Trout & Salmon May 2020

The top of the River
Suir's Roxburgh beat
with the Knockmealdown
mountains in the distance.
Trophies in
Tipperary
Rob Hardy discovers a lush and beautiful river in southern
Ireland that is full of huge golden-brown trout

If you were asked to name the
best brown trout river in Europe,
somewhere you stood a good chance
of catching a wild fish of more than 5lb
and where your next take could
realistically be from a magical doublefigure
brownie, what would you say?
How about the Ribnik in Bosnia or the Prepireneo
in Spain? They have big reputations. Perhaps you
would head for the Laxa in Iceland. However, you
might be surprised to hear that another contender
is much closer to home and it’s a river that you
may not know. The River Suir (pronounced “sure”)
winds its way from its source in Ireland’s Devil’s
Bit mountain for 114 miles through and between
the counties of Tipperary and Waterford before
flowing into the Atlantic Ocean at Waterford
Harbour. It is Ireland’s second-longest river and
is known as one of The Three Sisters alongside the
rivers Barrow and Nore.
The Suir has form as a big fish river, producing
Ireland’s record rod-caught salmon, 57lb, taken by
Michael Maher in 1874. Its prolific limestone waters
produce hatches of blue-winged olives, sedges,
spurwings, iron blues and stoneflies throughout the
season. There are also good numbers of crayfish and
minnows, providing trout with a high protein diet.
Still blissfully ignorant of the Suir’s potential,
editor Andrew Flitcroft, photographer Peter
Gathercole and I hung over riverside railings in
Clonmel, peering like schoolboys into its clear
waters. Trout up to 2lb jockeyed for position between
the flowing fronds of ranunculus only yards from
the bustling town that’s home to Magners Cider.
What we came
for. A big fish
goes into
Andrew's net.
As we strolled the short length of footpath up to
Gashouse Bridge, we spotted at least another dozen
fish, some even bigger, darting off patches of golden
gravel into weedy sanctuaries.
Back at the hotel, over a velvety pint of black stuff,
we talked about tactics for our first crack at the
river. If what we had seen in the town centre was
anything to go by, we were in for great sport.
We met our host Andrew Ryan at his superbly
stocked Clonanav Fly Fishing store, 12 miles from
Clonmel. We were also joined by Clonanav guides
Kevin, Spencer and Connie. We’d fish Roxburgh
beat, one of five to which Andrew has access, each
up to 1½ miles long with room for up to six rods.
Top: Elk Hair Caddis. Above: Reed stems covered with Simuliidae (reed smut) larvae. The Suir supports a healthy otter population.
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“The first, the gentle Shure that
making way by sweet Clonmell,
adorns rich Waterford”
ABOVE The editor
lifts into another
Suir trout. This
one took a size 14
Olive Paradun.
A stunning
4lb-plus wild
brown trout.
The first
of a brace
before lunch.
Extract from Edmund Spencer’s
Irish Rivers, 1552-59
The Suir’s middle sections are 100ft wide and
clear with plentiful weed and reed growth over
a gravel and limestone bed. It’s similar to the
Hampshire Avon and a 9ft, 4wt-5wt rod is needed
to cover it well. I decided to fish the dry dropper
(a nymph suspended beneath a dry-fly) until there
were natural flies on the water. Kevin and I headed
downstream a few hundred yards from the hut,
while Andrew, the editor and Peter went to the
bottom of the beat.
As we crossed to the right bank, I discovered that
the river was much deeper and had a stronger flow
than at first appeared. I was mindful not to breach
the few inches remaining below my wader tops as I
carefully pitched a small beaded nymph into runs
and deeper holes between the ranunculus. It wasn’t
long before the Klinkhamer dipped and I was into
my first Suir trout. The splashy six-incher was a
mere pup in this river and not what we had come
for, but it was a fish, nonetheless.
Then the downstream party appeared, full of
excited tales of huge trout. A fish, probably more
than 6lb, had risen off the bottom like a surfacing
U-boat to eye Andrew’s passing streamer. Then it
sank back into the depths not to be seen again.
Kevin confirmed that he and Connie had seen
a big fish in the same pool the previous week
that had looked at least 8lb. It was a brief and
sobering reminder of what lies in the Suir’s
deep runs. I nervously re-tested my knots
and tippet.
Kevin and I continued to search our water while
the others headed upstream. They’d been gone
less than half an hour when Kevin’s phone rang.
The jungle drums relayed the news that the editor
had landed a beauty of more than 4lb. It was exactly
what we had come for and I knew how much it
would mean to him.
With renewed enthusiasm, we redoubled our
efforts, Kevin insisting we’d be next. I found a gap
for a back cast through bankside willows and
dropped my nymph into a deep gravel run between
the shifting weed. My eyes were following the
Sharing a cold
beer and the
craic with guides
and visiting
German anglers.
Making hay
while the sun
shines on
the banks of
the river.
Klinkhamer’s pink wing when it suddenly
disappeared mid-drift. I lifted the rod, but it was
stopped by something solid and for a split second
I thought I was snagged. Then the line moved
across the river, rapidly gaining speed before a
fish exploded into the air. To me it looked more
like a grilse than a trout, but Kevin — accustomed
to seeing fish of such proportions — was instantly
on the phone to tell Andrew that “we were into a
good brownie”.
Each time I gained line the fish responded by
tearing off downstream. My instinct was to follow,
but Kevin told me to hold my ground while he
dropped below with his large scoop net. Finally, the
fish floundered on the surface and Kevin lifted the
net. As the fish folded into the mesh, I knew even
from yards away that this was the largest wild trout
I’d ever caught. Deep, fat and golden in the sunlight,
with spots the size of pennies, it was a magnificent
creature, closer to 5lb than 4lb. The tiny nymph was
tucked securely in its scissors.
Peter captured it on camera before it ghosted back
into the flow. Ireland was being kind to us. How
many places are there where you can catch two
4lb-plus wild brown trout before lunch?
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“Deep, fat and golden in the sunlight, with
spots the size of pennies, it was a magnificent
creature, closer to 5lb than 4lb”
We returned to the hut for the promised BBQ.
The smoke was already billowing from a grill full of
delicious burgers, and a bucket of cold beers sat on
the table. I love a BBQ and Andrew’s hospitality was
second to none. As we enjoyed the craic, all seemed
good with the world.
We were visiting in September. I asked Andrew
about the quality of the fishing for the rest of
the year.
“September used to be best for salmon,” he said,
“but it’s now more like May and June. Personally,
I love July for trout. The long nights and massive
hatches of sedge bring up the big trout, which
makes for unbelievably exciting dry-fly fishing.”
Do people always hire guides?
“We sell unguided day permits, but we are doing
more and more guiding. Even though we carefully
rotate beats to rest them, the big fish are not easy.
A guide means that people get more out of their day,
which means they get better value for money.”
Are all the fish returned?
“We are total catch-and-release with barbless flies.
We haven’t killed a trout on our beats for 20 years.
I think we were one of the first professional Irish
fisheries to practise 100 per cent catch-and-release.”
After lunch he agreed to demonstrate how he
fishes the streamer, the technique that brought him
his biggest-ever Suir brown trout, a monumental
12-pounder. To see him effortlessly deliver a heavily
weighted, longshank streamer on his 9ft, 5wt Hardy
Zephrus was inspiring. Casting across and slightly
down, he worked the big fly quickly with short
strips. Half-a-dozen casts later, a good fish launched
itself from the depths, lunging at the fast-moving
Bullet Booger. Our small group let out a collective
gasp as the fish initially missed, but in a single
sinuous movement twisted back over the streamer
and engulfed it in a blur of fins and fury.
The stunning display was worthy of a big pelagic
predator, let alone a 3lb trout.
Mid-afternoon brought spasmodic hatches
of olives and small sedges. We gratefully took
the opportunity to switch to the dry-fly as the
Rob's big fish.
You have to constantly
remind yourself that
these fish are truly wild.
In Fly Fishing
(1899), Sir
Edward Grey
mentions
an Irish river
(unnamed) that
offered fishing
of even higher
quality than the
chalkstreams.
That river
was the Suir.
photography: shutterstock
occasional fish broke the river’s surface.
As the evening rise increased and fish began to
feed confidently, we caught plenty of beautiful,
heavily spotted trout up to 2½lb on small Olive
Paraduns and Elk Hair Caddis. We also saw bigger
fish rising, but the Suir gave me only one further
chance to claim one of her jewels.
At a meander in the river, the flow ran glassily
over gravel shallows on the outside of a bend. Fish
were rising steadily where the gravels dropped
off into a channel leading to a faster, deeper run.
My first effort failed. The fly was whipped away
before I could get the necessary drift. Changing
angle, I dropped the fly above the fish, desperately
trying to hold line out of the faster current to extend
the drift. As the fly neared the spot, a great dark
shape lifted out of the deeper water, became broad,
spotted and golden in the evening light, and took
my fly. In a fit of the yips, I flicked back the rod tip
and pulled the small Elk Hair Caddis straight out of
its mouth. Needless to say, after such a schoolboy
error, I wasn’t given a second chance.
The Suir is not an easy river to master. Its width,
depth and prolific vegetation make covering fish
difficult — at times, impossible — but it provides the
fish with food and protection. All a part of its charm.
Tellingly, within one day, a river that we knew next
to nothing about had stolen our hearts. We were
already making plans to return in July to experience
the sedge fishing when the dream of an eightpounder
rising to a dry-fly may come true.
Photography: Peter Gathercole
Factfile
The Suir is only one hour
and 20 minutes’ drive from
Cork airport or one hour and
40 minutes’ drive from
Rosslare ferry port.
Season
March 17 to September 30.
Tickets
Some beats of the Suir can
be fished on a day ticket for
around €30.
Andrew Ryan’s private beats
are available with or without
a guide. Visit Clonanav Fly
Fishing’s website
for details and prices,
including weekly tickets and
accommodation packages.
Tel: 00 353 5261 36765.
Web: flyfishingireland.com.
Address: Ballymacarbry,
Clonmel, Co Waterford.
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