Fly-fishing

This is a snapshot in more ways than one, I guess.  Besides the subject - my grandfather - there's the setting and for me, many good memories.  As you can see, Grandpa's got his thigh-length waders on and is standing in the shallows of the River Roe, which lies under the mountain of Binevenagh from which the last photograph was taken (here). And he’s using his fly rod, most likely with a fly he’s tied himself. And his jaw is relaxed, as it usually was :)

Grandpa fishing in the River Roe, c1977.  Printed 2019, Adox MCC paper.

This was pretty much how I spent most Saturdays up until the point I got my first job in the Photographic Department of a local chemist. Grandpa didn’t drive so relied upon a (much younger) relative (Arthur) to take him fishing in the fishing season and shooting in the shooting season. Arthur lived in Ballymena so was a good 40mins from us, and with another 30mins to The Roe do it was midday or after before the first cast was made. Grandpa was usually waiting from about 10am..."What does that man do?" was a constant refrain...as if ‘That man’ had nothing else to think about on his day off other than taking us fishing...

Each bend in the river had a different name - Boat Hole, Stone Hole, Reed Hole... In the ‘holes’ lived fish (salmon). Ideally. If they were ever in their holes at all, by the time I arrived on the scene it was the case that most times they stayed there, in spite of the myriad of flies, spinners and worms that were used to entice them out.  Those Holes were fished up and down all day, by the way - only stopping for sandwiches and tea when we sat anywhere that we fancied and contemplated on the world around us. 

Good times. As a teenager of course it wasn’t appreciated enough.  What I wouldn’t give to have a day up The Roe with Grandpa&Arthur now. But life don’t work like that. Thank goodness for an OM-1 and Ilford, though.