Years ago when I started fishing there wasn’t many about to educate you on the fine art of our great hobby. I had been schooled by an older lad on how to use the float on the canal but not on how weather time of year and most of the other secrets that go into
The Amazon flowed at the bottom of our housing estate. As a young boy this is where I had my first great adventures, on my return as a man many years later I discovered it had shrunk to a babbling brook. Hopping from stone to stone and running along the river bank, I rarely returned
The wind is Southerly tonight. Through the porch window I watch the golden flowers on the Rose of Sharon bush whip, dip and dive. The whine of the autumn wind reaches my ears even through the double-glazed windows. It is the twentieth of October and the nights are, as we say locally, “drawing in”. We
I smile as I make my way towards the marsh, binoculars dangling from my neck. A logbook and pencil are nestled in my pocket. Under my arm, I’m carrying a rather heavy book about Irish birds. You never know when you might need it! I have grown accustomed to this walk through suburban landscapes: the
Ar an 23ú Bealtaine 2019 shocraigh mé dul ar thuras campála le mo kayak go hInis Oirthear. Seo oileán amach ó chósta Ghaoth Dobhair i nDún na nGall a tréigeadh sna 1950idí, ach anois is iad na caoraigh atá ina gcónaí ansin. Bhí mo mhadadh beag Séimí liom. Bhí seaicéad tarrthála liom. Chuir mé m’fhón
Trusk Lough, a mountainy lake , a tarn , lies 5km from the town of Ballybofey. It is a popular spot with locals who go to fish, swim ,walk or meet up for a chat there . On a sunny afternoon you will see the people come, some walk ,some drive or cycle , drawn
I had a dream last night that a tsunami hit Donabate. From a height above the hill, looking far below. I watched helpless and heart beating, as the swell grew and took on a life of its own. Beginning small, a murmur of motion. Waves forming, pronounced and large, like a serpent below the sea.
Bogaimis siar chuig na seascaidí i gCorcaigh. Bhíomar inár gcónaí i mBaile an Locha – ach loch ní raibh ann! Bhí taithí againn ar dhul go dít an “Lough”, ceart go leor, ach bhí sin i mBaile Féitheán, thart ar dhá mhíle go leith ó Bhaile an Locha de shiúl na gcos. Is cuimhin liom
Uisce, uisce I ngach ait gan braon le n’61. Is minic muid ag clamhsan anseo in Eirinn go bhfuil iomarca baistf againn anseo- tuilte agus aibhneacha ag cur thar maoil. Tailte cludaithe le huisce sa gheimhreadh agus sa bhf6mhair nuair ata t-arbhar aib1 agus reidh le baint. Ach ni orthu siud ataim ag smaoineadh ach
I was eighteen and in the Ballinrobe area, my father was fixing a bull-dozer and I was his helper. Father and son working together but for all that I was no help to him that day, we were in a field on a blazing summer’s day and the heat made you feel lazy. There was
I sit at the icy waters’ edge, toes, feet, legs, slow descend into the murky cold blackness. Suddenly shivering, receptors on high alert, white caps move towards me to envelop my initial endeavour, almost forcing retreat. I submerge entirely and move forward, eyes closed trusting my instinct. Hands joined as in prayer, moving my body
My childhood home was perched on the edge of the Atlantic in the village of Mullaghgloss, in Renvyle. From our front door I could see the Mayo coast, the cliffs of Achill, Clare Island and Inish Turk. The sea was a constant in our lives with all its moods. Sometimes it would be flat calm