By Michael Martin, Six Mile Water Trust
A SACRED PLACE
Wonderful Lough Arrow where the story takes place.
A
s we navigate through the worst catastrophe since WWII our thoughts go out to those close to our hearts who are vulnerable, many lives will be changed forever in the aftermath of Covid 19 and we must do what we can to support each other in these dark days. As an angler I feel blessed to have such wide circle of friends, having an interest in angling opens the door to many friendships, indeed many a friendship has been forged through Albert Tiitterington’s fantastic Game & Country Fair which brings together country sports enthusiasts from all walks of life, an invaluable opportunity to meet friends old and new, to catch up, buy new tackle and get refresher lessons on our casting and fly dressing from that trio – Joe Stitt, Paddy Mulholland and Arthur Greenwood, the APGAI veterans with a host of qualifications and an inspiration to all who meet them, no Game Fair would be the same without
these much loved characters, you couldn’t meet a more professional, skilled and unassuming bunch of friends and I never leave their company without having learned something. The Brotherhood of the Angle provides great company, we are so fortunate in that respect but I fear for those who will have cast their last fly before this is viral scourge has left us. Rather than bang on about bad times I’ll try to describe an evening’s sport which will help the uninitiated to understand why we are so passionate about our sport, why anglers can relate so readily, their experiences shared in incredibly beautiful surroundings where we can become in immersed in nature and lose ourselves in the countryside. Let me take you with me on a trip to a location, one or two of you may already be familiar with it. It's a beautiful early summer’s evening as we turn the car left at McDermott’s pub to wend down the
little country lanes hemmed in by high summer herbage, wild flowers and blackthorn hedges, passing tiny farmsteads and cottages until we top the brow of a hill and Lough Arrow (Arbhach) sweeps into view. Cradled by the Bricklieve mountains, she is largely spring fed with shimmering blue waters stretching away for almost four miles, surrounded by lush woodlands and meadows, islands sitting proudly in the centre and little headlands and intimate bays dotted around the shoreline. I stop briefly by the bridge over the Lough outflow, peering down into the River Unshin, the small trout hold station in water so clear they look as if they’re suspended in air. Every now and again there’s silver flash against the vivid green weed and sparkling golden gravel as a trout rises to take a nymph and returns to hold station in the current once more. We continue on, veering right at the
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