News:

The Best Fishing Forum In The UK.
Do You Have What It Takes To Be A Member?

Main Menu
Please consider a donation to help with the running costs of this forum.

The Con - Part 16

Started by otter, March 26, 2013, 03:26:47 PM

Previous topic - Next topic

0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic.

otter

There had been a small fall of snow during the night that left a light dusting on the road. Winter was drawing her last breath, a last rally before yielding to the spring. Father Brennan was at the river and already wading up the weir pool at first light. The rod had been set up the previous night and he wasted little time. He did not bother with his usual routine as he was fully focussed on extracting as many of the stocked trout as possible from the easier water.

The Popes golden Celtic Cross sparkled in the early morning light. He smiled with immense satisfaction as he started to cast with his five weight 9ft Popes Dry Fly rod. Made from a quite expensive Sage blank, the finish was exquisite. It was a little beauty and handled the heavy nymphs at the end of his tippet with ease. With each cast he varied the way the nymphs drifted, following a precise set of manipulations.

On the sixth cast he had a take and repeating the same manipulation again, another take. By eight o'clock seven trout lay side by side on the bank, laying down his rod he carried them to the car and placed them in the boot. By nine o'clock he had made several more trips and at nine thirty he returned one last time to the car with two more trout. A total of thirty four trout, quickly and efficiently extracted from the weir pool. Satisfied that the pool now contained few if any stocked trout, he drove to the local shop and purchased his breakfast and then returned to the river.

Father Brennan grinned as he looked in the rear view mirror as Jimmy parked his car behind him at precisely ten AM. His waders had dried quite well from the heat of the car. He prayed that Jimmy would not notice the wet boots.
Before getting out of the car he recited the Our Father twice. His very core shook with laughter and it was an enormous battle to hold it back as he opened the door of the car.

Jimmy Egan also had donned his waders before leaving home and if there was a catwalk for fly anglers then he surely would be a supermodel for Simms. A walking living advertisement straight of the printing press. He wore the latest waders, boots and jacket and the net and hat were less than shabby.

'Good morning Jimmy, a touch cold, I hope the trout are not put down by the snow. Fair play to you, taking the time to show a poor old priest a trick or two, it is a very kind deed. It was only last week I told the parish sexton what a decent young man you were, a chip of the old block he said, he remembered your father with fondness.'; Fondness indeed he thought, a pair of sewer rats, he had tried for years to get rid of the sexton but failed; 'I suppose you have a good plan to attach a fine trout to my flies.'

Jimmy was if nothing else, confident. The fact that the weir pool had received its delivery of fifty trout only a week previous guaranteed good sport; 'Father, if you do not catch at least ten I will eat my hat and I have just the flies to make it happen'; Jimmy took a small fly box from his pocket and handed it to the priest; 'A small gift Father, twenty of the finest Bees I have ever tied, our little secret. Let me set up your rod and we will be ready for action.'

'By God Jimmy, you are some man. Be careful now with that rod, it cost me a small fortune, nearly my life savings. A priest's wages and an engineer's wages are worlds apart. I was told that rod is the best money can buy and after too many whiskeys a fortnight ago I went online and used my credit card for the first time. I was in shock when the rod arrived for the events that surrounded its order were a little hazy, if you follow me?'

Jimmy held the rod, examined it carefully and was a little surprised that he had never come across the brand before. He made a point of keeping abreast of all developments in tackle and somehow this one had evaded him. He swished it back and forth a few times and declared;' Father, you bought well. That indeed is a fine rod and the logo is wonderful, a work of art. The Popes Rod, a very apt rod for a fine priest such as yourself, I might have a proper cast with it later'; Taking the tippet he tied on two gold head Bees and four foot above the top dropper he inserted some siliconised yarn into a loop; 'C'mon Father lets catch some trout.'

When they reached the river, Jimmy guided Father Brennan onto the run that hour's earlier the wily priest had raped and pillaged. 'This is a great spot, one of the best on the river. See that gentle stream twisting down from the weir, I can assure you it is stuffed with trout. Off you go Father, I'll follow you up and will keep an eye on you.'

'Jimmy, this is a little bit embarrassing. Would you mind if I sat and watched you fish for a while, I could say it is the arthritis but that would be a lie. Fact is I haven't fished in a long time and would rather watch you and learn, just till I feel a bit more confident that is.'

An opportunity to show his many skills to a willing audience was not one Jimmy Egan could decline. Unhitching his flies from the keeper ring he stripped some fly line from the reel and commenced casting. The bees landed with a large splash, the yarn indicator settled on the stream. All the while he gave a running commentary;' Track the flies with the rod. Watch for bubbles or foam, make sure the yarn is not moving faster, do a little mend like this. When the yarn dips or pauses, lift the rod and strike'; Cast after cast the yarn came back to him without pausing or dipping under.

Father Brennan sat quietly on the bank smoking one cigarette after another, grinning mischievously as he watched the confidence evaporate with each cast.
'It must be the cold weather Jimmy, are your flies heavy enough to get down deep?'; Jimmy put of heavier flies, he tied on lighter ones but the outcome did not change. Every single cast the flies returned to his feet unmolested and he was dumbfounded.

All too soon his casting rhythm went to pot and a new tippet had to be made when he hooked his lovely Simms hat, almost ripping the head of himself with the heavyweight tungsten beads. He might be eating that hat before the day was out thought Father Brennan as he fumbled in his pocket for his phone. He needed a picture of this to show the lads.

It was two hours later before a crestfallen Jimmy Egan stumbled ashore and sat down awkwardly beside Father Brennan. Slapping him on the back, father Brennan offered some encouragement; 'Bad luck Jimmy, those trout must be asleep. Sure I may as well have a go, maybe one or two will wake up when my clumsy casts slap down on the water. I'll try that little spot up by the weir near the shallows, it should be safe enough there for an old fool like me to wade.'

Jimmy was about to protest that it was useless up there but he was so confused that all he could say was good luck. He watched Father Brennan shuffle his way upstream and took his iphone and gadgets from his pocket. Loading his app he entered all the parameters and when the processing was complete he shuddered. The little screen recommended, in bold bright orange letters, BEES.

Father Brennan was now within casting distance of his chosen spot. A little patch of calm water the size of a pool table, lying amidst the chaos of the rough water that tumbled over the weir. With his back turned to Jimmy, he quickly removed the bees and tied on a medium weighted GRHE nymph, a smaller one went on the point a foot down from its larger brother. He adjusted the position of the yarn and readied himself. Not an ideal situation for no man could focus or close his mind to the hilarity of watching Egan for the past two hours. He focused on a point in the rough water just above and with a single cast he propelled the flies forward to land in the rough water.

The yarn bobbed amidst the foam and quickly found its path downstream. Just as it moved into the calmer water it was driven sideways and Father Brennan struck; 'Jesus, Jimmy I've caught one, bloody hell it's huge'; Jimmy raced upstream, unslung his net and deftly netted the trout. Heavily spotted, a wild brownie of about eleven inches, though a little thin. 'Thanks a million Jimmy that was fantastic, is that not a fine trout.' Quickly casting again he caught a second of similar size.

After releasing the second trout he handed Jimmy his rod; 'I'll wager there is another one there. I took off your Bees and tied on two of The Popes Nymphs that I bought. By god, they are good flies.'

The guest had turned guide and issued daft instructions to Jimmy; 'Try by that rock, a bit to the left, no a bit more upstream'; Like an automation, Jimmy responded to each instruction but no trout came to hand, not for an hour or even the hour after that.

'Beginners luck Jimmy, twas beginners luck. I'll tell you something, that Popes Rod and flies are the best things I ever spent a euro on.'

Jimmy reluctantly nodded and was easily convinced that the only explanation was the Popes Rod and Flies; 'What web site did you buy them from?' Father Brennan winked at him. 'It is a bit of a secret Jimmy but I'd be glad to let you in on it. Send me an email, fatherJP@gmail.com and I will reply with the website. Our little secret Jimmy, tell no one.'

As Jimmys car disappeared up the road, Father Brennan sent a text message to Liam. " The eagle has landed, will have IP address later, be ready to open the shop. JP."

To be continued  :shock:

bushy palmer


otter

Error in email address, JP is now online   fatherjpb@gmail.com - send him your confession, must be a funny one - best one received will be put in the story.

Go To Front Page