>Day 3 in Ireland: Fly fishing

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The hotel I’m staying at, Ballynahich Castle, has a resident fishing instructor, or ghillie as the Scots call him. Cyril Baggins is his name, and fishing is his game.

For those who’ve never fly fished, it’s a funny sport. I was told time and time again that “the rod and you are one,” meaning the fishing rod should just be an extension of my arm. Well, I don’t know about you, but it’s odd thinking a 9-ft pole is an extension of my appendage. Unlike spin-casting, there’s little to no use of your wrist. There’s no bait, just a fly.

When done properly, casting is a very graceful action. I kept on awkwardly casting and casting my line on the river that’s just outside the hotel. The salmon and trout were probably thinking, “What the heck is going on up there?”

Needless to say, I didn’t catch anything. However, I felt a snag — or at least that’s the story I’m sticking with.


The fish were no match for me and my Wayfarers!


Mr. Baggins and me (and yes, he’s trying to cover up his laughter at my awkward technique)




The river we fished in, Ballynahich River


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