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that ticket, it will die shortly afterwards, and not as has
been suggested, stay put, feed on, and wax even fatter
still as a result.
This brings us very nicely round to the topic of shore
fishing for conger where the same getting trapped
problem is rumoured to be the case for old harbour
walls riddled with holes. In particular, at locations with
an endless supply of food for ambush predation, or stuff
dropping from adjacent commercial boats tying up
nearby.
I don't know how true any of that is, but it is a story
often bandied about. Certainly harbours with
permanent water and commercial fishing boats are a
good starting point.
John Patten, shore Conger
Graeme Pullen was the man who got me into fishing
these. On the Irish Sea Safari's, which we'd get invited
on most years way back when under the 'guidance' of
Paul Harris, Graeme would insist we fished down the
sides of the walls amongst the moored trawlers after
dark.
I say 'guidance' from Paul Harris, but actually, looking
back, that should read as mis-guidance. Some of the pranks and scrapes we got in to.....well, you can
imagine. A set of a dozen young(ish) blokes away from home just fishing and drinking is bound to
trigger a reversal back to childhood.
All the usual stuff such as roped door handles so you couldn't get out; cling film over the toilet bowl,
and mackerel strapped to the cars engine or exhaust pipe regularly took place.
I remember going to the loo one morning only to find a huge spider crab trying claw its way up the
porcelain. Not good in a communal bathroom shared with other non angling guests.
On another occasion, someone had broken into my room (presumably by climbing in through the
window), stacked all my clean T-shirts up with lugworms sandwiched between each, then hammered
down on the top of the pile. Needless to say, I was wearing evil smelling uniquely patterned tie-dyed
T-shirts for the rest of the week.
Anyway, back to the conger fishing. Courtmacsherry is one location that sticks in my mind. At some
venues it was a toss-up whether to fish or to hit the pub. Not so at Courtmac. The pub was actually on
the edge of the harbour, so we'd take it in turns at going back for another tray of drinks. But
unfortunately, too much alcohol and commercial harbours with lots of quayside mooring ropes don't
necessarily mix well.
Bearing in mind that it was also dark, on the trip in question, one of the lads tripped over a rope and
quite literally disappeared over the wall. It's a good job there was the deck of a trawler down there to
break his fall. The fact that it almost broke his back, yet still he fished on, is testament to the medicinal
and anaesthetic properties of Guinness.
Later, still on the same trip, I came back from the bar only to find my rod missing which I'd left lying
on the harbour top. The obvious conclusion was that somebody had hidden it insisting it had been
dragged in by a fish.
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