NATURE Fly away to the flowing river

GOSSAMER WINGS The delicate mayflies were late hatching this year, but their reappearance is even more welcome after their numbers declined due to pollution.

Fly away to the flowing river


Country Sights and Sounds
John Shelley

I found James at work at the edge of his property, where one ancient dry stone wall is met by another of more modern construction. The donkey in the neighbouring field had taken to leaning on the corner to bray and, having perceived a weakness, had dislodged some of the stones in its attempt to get at better pasture. To the critical eye, James’s ground was better only in that it held no donkeys.
The donkey shared its home with an elderly horse. Winter had not been kind to this creature. It wandered across to peer at us myopically. Hollow eyed, gaunt faced and grey with age, it appeared thoroughly disinterested in what we had to say and turned away with a hideous sneer on its sagging lips.
I gave James the news that the mayfly were up on the River Robe. Their annual appearance would induce him to forsake his favoured worm and fish with the fly rod. ‘Mayfly? They’re late this year, as late as I ever knew them.’ He threw his hammer to the foot of the wall. ‘It’ll wait there awhile. We might as well go and see.’ The donkey brayed its disapproval and trotted across to see if it could undo the repairs before we returned.
There are good trout in the river, if only they would show themselves more often. The mayfly does bring them to the top for ten days or a fortnight before they go back to feeding on crayfish. I often wonder what triggers the annual hatches, so that every mayfly of the same species hatches at the same time as its fellows – water temperature and length of day must have something to do with it. Perhaps the hatching insects release some kind of pheromone into the water. Whatever it is, when one mayfly appears others follow.
The days when the whole river and the vegetation along its banks would be covered with these beautiful insects are gone. Nonetheless, we are in better shape than we were a decade ago, when it seemed the mayfly were gone altogether. Deteriorating water quality had carpeted the stones with algae and choked the life from mile after mile of what was once a pristine waterway. As a result anglers left the river and turned to the lakes. Most have not yet returned and are perhaps unaware of the work that has gone into reversing decades of pollution.
We went as far as Hollymount, where the Robe tumbles over a series of shallow weirs downstream of the town. Even as we watched from the parapet the flies were hatching, appearing as little miracles on the water. I would never tire of finding them. The water is clear, empty and barren; then suddenly a mayfly is there, a new creature, wonderfully yellow and brown, slender and graceful. To this moment its life has been spent crawling through the silt of the river bed; now it is changed in a moment, given wings and a new element in which to breathe. Away it goes on its maiden flight as if it’s known all its life what it must do.
Below the weirs there is a long, slow stretch of water once famed for its large trout and it was there we elected to start, James at the near end and I at the other. Small trout were taking the hatching fly greedily at the tail of the pool and I picked them off one after the other, just to get my eye in. All red and brown and blue, with yellow bellies and full of splashing life, these are the future of angling on Lough Mask. I let them free and went to search for one of the larger resident fish.
Within an hour James and I met up with empty creels. The wind was back, from the north again, to cast a chill across the water and keep fish and fly from view. With the bridge in sight I paused to flick my fly into a pocket of tumbling water where I just imagined I saw something move. It was immediately snatched and away went a proper trout, down through the white water and into the pool below, where our short battle was brought to a satisfactory conclusion.
A river trout of more than two and a half pounds; this is what fishing the mayfly is all about. And where there is one there are more to be had. The more anglers that fish here the better it is for all. The profile of the river is raised and better care is taken of it. Cleaner water leads to a better stock of fish and benefits us beyond measure. The world is full of donkeys and sour-faced old nags and walls waiting to be finished. Through them all flows a river where I will be.