the moy

“As we mosey along the riverbank, it becomes clear that we’re not alone…”

We’re being discreetly observed from a distance by an officer from North Connacht Fisheries. Given how late in the day we’ve arrived, Gearoid explains, coupled with our relative youth, the officer likely suspects that we haven’t a permit to fish here. He has no business with us though, until our line is in the water, so he hangs back like an apache in an old Western stalking us from atop a nearby ridge. Read the rest of this article here.