A TRIP TO IRELAND.
SOME years ago, when Ireland was greatly disturbed--it was the year
after Lord Leitrim's assassination--a party of three, of which I formed
one, decided to fish the Clady, in Co. Donegal. We went _viâ_ Belfast
and Letterkenny, bound for Gweedore. We had received many warnings
against our projected trip, and were told that the "Boys" would not
allow us to cross the mountains in our outside cars on our long drive
from Letterkenny. Death's heads and crossbones, however, did not deter
us, though our car drivers were sufficiently impressed and alarmed
to insist that, if they took us, we should undertake to keep them at
Gweedore until we returned. This we had to concede, and off we set.
The reports of the Clady were most temptingly satisfactory. The
malcontents had burnt the nets at the mouth of the river at Dum-Dum,
as they were the property of our landlord; the fish had, therefore, a
clean run up the river. The talented author of "Three in Norway, by One
of Them," had taken a fabulous number of salmon shortly before--report
said fifty fish in one fortnight--so it was not likely that three
sturdy fishermen would be frightened by paper threats. As a proper
measure of protection we were each of us in possession of a revolver,
more for show, should occasion arise, than because we were likely to
need it for our protection. Our drive, if my memory serves me right,
was over fifty miles in length, and was satisfactorily accomplished
without any startling incident or need for the display of our lethal
weapons. We were not sorry when it was over, and we were able to get
off our cars and see what comforts the hotel could provide.
The local peasantry, of course, were not inimical to us as individuals,
but were determined to score off our landlord, and to destroy or
diminish his profits from the fishing. We had, therefore, to house and
care for our gillies as well, in order to save them from maltreatment.
Fortunately the river, though on the low side, was in fair order, and
the pools were crammed full of fish--too full, indeed, for sport; and
though we did not exactly equal the totals credited to our predecessor,
still, we could not complain of the results. The fish, bright and
clean, were not heavy--averaging not more than 10 lb. to 11 lb.--but
they fought well. Neither were they by any means perfect in shape,
being long and narrow, altogether less good-looking than their cousins
of the Crolly, who use the same _embouchure_. These latter are perfect
in contour and shape, more like Awe or Avon fish.
Sport throughout our fortnight's stay was distinctly good, though
not remarkable, but the visit gave rise to some, to me, interesting
experiences. Thus, in one pool, called the Pulpit pool, the usual cast
is from the top of some very high rocks, as the name implies, into the
cauldron below. The fish lie near the rocks on the pulpit side; from
there the fly would never hang or fish properly; do what you would,
it resembled a bunch of dead feathers. On the other hand, there was
a convenient run on that side, down which a fish could be taken into
the pool below; and, as the fish hooked there always would insist on
going down, this point was one of some importance. On the opposite side
of the pool there was a charming shelving beach, or bank, and if you
could find a fly so well tempered as to stand being thrown against the
rocks opposite to you, you were almost certain of a rise, as your fly
then played admirably over the taking part of the pool. The problem was
then how your fish could be played when hooked, for between you and the
before-mentioned run was a line of serrated rocks, and a fish hooked
that meant going down would inevitably cut you. He must, therefore, not
be allowed to go down. Luckily, between you and this line of rocks was
a deepish backwater, and this was our _deus ex machina_, and solved the
difficulty. In this backwater we stationed the gillie, gaff in hand,
and crouched down; no sooner was a fish hooked than, before he could
realise the situation, he was unceremoniously hurried across the pool
into the backwater, and there equally unceremoniously gaffed. After two
or three fish had been so treated our gillie remarked sadly, "Well,
sorr, you may call this fishing, but I call it murther"; and so it
really was.
As an example of how a difficulty may be overcome it was not without
its value. The moral is that a fish, when first hooked and before
he has realised what is happening, can be readily persuaded to act
according to your will, as he will never consent to do later on. Just
as a heavy trout lying amongst a bank of weeds can, if you can get his
head up, be led holus-bolus over and across the weeds into reasonable
water directly you have hooked him, so, in a similar manner, a salmon
will often allow you a latitude in dealing with him at first that
he won't give you a second time. Frequently the heaviest fish take
some time after being hooked before they are roused to a sense of
their position, and exert themselves to the full to get rid of the
annoying restraint. The strong upward pull of a salmon rod, tending
to pull him out of his natural element, is what a fish girds against,
naturally enough, and I have frequently found it of advantage to take
the strain entirely off a fish that is making too determined an effort
to leave a pool. Give him his head and he will often stop his run and
save you from the risk of being cut or broken. There is necessarily a
considerable element of risk in so doing, but desperate cases often
require desperate remedies. As with trout, so with salmon, hand lining
can frequently be resorted to advantageously, and it is wonderful how
easily salmon can be led by that means out of dangerous places, and
even brought to the gaff; the strain being removed, they do not seem to
resist an insidious and horizontal pull.
In the pool below the Pulpit I had my first experience in learning how
to deal with a clean-run fish, hooked fairly and firmly in the thick
part of the tail. I had, of course, had to play foul-hooked fish, but I
had never hooked one in that part before. I was casting a longish line,
and rose a fish at the tail of the pool. On my offering him the fly a
second time he made a big splashy rise; I struck, and was in him. Down
he went into the next pool like a mad thing. The travelling, for me,
was bad, and the gillie had to steady me by holding on to the band of
my Norfolk jacket. I held the fish as hard as I dared, but he was bent
on running, out of one pool into and through the next; race as I would
over the wet and slippery rocks, I never could get on terms with him,
and he led me by some forty or fifty yards of line. As he had never
shown so far and was playing so hard, both my gillie and I thought we
were into a real big one. We were now nearing the falls above the sea
pool; I was pretty near pumped out, so some resolute measures had to be
taken. I accordingly, whilst holding on for all I was worth, sent the
gillie ahead to stone him up. No sooner was he turned than he was done,
and the gaff in him, and then only did we find out how he was hooked.
He weighed no more than 14 lb., and had we known where the hook was,
and had we not put him down as a real big fish, he would have never
have been permitted to play such pranks and lead us such a dance. Had
I held him really hard, his down-stream rush would soon have finished
him, as the water running through his gills would have choked him.
One day we decided to try the Crolly, wishing to sample some of those
beautiful fish, and, as it meant a seven-mile walk over the hills,
we left our salmon rods at home, taking instead only double-handed
trout rods. On arriving, we found the wind very foul, blowing partly
across and partly up the river, so that it was no easy matter to
command the pools at all properly with our small rods. One fish in
particular annoyed us by showing constantly in a part of the water we
could barely reach and could not command, so we instituted a kind of
angling tournament, each of us in turn trying to get over him properly.
Our gillies were watching intently and open-mouthed. One of them, Pat
by name, had a peculiarly ugly mouth, with heavy, protruding lips;
and whilst he was watching thus intently, the unkind wind brought my
friend's fly, a big Jock Scott, right into his mouth, fixed it firmly
into his lower lip, the forward cast sending it well home, and nearly
dragging poor Pat into the river. We none of us felt equal to attacking
the fly in its weird position, so we sent Pat down to the village,
a mile or more away, to get the local doctor to extract it. Down he
went, only to return an hour later with the fly still sticking in its
former position, and having received a severe drubbing with shillelahs
from the locals for having presumed to gillie for us. Pretty well black
and blue all over, his lower lip enormously swollen, he looked indeed
a sorry sight. Something had now to be done, so it then occurred to
one of us to strip the fly, which fortunately was not an eyed one, and
take it out the reverse way. This was done accordingly without delay, a
plug of tobacco was stuffed into the gaping hole, a good jorum of "the
craytur" was speedily administered, and Pat soon forgot all about his
thrashing and his sore lip in his keenness to gaff the fish we managed
to catch.
Owing to our being so severely boycotted, we had to manage for food
at the hotel as best we could, and the monotonous diet of salmon in
every form or shape, varied with a ham or piece of bacon, disagreed
thoroughly with me, and somewhat marred the perfect enjoyment of my
trip.
On Sundays we used to drive to the Protestant church in a big brake,
so as to take the servants with us and protect them from possible
violence; and one sermon we heard there amused us mightily. We were
sitting in the big square pew just under the pulpit. The parson
preached us an impassioned sermon on intolerance, and I must candidly
admit that I have seldom listened to a more intolerant one. He
launched forth into a tirade of abuse of most things, of absenteeism
in particular, bewailing the sorrows of his poor, distressful country,
and attributing the large majority of her troubles to a non-resident
gentry. "They come here," said he, "not to do their duty or to help us,
but merely to gratify their miserable sporting instincts" (and here we
began to feel very small); "but," he added, leaning over the side of
the pulpit in our direction, "not, gintlemen, that I allude to angling,
for that is a grand sport. One of the greatest of the apostles, Saint
Peter, was an ardent angler, and I am an angler myself." Mentally
bowing our acknowledgments, we left the church, grateful that so
eloquent a divine should be appreciative of our favourite sport.
One more anecdote and I have done. We were going back to England on the
morrow, and were settling up generally, when my gillie Pat said to me,
"Your honour, would ye buy me a pig?" "And why should I do that, Pat?
Are you not content with your tip?" "Well, your honour, I don't want
ye to pay altogither for it, but only to buy it for me." After some
further conversation I consented to go up to the shanty on the hill
where his old mother lived. There I found her haggling over the price
of a sow; she averred that £3 was more than the sow was worth, the man
was holding out for £3 10_s._ Eventually I became the purchaser at
£3, and, paying the money, told Pat that as he had been a good gillie
to me he could have the pig for his own. All the blessings of heaven
were showered on my head by Pat and his mother; but no sooner had the
dealer departed than Pat, producing an old stocking, extracted three
sovereigns therefrom and solemnly handed them to me. Asked what all
this comedy meant, Pat at once replied, "Ach, sorr, would ye have me
let the praste know I'd got three sovereigns in my pocket?"
Were the nets at the mouth of the Clady and the Crolly kept within
reasonable limits, few better rivers for summer angling could be found.
Having seen their capabilities when the nets were perforce removed
altogether, I gained an idea of what the sport might be in our sea-girt
island, with its innumerable rivers, were the angling not throttled by
the vast array of legalised nets that threaten to destroy, or at any
rate reduce very heavily, the sport and profit of riparian owners.
That much has been done and that more is being done in this respect
cannot be gainsaid. The allowance of longer slaps, the purchase
outright of netting rights in individual cases, are undoubted steps in
the right direction. But until the process is more universally applied
its effect cannot be considerable. Salmon coast along such an extent
of our shores before reaching their destination that bag and coast
nets miles away may take heavy toll of the fish that are seeking your
estuary, even though they would have a free run up your river if once
they could attain it.
Is it too much to hope that some day a wise Government may take
the matter in hand, not by piecemeal legislation, but with the
determination of so apportioning and circumscribing the respective
rights of all concerned and interested, that the price of salmon as an
article of food may not be increased, and the true rights of both net
fisherman and angler may be secured?
These two are so much bound up together that over net fishing must
necessarily and improperly reduce the number of spawning fish, and
thus injure the rivers which, by furnishing the spawning grounds, are
the geese that lay the golden eggs. Kill the geese and you get no more
eggs of gold. Treat the rivers unfairly, either by pollution or by
over-netting, and not only will the net fishing industry suffer, but
the general public also, for salmon will rise to famine price.
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