“Is there anything stirring”, asked the farmer who on a break from tending to his sheep had spied me setting up and walked over for a chat. “With luck a few wild brownies”, I replied which sparked a historical conversation on the farmers experience of fishing the river as a young lad. How along with plenty of trout he also caught small perch no less, that the trout rarely topped half a pound and all but disappeared for a number of years when construction works on the ESB facility at Turlough Hill turned the water black with suspended silt.
Sourced in the blanket bog high up on the dome shaped Wicklow granite, I assured the gentleman that the stream based on my recent experience was pristine, had clearly recovered from the silt contamination of forty years ago and today was home to a good head of trout averaging 6/7 inches with an occasional larger fish topping half a pound. Now well past midday and with the river beckoning I bade farewell to the farmer, picked up my four weight rod, hopped over a gate and strode purposefully towards a favourite pool.
A strong warm breeze channeled down the valley dictated the order of play as downstream wet fly. Having set up with a team of spiders, kill devil on point, greenwell’s in the middle and an iron blue on the top dropper I proceeded to cast into likely runs, seams and guts. At session end ten lively trout to 6/7 inches had come to my rod with an equal number visibly slashing at the flies topped by a head and tailing half pound fish, his lie marked for another day. With evening drawing in I headed tired but refreshed towards the car marveling that such solitude and beauty exists within one hour of Ireland’s capital city, wonderful………
