A friendly hand waved from the Corrib shore as I walked the short distance from car to water’s edge. The boat was already afloat, rods and reels laid out neatly and an ancient tackle bag stowed beneath the seat, bulging with what I hoped would be lunch.
I had come to troll the brickeen, something I had tried many years ago, before discovering the delight of casting the fly. The brickeen, for the layman, is another term for the minnow, that diminutive and unfortunate member of the carp family eagerly sought after by every carnivorous fish that shares their watery home.
These minnows had been caught last autumn with this spring day, and many others like it, in mind. I asked by what means they had been procured; the answer was lost in a timely twist of throttle as we pulled away. The boat tipped its nose at a wave, climbed over and sped us across the bay.
There is one style of fishing that bores me quickly, and that is trolling. The first half hour was pleasant enough. The boat chugging around, past islands full of trees, along the edge of green fields where lambs skipped about trying to keep warm, over gold-tinted shallow water and deeply mysterious black holes, while 40 yards behind us, salted brickeens held fast to their impalement and twisted and turned, flashing silver black as winter…

Mayo News. 19/03/2013. Read the article. ‘Trolling the brickeen’