Good morning from a cool but dry Foxford. The weather has changed again and we seem to be having a few nice days, well nice in comparison to what we have had. The rain has stopped at least. Water levels remain high on the Moy, 1.1m at Ballylahan bridge. I don’t believe many anglers are venturing out yet. I mentioned a while back that I had some fun hunting a very large trout last summer and that i would tell the story before the season starts. This is the last winter blog for now and from now on I will be going to daily reports, more focused on conditions and relevant Moy news. The following is a short account of the “Big Fella”, the full story is too long for this blog.
My first sighting of the Big Fella was in July of last year. We were joined by a friend to fish the evening rise on a bay noted for evening sedge fishing. P.J, our friend and I were positioned around the bay, fishing from the shore. Two points jutted out into the water, I was on one and our friend on the point opposite me, facing each other and about 100 m apart. It was relatively early in the evening and there was the occasional fly about and an occasional splash of an opportunistic trout here and there. Suddenly, mid-way between us and out of casting range a fish broke the water. When I say he broke the water what I mean is he exploded. If I was on the river in spring, I would have said it was a decent springer, but no this is a lough that does not hold a stock of salmon. “Jesus” was the response from one point while “Fucking hell” the retort from the other, you can guess who said what. That was the last time it showed that night. On the way home in the car and on a couple of occasions in the following days we spoke about how big it was, none of us willing to hazard a guess at the actual size.
A week or so passed and I was back at the same point. A little closer and just within casting range a trout which I clearly saw, broke the surface. It did not rise, merely humped in the water like a whale breaching, it glided through the water for a few seconds. It was huge, I can’t say how big but once again if it was a springer, I’d say a good one. Now either there is more than one exceptionally large trout in this area or it was the same fish and given what happened in the following nights my feeling is that it was the same fish. I covered the area for the evening and did not see it again.
The following night I was back, same bay, same point and yes. Just as darkness fell I spotted it cruising toward me. Only this time it was definitely feeding. I could hear the sips as it took flies off or just under the surface. I guesstimated its path and threw my single dry sedge to where I hoped it would be intercepted. A bow wave,slurp and a nicely timed strike. The fly flew back at me and landed in a heap in the bushes, I missed. Well I missed or the trout missed, who knows. I do know I cursed and relived the moment for the rest of the night and most of the following day.
It’s amazing, We catch fish, we release fish, we kill fish, we eat fish and all without any major thought. When we miss a fish though, we never forget it. The exact details can be recalled years later and the frozen picture of the moment we messed it up is vivid in our memories. We learn from these things though and they motivate us to try again. In this case I didn’t need much coaxing, the motivation was there and I was now on a mission.
The following night I was back in position. It was not my first time targeting a fish and I was aware that the more mistakes I made the smarter it would become. The plan for tonight was, wait, observe and when the moment was right, one or possibly two carefully placed casts should do the trick. I stood on a rock at the point, I was about three foot up off the water, some bushes to my back, I wouldn’t be seen easily and had a good view of the bay in front of me. It was a typical summer evenings fishing, sun went down some Sedges started to appear and there was a nice little rise of trout. Among them a few decent enough fish which were within my range. I knew though that if the Big Fella was watching and spotted some of his smaller friends in difficulty he would stay well away. I resisted the temptation and it paid off. Just as it got dark I spotted the bow wave and the big back, it was him and he was coming towards me. I waited, timing it in my mind. Eventually I made what I knew was going to be the perfect cast. Just as the fly hit the water my heart jumped, a shot of adrenaline ran through my body, there was a mighty splash. Yes, I had just overstretched on the cast and stepped off the rock which as I said, was three foot above the water. People go to fun fairs and pay money for thrills like this. I got it for free and I can tell you I was not expecting it. Summer evening or not, it was cold and one hell of a shock. I reckon my heart must be in reasonable condition because if it was not, I was gone. Anyway, I didn’t let go of the rod which by instinct I punched in the air as I hit the water. Its an angler instinct to save the rod, sometimes there’s a painful cost involved in saving the rod and as the weeks went by I would learn more about that. I can’t say I missed him but at least he was still there and there would be another night. For now I was trudging my way back to the car, wet and feeling sorry for myself.
There were several nights and as the weeks slipped by I got to know more about the movements of the Big Fella. Thinking back, he had me pretty well figured out as well. I mainly fished for him in the evenings. Just as dusk approached, he would arrive in his favourite lie, at least this is what I assumed. It was a shallow area out from the shore that for technical reasons was not easy to cast to. I am pretty sure he was not there all the time. Its my theory that he came from the deeper water further out just to feed for a while at night. Once he appeared and started feeding I would get a few casts in his direction and then he would disappear. I tried every fly and technique I could think of and boy did I do some thinking. On one occasion I had a cunning plan to ambush him at first light. I left the bay at midnight and was back there shortly after 4am only to find a thick fog and not a fish to be seen. On another occasion I waited until after 2am just to see would he re appear after things went quiet, he didn’t!. He did become an obsession and although I was catching quite a few good sized trout, he was my target.
As the weeks went by, the fly hatches became sparser and the evening light was disappearing. The Big Fella showed less and the few times he did move in the direction of my fly he either was not going for it or had terrible aim. A big boil on the surface, I would tighten and nothing. I can’t honestly say how big he was but I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a trout so large taking a fly. On one of the last occasions I saw him show, he put a wave out that moved a rock on the shore. You know by now that I didn’t catch him. No, the rain came and water levels rose fast.
There was however one last visit, to try for him. It was a Sunday, we closed the shop at midday and headed off. To get to this place there is a long walk over a rocky lake shore. A plateau of limestone with Jagged edges. Probably as close to walking across the Moon as ill ever get. As is normal enough in places like this there’s a variety of birds and other wildlife and always something to look at. As we made our way across the rocks, P.J was in front and I was following behind looking at what I thought was a Hare. I don’t know was it a Hare or not because while looking at it, I tripped.
What does an angler do when they fall? Yes, I thumped the air to protect the rod. I landed chest first on a rock which deflated me so fast that I didn’t know whether I was just punctured or burst completely. If you have had the pleasure of landing on a rock while proudly holding your rod above your head you will know the instantaneous feeling of been a dick head. If you haven’t, please take it from me that once it happens, you realise it fairly quickly. I have more rods than I have ribs but yet I chose to save the rod. I looked at the rod and I looked at P.J still strolling toward the water, he didn’t even know I had fallen. I laughed, painfully laughed to myself. The Big Fella had most definitely won the battle but id be wiser next season.
