November. Always an odd month; cold and dark, wet and windy; somewhere near winter but with no scent of spring. We hardly dare acknowledge these few weeks, but endure them with that dull kind of fortitude that belonged to the Stoics.
I walked the lake shore just to be free of my dark corner, not expecting to meet with anything of interest, but there were trout in the bay, leaping as if at mayflies and splashing in a brief sunlit moment. They ought to be in the streams by now, as are most of their kind. They will run later, no doubt, and when they finally get to spawn they will cut over the redds of those earlier fish, exposing pregnant eggs to the ready current and to those hordes of hungry perch that wait in expectation of the feast.
Perhaps I should fish for the perch. They are at their best now, firm fleshed and bold, ready to bite at the least bait, wonderfully olive barred with fins of orange-red, and armed from nose to tail with an impressive array of needle sharp spines that makes them so very hard to handle……..
Mayo News. 13/11/2012. Read the article. ‘A perch for your plate’
