WHITE-TROUTING IN CONNEMARA 



river — he had, unfortunately, had no further sport — and 

 we were speedily rattling dinnerwards. 



My pleasantest recollections of white-trouting on the 

 wild yet supremely beautiful Connemara coastline lie, 

 however, always with a small lake, resting below the 

 foot hills of the mountains, and connected with the sea 

 by a series of sparkling falls, which led to the rocky 

 shores of Galway Bay. This small river, and notably 

 the beautiful lakelet through which it ran, were especially 

 beloved of sea-trout, and particularly in the month of 

 August, when these fish were running up from the sea 

 in large numbers, very excellent sport was to be got 

 with them. 



A long but always enjoyable drive of ten or eleven 

 miles took us one morning to the lonely piece of coast- 

 line, where the stream we sought poured its waters into 

 the blue bay. Getting out our lunch and fishing tackle, 

 and sending back the car to a village some miles 

 away till evening, we were quickly equipped for the 

 fray. Crossing the little stone bridge that spanned 

 the stream some hundred and fifty yards from the 

 shore, we descended the litter of rocks and tried for 

 a while at a biggish pool, where the salmon were ac- 

 customed to rest on their first entrance from the sea. 

 However, to-day no peal were to be raised, and even the 

 white trout seemed to be few and far between. One 

 only, a nice fish of if lbs., was taken by my comrade, 

 after a brilliant little struggle, and safely deposited in 

 the creel. Now we turned inland and fished for an hour 

 or so up the left bank of the stream. The sun was 

 brilliant, the water too clear, and at this time there was 

 but little breeze. It was not surprising, therefore, that 

 fortune was not favourable to our efforts, and, save for 

 a few incautious brown trout taken from some eddy or 

 small waterfall, we had little sport. For the present we 



