CHAPTER XXIV 

 WHITE-TROUTING IN CONNEMARA 



Galway Bay and its beauties — A pleasant drive — The river — Osmunda 

 regalis — A big fish — A catastrophe — Fair sport — Bogland stream 

 — Wild country — "Making Connemara poor" — Further sport — 

 Kenealy's cabin — A white-trout lake — Trying the river — Poor fishing 

 Across the moor — A good fish — Some brilliant sport — The bag — 

 Homeward bound — Sea-trout as table fish — The gourmet's loss. 



THE drive alone, on a fresh, gleamy, soft Irish 

 morning, along the northern shores of Galway 

 Bay, was, as we passed it time after time on our fishing 

 and shooting excursions towards some lovely lake, 

 picturesque river, or wild grouse mountain, worth 

 travelling from England for. One never tired of it. 

 We quitted the house pretty early one morning, 

 mounted the car, and trotted briskly off. Galway Bay, 

 stretching to the Arran Islands and thence beyond to 

 the wide Atlantic, looked, as usual, immeasurably 

 lovely. Cloud and sunshine in their tender dalliance 

 combined to cast the most exquisite colouring upon the 

 broad arm of sea-water. Here were to be seen, under 

 the shifting lights and shades, within the space of half a 

 minute, turquoise-blues, violets, sea-greens, and tender 

 browns scattered in patches, streaks, and ribbons of 

 colour, and giving a perfectly wonderful effect. 



Seven miles over a fair road on the swift travelling- 

 car landed us on the banks of the river we sought. 

 Here we alighted, walked a little way upstream, and 

 then put together our rods. It was a trifle early for the 



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