Trout & Salmon - March 2020

Trout in County WATERFOrD
above
First dibs
at a fish, but
Andrew cracks
off as the
trout takes.
LeFT
Andrew Ryan
points to the
huge fish
above the
old ford.
BELOW
Not the
monster, but
a beautiful
2lb Nire trout
taken on
a size 14
Perdigon
nymph.
It was milking time at Glasha
Farm. Dairyman Oliver O’Gorman was driving
his Friesians over the 17th Century
Fourmilewater Bridge. We pulled up on the verge
to wait, waders on and rods strapped to the
bonnet. It was a poignant and heart-warming
reminder of Irish country life — everything at a cow’s pace.
When the clopping of hooves had subsided, we needed the
studs in our felts to negotiate the ruminants’ remnants and
get our first glimpse of the river from the bridge’s parapet.
“This is the Nire,” said Andrew Ryan, as we took in the
heady smell. It looked like any other river to me. Nothing
special, about ten yards wide and mostly tree-lined.
Sunlight pierced a slight peat stain and lit up the shallow
tail above the bridge, revealing sporadic boulders and
bedrock; upstream there was enough stain to render the
deeper bits dark and seemingly empty. Most concerning
was the lack of pace. Despite its pool-and-run formation, the
Nire had a canal-like stillness — of the sort that makes a flyfisher
worry. But Andrew didn’t seem at all perturbed.
I’d heard great things about the owner of Clonanav Fly
Fishing and the guiding operation he’s built over the past
20 years. His shop, bursting with hand-picked goodies from
around the world, was almost visible from the bridge. He’s
got casting credentials that span the Atlantic and I could tell
by his confidence and professionalism that he meant
business. Or was it that he couldn’t wait to put me to the test
on this notoriously difficult stream?
The River Nire in Co Waterford flows from lakes in the
Comeragh Mountains. Nearly 12 miles long, it is one of the
River Suir’s main spawning tributaries. Andrew controls
six miles; he could have more, but the rest is overgrown,
rocky and the fishing is not very good. What he has, he’s
guarded closely. With a strict catch-and-release and barblesshook
policy introduced two decades ago, clients are now
reaping the rewards. Stretches are also rested to reduce
pressure and maintenance is in keeping with a wild stream.
Great for trout and testing if you’re after them.
We headed upstream, while Rob and Myles tried the
bridge pool, above which the odd trout sent rings across the
glassy surface and then quickly headed back to the depths.
The rises were sporadic and rarely from the same fish.
Hatches on the Nire can be prolific. September usually
brings sedges, BWOs, spurwings and smaller olives, but
there was little sign of them — they must have heard the
English were coming. Dry-flies were therefore forgotten,
replaced by a duo, or “dry-dropper” as the locals call it. If
trout aren’t on the fin, this is the preferred method, one that
many locals have embraced and mastered. Lighter rods are
favoured, too. Andrew handed me an 8ft 9in four-weight
Hardy Ultralight. At the business end, a Perdigon nymph
was suspended below a brightly posted Klinkhamer. Small,
tungsten-beaded Perdigons are liked here. They’re slim and
sink quickly in the Nire’s deeper gullies and pots. I also put
up Andrew’s 8ft 8in three-weight Ultralite, with a dry-fly,
just in case. I would fall in love with this rod and must
confess I’ve since bought one (my wife still doesn’t know).
My first cast was in a shallow glide. I needed to crawl
across the open bank on my hands and knees without
spooking a pod of fish near the opposite bank. The odd trout
was rising and after a dozen speculative drifts my nymph
was snatched. I lifted but cracked off amid a flurry of bowwaves.
It was a good fish, a couple of pounds, and possibly
one of the few chances I was likely to get on a river that is
testing in good times, let alone in low water. After a start
like that, you need to wipe the slate clean.
Apologies over and having regained my composure,
I started wading while Andrew methodically pointed out
where to cast and the bits to ignore. He knew every nook.
We’d soon fished another run and then crossed the river
at the remains of an ancient ford. Before the Bridge at
Fourmilewater was built, the ford was an important
river crossing that linked Clonmel, Dungarvan, Lismore
and Cork. It was guarded by a Caisleán; a clan McGrath
castle built on high ground.
Size 16 black-and-red nymphs
were favoured by the trout.
The Perdigon is on the left.
Fishing at distance is
the key on this river,
especially when it's low.
The Nire had a reputation then as a river with a bad
temper, becoming violent in flood. Those wanting to cross
the ford could be delayed for days before it was passable.
It was following one such flood that Lord Cork’s driver
thought it was safe to cross. Disaster struck and the carriage
flipped, decanting its passengers into the Nire. Lord Cork’s
son, Robert, was swept away but, happily, pulled from the
river alive. The Earl then paid for a wooden bridge to be
built, but it fell foul of the floods, too, and so before his death
in 1643 the Earl appointed Roger McGrath to build a bridge.
The stone Fourmilewater Bridge stands to this day. The
castle is no longer there, but its ruin upstream of the ford
was converted to a lime kiln that was used to build
St Laurence’s Church in Fourmilewater.
›
“The rises were sporadic and
rarely from the same fish”
Above
One on the silver
bead nymph.
RIGHT
The pool below
Fourmilewater Bridge
and Lonergan's Bar.
20 | march 2020 march 2020 | 21