It has been remarked here before that if grey squirrels get a hold in your territory, they are not easily dislodged. They have even taken a foothold in this corner of the paper. After the story of the unhappy end of the Portsmouth swimmer, there is one with a more cheerful end. Gay Clery of Bohernabreena, Tallaght, Dublin, wrote to the Editor with his story. He was out in a boat on Poulaphouca Reservoir near Blessington one bright warm, sunny summer morning - conditions not conducive to successful fly fishing, when he noticed something swimming towards them as they set the engine going for a tour of the lake. "As I changed course to avoid whatever it was, the swimmer did also, towards our boat." The writer made a complete circle and saw that it was a grey squirrel, whose bushy tail seemed to be bigger than the rest of it, as it made fairly good headway. It was about 200 metres from the shore. "The squirrel continued turning towards our boat, so I stopped, put my landing net into the water and the squirrel swam straight over and clambered into it." It was put on the middle seat, the net laid around it, "and after a few squeaks and chirps from it, we made for the shore. There I shook out the still panting boarder onto a lovely warm rock and headed off in pursuit of the ever-elusive trout. On our return journey we took a look at `squirrel rock' and friend was gone". Now, why was he there in the water, the correspondent wondered, nearly mid-way across the lake? Maybe the lake is wider than it thought and it got into difficulties.
"Anyway, I'll put it down to another one of those little mysteries that are so nice to recall over a pint". Or maybe the beast is still cursing him for bringing him away from the beach where some bushytailed beauty was awaiting his attentions. A point: before Poulaphouca was flooded to make a reservoir in the earlier part of the century, there was a path where he swam. The squirrels were there before anglers.
Post script: The very day our friend's story arrived, there came a letter from Eileen Hogan, with a Crete address. She says when living on Robbin's Island, off Long Island, New York, an area preserved for hunters, she saw a family of grey squirrels, two adults, two or three small ones, trot or lope over a wide sandy beach and into the sea. "They primped and preened, splashed about for a while and came out all together to vanish inland. No grey squirrels here on Crete but a spiny mouse and, they say, a wild cat."