A small hardback notebook turned up by a friend while looking in his rather chaotic bookshelves gives a few reminders of days spent out in the country some 30 years ago, on expeditions allegedly for the purpose of trout-fishing, but in fact just for general simple outdoor enjoyment, with a few sandwiches and a flask of tea and, at the end of the sport, one drink (not more, for they were driving home), with Eugene Briody in his fine establishment at Carlanstown, Co Meath. And unfortunately he is no longer with us. From the carefully laid-out brief, not to say cryptic notes, not many fish were taken. But much was noted all around. There were hares aplenty in those days. In the boxing or courting season early in the year it was not unusual to see a dozen and more sporting in the big grassland field. Birds were in great number. Flocks of fieldfare and redwing. Occasionally a field of peewits. Swans and herons on the river. Lambs galore in a nearby field which was ever after The Lambs's Field. In the later Seventies there was the shocking (to them) sight of a bonfire of about twenty feet high, which had formerly been a well-known hedge, blazing away in the midday hours. This, a result of our acceptance into what was then the EEC (?) and the advent of the new farming. But even on days of no catch, there were careful notes to be made; the time of actual fishing, which varied as the year went on. February 15th was then opening day. The wind was noted "strong S.E." or whatever. The water was often "High" in February, but did it have a "colour" i.e. was it muddy? Or clear? Those who were fishing were noted only by initials.
One such pair - J. H. will be remembered by long-term readers of this newspaper. A great wordsmith, he had all the possible trout classified. There were the too small "brekeens" (bricin in Irish). There were the Hibernians, somewhat bigger, which were, apparently of the size he had once been served in the old Hibernian Hotel - just short of that permitted for keeping on the river (maybe the hotel got them from a fish farm). Anyway, anything less than the regulation nine inches had to be put back in the water here, and this was conscientiously done. Nine inches, says Gerry Farrell would be about half a pound. That is, a good fish of nine inches. Fishing was the excuse. A day out of the office, chatting with people who knew the countryside and the passing scene was the bonus.