11 and 27

My fascination with pike fishing in the West of Ireland was first stirred by Fred Buller’s amazing Domesday Book of Mammoth Pike. Entries such as the account of the 46 pounder netted from Ballygary Bay enthralled me and I read them time and time again. If that book had never been written, I think the course of my life would have been very different! One lake stands head and shoulders over all the others mentioned, and that is of course Lough Mask in County Mayo. What follows is the full story of my exploits on Lough Mask and to a lesser extent Lough Corrib between 1989 and 1995. When in 1988, my parents took early retirement and moved from England to County Clare in Ireland, it was just the incentive I needed to start my exploration of the western loughs. The fact that the Fisheries Board had recently stopped the infamous pike culling was further encouragement. Unfortunately, at this point Irish politics intervened when the Government attempted to introduce a national rod license. The western loughs were the centre of resistance to the licence and were declared a no-fishing zone by local anglers and boatmen as a gesture of defiance. Signs were posted all over the Corrib and Mask system proclaiming no-fishing. Anyone breaking the strike was made aware in no uncertain terms that their presence was not wanted. Not wishing to get involved in any unpleasantness I reluctantly kept away. It was not until late 1989 after some intense and at times heated negotiations that an agreement of sorts was reached and the no-fishing signs came down. During the strike I had been to Ireland on several occasions to visit my parents and had taken the opportunity to drive around Corrib and Mask. Using Fred’s book as a starting point, likely looking areas were noted as well as access points and boat launches. One bay on Lough Corrib had particularly caught my eye. The bay was sheltered, luxuriantly weedy, and got a mention in the book. When I found out that some English pikers had fished the bay during the strike and taken some good catches, my excitement reached fever pitch. It was time to get the rods out! Large lures fished from a drifting boat was supposed to be the killer method, so this was how I started off. From the boat, the bay really did look superb, the water being around five to ten feet deep, gin clear and incredibly weedy. My confidence was high as I drifted with the breeze across the bay, casting a large Epinger spoon over the top of the weed. Just as I was approaching where a river flowed in, the spoon was hit with a bang and a twelve pounder duly boated. Things were getting better and better. Second drift, and in exactly the same place a bigger fish was hooked. At this point, things started to go downhill. The breeze had by now picked up making it extremely difficult to control my large micromesh landing net and I was being blown fast into an area of solid weed. Struggling to control the fish with one hand, I managed to drop the anchor and eventually netted the fish safely. As I did so I breathed a sigh of relief and reflected that I still had a few things to learn about this boat fishing lark. On lifting the fish into the boat I was horrified to see that the fish was very badly hooked in the gill rakers and was bleeding profusely. Despite nursing the fish, which weighed in at seventeen pounds for several hours it never recovered and eventually died. Sitting in the boat feeling very low indeed, I made a mental note never to use a lure with large trebles again. At this point I was interested to see another pike angler turn up and commence fishing. The angler turned out to be NJF himself, the first time we had ever met. After exchanging greetings, I admitted that a fish had died on me, half expecting to get a telling off. In fact, Neville was most sympathetic, pointing out that any pike that was caught and put back in Lough Corrib was a lucky fish indeed. After a good chat we went our separate ways. The next couple of days didnét produce anything of note for me, and it soon became clear that only a few pike were present in the bay. The rest of the season I spent fishing Loch Lomond in Scotland but results were not fantastic and my thoughts kept returning to Corrib and Mask. November of 1990 saw me once more in Ireland. Another area I had marked down as having potential was to be explored, this time on Lough Mask. It was a beautiful, sunny, calm winter day that saw me launching my boat on Lough Mask for the first time. After a forty five minute motor I arrived at the area I fancied. The sounder showed an average depth of six feet with considerable weed growth. Not knowing what to expect I got out the lure rod and selected a Kuasamo Professor spoon. After a couple of casts I was pleasantly surprised to hook a fish, only a jack as it turned out, but it broke the Lough Mask duck. Half an hour later, I had taken another four jacks, none bigger than a couple of pounds and expectations were falling. I have fished so many venues in Ireland where pike killing has caused a jack explosion. Was this to be yet another such venue I asked myself? Moving a few hundred yards in the boat, I resumed fishing and was very surprised when the spoon was taken with an enormous swirl. After a good scrap, a short but extremely fat fish was netted. The scales showed 20-08, my first ever lure caught twenty! Feeling very pleased with myself, I had a quick coffee then resumed fishing. Within ten minutes, another identical looking fish was in the boat, a 19-00 this time. That was the end of the action for the day. What a result for a new venue it had been! The condition of both fish was superb, they were immaculate, and definitely the fattest pike I had ever seen. My father joined me the next day and we not surprisingly returned to the same area. Fishing lures and wobbled deadbaits, I managed three different elevens but my father took top honours with a 21, his first ever over the magic mark. This day was memorable for another reason as well. When we were unloading the boat back at the launch an old chap wandered over and informed us that Mrs Thatcher had resigned. I’m not sure what my father was more pleased about, that, or his twenty! Back in England, I could not wait to get back to Mask. As well as being excellent pike fishing, it seemed I more or less had it to myself. None of the locals appeared to bother with pike and I was not aware of any other English anglers fishing Mask at that time. The few English pikers I knew of who ventured to the West all concentrated on Lough Corrib, a situation which I was very happy with! It was the Christmas holiday when I managed to return and inevitably I headed straight for the sight of the November success. Arriving at the area, I noted that the weed had died back somewhat and that the water level had risen. Two float legered deadbaits were soon soaking on the bottom and I sat back in the boat to await events. It was two hours before the first run, and unfortunately I missed it, as I did the next two! Eventually, contact was made with a fish and I was quite pleased to record another eleven pounder. A large smelt was quickly hooked on and cast back to the same spot. Within minutes the red polyball float started moving slowly away again and I picked up the rod before the baitrunner even had time to click. It soon became clear that this was a much better class of fish which proceeded to circle slowly and powerfully around the boat. I knew it was big, but when it finally came to the surface, my knees went weak. It was huge! I was starting to panic a bit at the thought of losing such a fish but it went into the net first time and I let out an enormous shout. Heaving the fish into the boat, I stood back and stared. This was the pike I had dreamed about for so long! I knew it was thirty plus and sure enough, the scales registered 32-04. Not wanting to photograph the fish in the boat, I pulled in the anchors and motored quickly to the bank which was only a hundred yards or so away. After a couple of very quick photographs I gently put her back and was pleased when she swam strongly away. The rest of the day passed in a complete daze.I was on a different planet! Driving home that evening I could hardly control my excitement and I remember being worried that I would crash the car and be killed before I had a chance to tell anyone about my catch! Fortunately for me, I made it back in one piece to my parents house and was able to tell the tale and enjoy a few celebratory glasses of Jamesons whiskey! The next day was Christmas Day so it was not until Boxing Day that I was once more heading north to County Mayo. The weather had taken a turn for the worse and as dawn slowly broke I realised that it would be a waste of time.Arriving at the boat launch, I got out of the car and found that the wind was so strong I could hardly stand up! The boat was so full of rain water it was nearly sunk and it took me a good half hour to bale it out. Clearly it was madness to even think about fishing, so after securing the boat I drove back home to a warm fire. The storms continued for the next few days and although I managed to get out for a few hours one day, conditions were hopeless. This was just a little frustrating, but it is sadly, a fact of life with winter pike fishing in the West of Ireland. At this time, I was working on a two weeks on, two weeks off basis on an oil rig in the North Sea. This is quite a good arrangement for the traveling pike angler, giving you much more holiday time than most people. After my next two weeks at work I could not keep away and once more found myself boarding the ferry at Holyhead, Lough Mask again being my destination. The first three days were quite slow, producing only two low doubles to static deadbaits. It was not until I tried a very shallow area that things picked up. Although it was only the end of January it seemed that the fish were already starting to move into the shallow spawning bays. This was confirmed when at the end of the trip I did see pike spawning in one shallow bay. The last two days produced six double figure fish, with the biggest going 18-10. What was very interesting was that I just could not get takes on lures, everything coming to deadbaits, either static or wobbled. This is a pattern that has since repeated itself time and again on Mask for me, to the extent that I now hardly ever bother with lures. Studying the Domesday Book, it was clear that most of the really big pike that had been netted from Mask had been taken in March from the spawning bays. Dringeen, Ballygary and Maamtrasna bays had all produced fish in the 40 pound bracket at that time of year. A serious assault on those bays with static deadbaits in true ‘Lomond Croh Minh bay’ style just had to succeed. With this in mind, I booked two weeks off work in mid March, loaded the car with deadbaits and once more set off on the long drive westwards. I really thought I could not fail and was mentally clocking up the twenties and thirties. Eleven grueling days later I had to admit defeat. One eleven pounder taken on a lure was the pathetic total. Despite fishing from dawn to dusk every day I had managed only one run on a static deadbait. On several occasions I had been fishing in very large concentrations of fish but they just would not feed. After being given such a severe drubbing, I decided on a return to my old stamping ground of Loch Lomond for the next couple of sessions. Lomond turned out to be a big disappointment. There were hordes of pike anglers and I rarely managed to get the swim I wanted. Also the number of cruisers and jet skis had increased to a ridiculous degree. Even worse was the fact that most of the fish I caught were in very poor condition, showing signs of bad handling. I soon found myself yearning once more for the tranquillity of the Irish loughs. At least in Ireland I was competing only with the pike and not other pike anglers. June of that year, 1991 I managed to get over for a three day session and decided to fish Corrib by way of a change. At that time I was still a very keen lure angler and this visit was a lure only affair. Things were fairly slow but I managed one 22-06 on a spoon which was a lure caught personal best. The frequent trips to Ireland were starting to cost me a lot of money in ferry and plane fares. I had spent more time in Ireland over the last year than I had in England. After some serious thinking I decided that it made sense for me to move and live in Ireland. I was young, single and in fact mobile, because the nature of my job enables me to live more or less where I wish. My employers were prepared to pay the cost of my flight every two weeks from Galway to Aberdeen. What did I have to lose? Inquires were made and I found a cottage that I would be able to rent from October for six months at a very reasonable rate. The cottage was right on the banks of Lough Mask and even had its own private harbour for my boat. I would give it six months of intensive effort and see what turned up! October and November in fact turned out to be rather slow. I was fishing as many different areas as I could, trying to increase my knowledge of the venue. A lot was learned but few fish came to the net. By mid November I was again fishing the area that had produced my thirty the year before. Several pike were seen swirling in the area and at last a take on a half mackerel produced a nice fat 21-04. It seemed that I had found a few fish, but sadly I had to fly to Scotland the next day so was not able to capitalise on it. Returning two weeks later I was really keen to get back amongst the big pike. As an added bonus my good friend Peter Robinson was due to come over from England for a few days fishing. It would be nice to have some company for a change. I had four days fishing on my own before Peter was due to arrive and these turned out to be some of the bests days fishing I had ever enjoyed. Two twenties at 20-11 and 27-12 were boated along with three different 19s and three other doubles. All the fish came to static deadbaits fished from the boat in the same spot I had taken the 32. It was turning out to be quite a hotspot! Peter had been given instructions as to how to find me on the lake and he was due to arrive at midday along with his own boat. At exactly twelve I had a take on a half mackerel and landed a 23-12. This I popped into a pike tube so that I could show Peter when he arrived. About an hour later I had just decided that Peter must have been delayed and that I should put the fish back , when another half mackerel was away. That one turned out to weigh 27-00. What a brace of fish! A couple of photos of the two in the bottom of the boat were taken and I was just putting the 27 into the tube in place of the 23 when Peter turned up in his boat. He was just a little gobsmacked to see such a super fish and looking rather frenzied, he quickly got some rods out to join in the fun.

No more runs occurred that day to either of us but dawn the next morning found us both anchored up in position, about a hundred yards apart in our boats. It was a glorious, calm winter morning, the kind when it feels good just to be alive. We both chucked out the usual assortment of deadbaits and sat back to watch our floats. Most of my fish had come from baits cast close to a large dying weedbed and I had instructed Peter that it would be a good idea if at least one of his rods was fished with a half mackerel cast close to the weedbed. This he did and I was not too surprised to see his float zooming away within fifteen minutes of us starting. I quickly picked up my binoculars to get a good view of the action. When Peter got the fish near his boat it swirled on the surface, and the Irish air turned blue! This was obviously a good fish. After wallowing about for a bit, the fish then decided that it was giving up and swam quietly into the net. When I saw Peter struggling to lift his net into the boat I realised that it was something very special indeed so I quickly reeled in and rowed over to give assistance. She was a huge, old looking brute of a fish and weighed in at 33-12. We were both amazed! A quick video and photographs were taken and back she went. Nothing more happened that day but we did enjoy a bottle or two of Ballinrobe’s best sparkling wine that evening! Things slowed right down the next few days and no more twenties were taken, though Peter did land a few good doubles. That was it for the year for me. Little did I know what 1992 was to hold in store.