The Con - Part 18

[otter]

 Father Brennan had not fished the Liffey since he was a novice and a chance meeting with another priest, Father Hegarty provided him with an opportunity to do so. Father Hegarty rang a friend, who rang a friend and that friend knew just the man to take Father Brennan out for a few hours. This was a chance to kill two birds with the one stone, some real fishing for wild trout and see first-hand some modern methods in action. The Popes delivery to Jimmy had been collected the previous day, everything was going to plan; not that he doubted it would.

Clane was only a forty five minute drive away and he easily made it in eighty minutes. Clio unfortunately was unable to respond to any great pressure on the accelerator and had little sympathy towards a daft priest that was itching to get fishing. Driving through this thriving village he marvelled at how modern it was. The clean neatly painted shop fronts almost enticed him to stop but like most suburban villages the through traffic was so incessant that he was dragged along as though on a never ending conveyor belt. By the time your decision to stop is made, it is far too late and you find yourself dragged to the outskirts, destined for the next centre of man's unnatural desire to live in enclaves of concrete, brick and mortar.

Reaching the outskirts he soon came to his destination, Alexander bridge. Ahead an angler stood at the bridge peering over into the river; 'Why else would you build a bridge if not for some trout spotting'; he said out loud, as if Clio had ears, which thankfully she didn't for if she had, she would have driven herself to a scrapyard years ago to be rid of Father Brennan's incessant thinking out loud. Has there been an angler yet born that failed to raise their head as high as possible, leaning towards the cars window, just for a fleeting glimpse of the stream beneath.

Parking alongside the bridge adjacent to what he assumed was the other anglers car, he joined the other angler. 'Doc, I presume, I'm James Brennan.' Doc offered his cupped hand to Father Brennan and opened it a little; 'A Large Dark Olive James, if they are coming off this early there should be a good hatch later, I'm glad you could make it.' Father Brennan smiled as Doc released the Olive, both of them watching it flutter over the top of the bridge and drift on the gentle morning breeze down towards the river; 'Pleased to meet you James, have you a rod with you? , we will take my car.'

'I have Doc, she is in the car and already made up'; he transferred everything to Doc's car and off they went. Doc drove them through a housing estate below the bridge. Left, straight, right, left soon he was completely lost, unable to fathom where they were in relation to the river. When they pulled up at the end of the housing estate he asked Doc where they were and where they were going.

'We are just below Paddy's Strand, I thought we would go downstream to a spot called Drury Byrnes and work our way back up;' Father Brennan contemplated this for a moment; 'Doc I hope I'm not being cheeky, can we start at Monaghan's Island. My fondest memories of the Liffey are from that stretch and the best trout always came from there;' Doc had assumed that he was looking after a part time angler that never fished the Liffey before, often a torturous endeavour.

Not one to give away what he was thinking or showing surprise at this revelation; 'No problem James, if you are up to the walk, so am I;' Doc opened the door of the car. Father Brennan immediately and firmly grabbed Docs arm, preventing him from getting out; 'Drive around the other side and we can cross the fields at Connell's;' Doc turned; 'Sorry James there is no parking over there, we will have to go the long way;' Father Brennan had always cycled from Maynooth and hid his bike in a ditch, of course that was many years earlier. Contemplating this dilemma, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a Disabled Parking Permit, showed it to Doc; 'This will cover us and if anyone gets upset, I'll threaten them with purgatory, off you go. Great invention that permit, you can park anywhere with it; 'Doc grinned, closed the door and drove off. Already the day had taken a turn for the better and he knew that to second guess the old priest would be a huge error in judgement.

Driving down the country lane, Father Brennan interrogated Doc, occasionally murmuring; 'That house is new or there used to be a huge pothole at that bend;' Reaching the last straight near the end of the road he ordered Doc to stop; 'Pull her in there, tight to the fence and put this permit on the dash board;' Doc was beginning to wonder who was the guide and who was the guest but did as bid.

While Doc was putting on his waders Father Brennan was already surveying the barbed wire fence. Finding a suitable spot he placed his rod on the far side. Lifting his right leg and pushing down the wire with his left hand he tried to vault over the fence. He had miscalculated, the barbed wire almost tore the **** out of his waders and he fell heavily on the far side. Standing up, no major damage done, he rather embarrassingly grinned at Doc; 'Someone should tell the farmers to make the ditches lower;' Doc nodded and leisurely gathered his gear and walked twenty yards down the road, then crossed the stile into the field; 'Great inventions, stiles ,what do you think James. Are you coming?; One nil to Doc and to ensure that maximum pain was inflicted he strode quickly down to the river leaving James trailing well behind.

Doc stopped at the fence that ran along the river at Connells Strand, lit a cigarette and waited for James to catch up. 'I need to give up the cigarettes;' said Father Brennan, completely out of breath and his leg still throbbed from the fall. Surveying the river his face lit up; 'Connells Strand, by God she has widened a lot, in my day she was stuffed with small trout. Occasionally a good lad could be had below that rock over there;' Doc was impressed with James memory; 'Still the same James, I had a 14" fish there two weeks ago on a nymph.'

After Father Brennan had gathered his breath they moved on downstream, Doc leading the way, pausing now and then, allowing Father Brennan all the time he needed to reach deep into his memories and map the current river to his dim recollections. The layout of the fields had changed, new ditches, mature trees that were mere saplings the last time he visited. Passing Hoban's rocks he quickened his step, now walking shoulder to shoulder with Doc. Trees obscured their view of the river. As they walked he kept glancing in the direction of the river, his heart skipping a beat when finding any little gap that nature had yet to fill.

Reaching a high impassable ditch Doc turned away from the river and followed the line of the ditch back towards the road, stopping when they reached a gate; 'I'll take your rod, we will cross here;' Father Brennan, in his rush to get to the Island did not notice the electric wire that ran along the edge of the far side of the gate. The shock when it came assisted his crossing and once again he ended up flat on his back. He looked crossly at Doc who simply grinned back at him; 'Watch out for the electric fence James, did I forget to mention it, Sorry;' Two nil to Doc.

Once again Father Brennan trailed behind Doc, cursing loudly as he rubbed his throbbing upper thigh. Reaching a wire fence, Doc lifted the bottom strand, beckoning Father Brennan to slide underneath. A little wiser now, Father Brennan cupped the strand of barbed wire with his free hand ensuring that if Doc's grip on it failed, that he would not receive an unwelcome blessing from the barbed wire.

Doc, deftly slid under and leading them down a hollow and through some bushes, whose thorns had only eyes for Father Brennan. Finally Doc stopped at the water's edge. Father Brennan appeared moments later, rubbing the blood of the scratches on his cheek, cursing loudly; 'Thank God, the river. Are we near the island yet?' he pleaded, all the while panting from his exertions from battling the shrubbery.

Doc almost cracked up and stifled an urge to burst out laughing; 'You are standing on it James. It's not an Island anymore, you just crossed what was the inside channel;'

Three nil to Doc.

to be continued after the easter eggs

[otter]

Father Brennan is ran of his feet. Another confession in from England, this one from some fella with casting problems Tailing Loops.
He had noticed that there were fewer squabbles on the forum since he opened E-Confessions.

*******************


Dear father Brennan,

I have to confess. The guilt has been keeping me awake at night for years and I yearn for a good night's sleep. I must get this burden off my chest.


It was many years ago now. I was a young, impressionable lad when old Bill taught me the ways of the water and the field. These were his ways, the ways of the true hunter, not those of the sportsman. Bill had a family to feed and he went to the river to bring back fish to eat. Just like when he went to the woods or the fields he came home with a rabbit, hare or partridge – and not a single shot was fired. His shaggy coated lurcher (picture enclosed)was deft at picking up a clamped bunny or hare and his home made nets, dragged across the fields at night procured many a tasty partridge. It was from his teachings that I learned to pluck a salmon from the river. That was when the trouble started. I became fond of running dogs too and he let me have one of his pups, I still have one from the same line today (picture), called Fly.


I was about 26 or 27, home on leave and I was itching to get down to the river and see the familiar sights and smell the scents of the wild garlic in the woods that grew alongside. The westcountry river produced some sizeable seatrout, my best was 16lbs, but Ihave to confess, while it came to a rod and line, it did not take a fly or spinner. This is not my confession, because nobody saw the fish until I placed it on the kitchen table! No, my burden is from a day or two later. The water was getting lower and the fish were getting easier to find. Stuck in the deeper pools, unable to continue their journey upstream.


It was early one morning, the steam was still rising from the surface of the now warm river, as it fell from the wilds of Dartmoor over the moss covered rocks towards the sandy estuary, where it poured out into the sea. It's lower section slow and slightly meandering as it cut through flat water meadows where mullet, bass and flounders would meet the resident trout and seatrout. I was on my hands and knees, bent over the undercut of one of the pools close to the tide, a stick in one hand and a child's beach bucket in the other, with the bottom knocked out of it. At the end of the stick a brass rabbit wire was fastened by its cord and the wire wedged in a split in the end, to make it easier to guide over the tail of the waiting salmon. The bucket took the ripples off the water and allowed me to see more clearly into the depths. I couldn't quite reach, so I lay on my stomach and extended my arm into the water, my shirt sleeve wicking the slightly warm water up the fabric and into the main body of the garment, making me chill. I didn't shiver though, my hand was steady and the loop of wire was gently eased over the spade like tail of the resting fish. Once I had it in position I steadied myself before lifting the stick to close the noose. The fish gave an almighty thrash and soaked me to the skin, it kicked and thrashed as I struggled to drag the mighty fish over the bank. I had just got it onto the grass when a voice called out, "Finally. I've got you red handed this time!" I looked up to see the fresh faced young keeper from the estate striding towards me.

I kept my composure as I straightened my soaking clothes and slid the wire off the tail of the fish, which still lay kicking on the grass. "Got me red handed at what?" I replied.

"You're poaching salmon," Martin, the young keeper, retorted.

"I'm not poaching salmon. I am not doing anything of the sort," I replied. "If you are referring to Sammy here, he is my pet salmon and I have just brought him down for his daily swim in the morning."

Martin was taken aback by this and demanded, "what do mean, his daily swim?"

I explained that we kept him at home at the pond in the garden and I brought him down to this pool so he could have a proper swim, because he couldn't exercise properly in the pond. I gave him an hour and then whistled him and he would come back so I could lift him out and take him home."

Martin didn't believe me, so I offered to prove it to him. I took the salmon and placed him gently in the water, once again up to my armpits in the water. After a minute or two he revived and started to give a few wriggles, preparing to launch himself from my gentle grasp.

"Well, go on then," encouraged the young keeper, "let's see him go for his swim."

So I let him go and then sat back on the bank and waited. After about 15 or 20 minutes Martin said, "now let's see you whistle that salmon up then. I have got to see this."

I turned to the young keeper and asked, "salmon? What salmon?" I understand when he got back to his boss and recounted the tale, he lost his job. And I have always felt guilty for that. Father, please forgive me

**************

No pennance required TL, have a pint on me. Amen.

[mario]

This is f........in awsome getting better with every chapter and the confessions are amazing sorry I can't put my confessions but have 2 kids too feed and don't fancy jail but will say 2 hail marys and an our father keep up the great storyline  :lol:

[Ripple]

Brilliant, enjoy the Easter eggs.