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Dusk on the Lough

The Auld Irish Fly-fisher by Noel Lowry

Forehead, pale under cap’s peak and shaded, the cap itself well worn and faded.
Sun bronzed cheeks and burnt ears, Lips cracked and blistered over the years.

‘Panda’ eyes look from behind dark glasses. Eyesight fading as old father-time passes.
Ripe red nose in sun cream, white smothered, peeling from when they just haven’t bothered.

Strong hands, gnarled like mahogany roots, made by pulling oars; and pulling in beauties.
Skin calloused and fissured, old brown leather, caused by seasons of wind and weather.

Sore back, sore ass, stiff shoulders and arms, On hard planks sitting soon loses it’s charm.
Add, housemaid’s knees and tennis elbows, Too many freezes, and too many last throws.

So little reward for so long afloat, Only an angler knows why it floats their boat.
But a happier face would be hard to find, When an auld-angler has a fish on their line.

A day spent fishing adds to their time, Wrinkles show they’re well past their prime.
But forever young, with no worry or stress, How long they go on for, we can only guess.

This poem was written by a long time member and very good friend Noel Lowry shortly before he died in 2014. I think it perfectly captures the essence of angling from a boat.
The poem was very kindly shared by Maddy Kelly.

KILBRIDE ANGLERS CLUB

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