So every angler has a story to tell.Â Normally itâ€™s about the one that got away or didnâ€™t.Â But actually thatâ€™s one of the reasons we venture out doors, the unexpected, often in the hope we may have a tale to tell, as we prop up the bar, windswept and wet.
Funny now, but not at the time, I have a tale for you.
I run a guiding service and collected two clientsÂ from Cork Airport early one August morning this year.Â Itâ€™s never over twenty degrees in Ireland , not when I am there anyway! Well today -Â 25 degrees !
On the way back to the hotel David told me he was keen to catch bass on the fly.Â His son Tom was keen to fish live sand eels, I think that was after I told hisÂ Dad he would catch four times as many on the eel!
That afternoonÂ we headed for a small beach with a river inlet.Â Occasionally I see a dog walker there or if the surfâ€™s up perhaps a VW campervan might be in the car park.Â To my horror the locals had taken to the beach en masse with the extraordinary weather. There must have been nearly a dozen cars parked in the rough ground recognised as the car park.
Not put off, we ventured 500 meters around the beach to the river inlet. Fortunately the locals had stayed within a stoneâ€™s throw of the car park. All except for a family of travellers, Mother, Father and their three sons under the age of seven ish, who were situated in the dunes but fortunately well back from where we were fishing.
Pete. my right hand man in Ireland and the best guide Ireland has, opted to look after David, the fly angler. I took Tom a little further along the beach with the live eels.Â David was a very accomplished fly angler and a pleasure to assist in the pursuit of a fish.
Absorbed by the task in hand,Â catching fish from the water in front of us, none of us had noticed the three boys who were running around in their underpants. Eager for the first cast, David tossed the line back with passion, keen to throw a longer line.Â Â A scream rang out â€“ where from? -Â Â not the grass from the dunes, but an indignant cry from one of the little boys.Â David had connected fair and square right in the lads butt section of his pants.Â Mimicking the bass David so wanted to catch, he initiallyÂ moved of, takingÂ a little line, but stopped when he realised he was attached to the guy fishing some 25 meters in front of him.
So it was of course the guideâ€™s jobs (Pete) to resolve the problem.Â In front of his Mum and Dad, Pete had to calm the boy, drop to his knees and fiddle with the hook to free it from the white cotton underpants.Â Something not many guides have had to do in the line of duty!
The warm evening failed to produce a bass over four pounds, still the only day fishing with clients in five years this has happened to me.Â But I would not swap the story the evening produced which I have dined out on many times already for any amount of fish!