tread my way around each boat at half speed before finally finding the open water behind them. Where I can start my own drift down to the hot spot and replicate what they themselves are doing.
As great as it is to see such a large number of anglers on the lake, it just adds another level of discomfort, particularly when there are boats drifting through every angle towards the one spot. It makes motoring away difficult as it’s nearly impossible not to disturb some angler’s drift to get to where you want to be. But I decided to put up with it. It was probably the first time I’ve ever fished Cullin in such heavy competition.
As for the lough itself, I have developed a sort of love for it’s uniquely shallow waters, frequented with rocks features and much more over the last couple of years. The fishing can be very dour, even at the peak of the fly hatches, and the trout stock is but a fraction of the past. When you hit it right however, as I have done so on a select few individual days over the past couple of Mayfly seasons, you will leave with memories to do a lifetime.
My first drift began close to the point of Cuingmore and my plan was to work my way across the rocks and skerries, towards he pins, where all of the other boats were concentrating their efforts. Granted the water I was hoping to end up covering eventually would already have been fished and motored across a number of times, but I was hopeful that I would hit a fish before then. Frustration and disappointment built as cast after cast went worryingly unnoticed. I covered all of the spots on that drift where I’ve had fish before only to come to the shallow water at the pins with only one rise from a small fish.
Onwards towards the flock of gulls I went before a boil and tug saw me connect with a feisty little brownie of about 10 inches. The first of the day, on a green peter rather than the mayfly as I had expected. Never mind. It seemed to fit perfectly in with everything in the picture so far. No sooner had I thrown him back and let a couple more casts fly when a larger trout swirled at the bob fly as I lifted it through the waves. Before I knew it, he was dogging his way around under the boat, fighting desperately for freedom. At 14 inches, I was left quietly satisfied with my efforts as I let him swim off again. I was now almost up on the shore and had to quickly start up the motor and tread my way through the other boats once again.
For the next drift, I opted to hit the dance floor shore. The last week in April before the balmy weather descended on us saw me meet a nice few fish here. On that particular day there were so many olives hatching that it was almost like someone had left a carpet of green lying across the lough. The fish I caught were very small on that occasion but I was hopeful that there’d be a few larger ones moving with the mayfly up. To my surprise, there were no greendrakes hatching, and not even olives were coming off. What a change from a couple of weeks ago! I drifted for a while, working my way through the piles of rocks carefully, but with no flies hatching I decided to abort and return to drift another angle across the pins.
This time, once again I fished a completely fruitless drift into the shallow water until I reached the flock of gulls. I was just contemplating moving off when there was a flash and a boil. I let out a drawn out ‘oh’ of surprise as I’m not sure whether I felt a tug or not and I thought my chance had gone, but a second later my rod was bent nicely into a good trout. Adrenaline running fast through my veins I played him out carefully and slipped the net under a fine 1.5lbs fish, this time on a small wet may that I was fishing on the point.
I’ll be honest, they were the only three fish I connected with on Saturday morning, despite fishing another two drifts. With rain fast making it’s way across the lough and a 2pm curfew beckoning, I reluctantly made my way back under the bridge and home.
Now, I’ll admit that sport wasn’t as fast or as furious as I would have liked, but then of course that’s lough Cullin for you – a place where you have to work for your fish. The four hours of endless drifting will be forgotten. The four minutes I spent playing that fish will be remembered. Treasured. Tucked away in a corner of my mind for those cold winter days when I visit moments like this at the edge of sleep.
The big mayfly hatches are just beginning to get going on lough Cullin at the moment. Conn is still a little slow, but I did see the odd mayfly blowing out of some of the shallows on the southern shore as I made my way past. I haven’t wet a line on Conn in quite a while but I would imagine that with the recent change in weather conditions that there is sport to be had on wets. Tight lines if you’re heading out over the next couple of weeks!
TheIrishFisherman 