As we continue our inexorable Knumpty meanderings south we touch on the outskirts of the town of Ballina, unsung, unknown and unheard of until we pass a roadside sign welcoming us to the salmon fishing capital of Ireland – who knew? 

A synapse must then have closed in one of our brains, generating the startlingly observant realisation that salmon fishing = possible tackle shop = fly-fishing reels. As quick as lightning, the CNO consults the ancient runes of Google and sure enough identifies a tackle shop to which – even as she breaks this stimulating news – she’s mapping our route to penetrate the centre of this hitherto unknown settlement.

And indeed, as if realising our need for fulfilment, overlooking the wide and mighty River Moy sits Ballina Angling Centre – complete with convenient Knumptywagen parking almost adjacent to its open doors. And as a living advertisement, standing like statues waist-deep in the flowing waters immediately alongside are two salmon anglers, stoically braced against the river’s flowing current while casting their hopes and aspirations onto the rippling surface, as we gleefully enter an emporium of angling delights.

Cheerful greetings are exchanged; introductions are made and objectives are defined, whence owner Paddy – along with a team of dedicated and knowledgeable staff as well as surplus customers – set to with reassuring knowledge and expertise to select a new fly-reel; braided backing; a floating, weight-forward AFTM-6 rated fly-line and six of the finest artificial mayfly lures known to mankind. Not only that, but alongside the informative craic and suggestions of where to actually wet our new acquisitions, he diligently unspools the flyline across the extensive shop floor, the better to load it onto our new reel – this being “all part of the service.”

Fishing locations are discussed; maps are consulted; water conditions, temperatures and wind-directions are contemplated. Lough Cullin is proposed as the southern half is enjoying an unprecedented hatch of mayfly which should last for a few more days, we’re reliably informed. Details of friendly boat-hiring natives are thence exchanged and we are eventually sated. And excited as we now have two functioning fly-reels to accompany all the other tackle we did remember to bring with us. Out onto the riverside street we step, heads held high with a renewed spring in our step and purpose pulsing in our veins.

Gerry Murphy greets us at his front door – or at least one of two front doors he seems to own on this characteristically chaotic smallholding overlooking a sheltered bay of Lough Conn, where boats aplenty are aligned along the shore. In amidst a doorstep recounting of his family, their local dispersion and their history, we are able to negotiate the hiring of a motorboat for the following day which – Gerry amiably informs us – he will deliver to our chosen launch site the following morning, and do we mind that it’ll only have a six horsepower engine? And yes, of course, feel free to park up on the shore over there by the boats and enjoy your evening, see y’tomorrow.

Which we do.

And in brief, we spend an enjoyable day afloat on Lough Conn, fly-fishing for a similar haul to the 30 trout that were reported as caught from another boat only yesterday. Our new flies, new reel, new line and our old traditions meant we caught  . . . absolutely nothing. Not even an inquisitive knock to increase the heart-rate. Nothing. Nada. Zilcheroony. For eight bloody hours non-stop we thrashed the water, drifting on gentle waves and breeze – all for naught. The CNO sat in the bows with the consolation prize of Jurgen Klopp’s final match with Liverpool amazingly playing loud and clear over her phone, with signal strength in the middle of over 1,000 hectares of wild Irish lough better than anything experienced on dry land so far. 

And for the uninitiated – spoiler alert – they won 2-0 against Wolverhampton Wanderers, but sadly failed to secure winning the Premier League, which should have been Klopp’s delighted swansong but sadly wasn’t. So in a peculiar way, we both must now come to terms with our disappointments. And carry on.