Fish Scéalta: Game Fishing from Alaska to Lapland and the Swedish Arctic

By John Lalor

The word education comes from the Latin word educo, ‘to lead out’. I always considered travel as one of the best educators. It broadens the mind with real-life experiences. Travel also broadens the angler’s mind and sharpens his or her skill. You meet many anglers from different countries, with their own national culture and of course their own angling traditions.

In this book, I try to recount my memoirs of fishing, work and travel. It shows that you don’t need a large wallet if you want to catch the fish of your dreams. You may be a student or worker, so take your opportunities when they come. Better to have tried, and caught nothing, than to never have fished at all!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jan 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9781398485365

Book preview

About the Author

John Lalor was born in Clonmel, County Tipperary, Ireland in the mid-1900s. The River Suir, where the largest salmon in Ireland was caught, flowed 300 yards from his home. Here he did his basic training, learning to fish for trout, eels and Atlantic salmon. He learned how to fly fish at the age of four, from his father Eoin on the River Nire.

He graduated as a National School Teacher and was an Elementary School Principal for most of his life. He lived in the United States for a number of years where he worked as a carpenter and eventually became a foreman. Here he mixed work with his passion for angling. He studied creative writing in Harvard University. He was a member of the Irish Fly-Fishing Team which took part in the World Championships in Sweden, in 2005. He was also in the Irish Team at the First Five Nations Championships in Stirling, Scotland in 2014.

Presently, he is retired and spends time fishing in Sweden and Lapland for Baltic Salmon, Sea Trout and Arctic Char. He wrote the book: The River Suir – A Blue Riband River for Trout, Salmon Fishing in 2008.

He is married to Maria and they have two children: Shane and Aoife.

Acknowledgement

Copyright Information ©

John Lalor 2024

The right of John Lalor to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

The story, experiences, and words are the author’s alone.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398485358 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398485365 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.co.uk

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Dedication

Dedicated to the memory of my brother Eoin Lalor and all Organ Donors

Foreword

Wow! What an adventure!

I think this is the way God intended all men to live their lives, one adventure after another.

I too would like to think of myself as a traveller/frontiers man and can see how John loves the excitement of what’s around the corner or the next bend of a river.

John had plenty of trips, slips and falls along his journey, but John’s stubbornness to never call it a day still remains.

Each time I pick up John’s book and read a chapter I feel like grabbing my laptop and booking a flight to one of John’s destinations!

I’m so jealous!!

Dave Donavan

12 Irish Caps.

I first got to know John Lawlor when we got to fish together in the Munster Lake Fly Fishing Championship in Killarney many years ago when we were accompanied by his son Shane who acted as our boatman for the day. We still joke today about a broken rod incident which happened during the course of the day. Many years later in 2014 John was a member of the Irish team to compete in the inaugural 5 Nations Fly Fishing Championship in Sterling in Scotland. I had the honour to captain this team and to get to hear a lot more of John’s stories about his travels around the globe. John Lawlor is highly regarded among his peers in the angling fraternity in Ireland and beyond. His passion for angling and all it entails knows no bounds. John has written a number of excellent books over the years and this latest offering is another beautifully written account of his travels and experiences. I have had the opportunity to get a preview of the book which I must admit I have read twice already and I am sure I will be picking it off the shelf again over the long winter nights.

Tom Ankettell, National Treasurer Trout Anglers Federation of Ireland.

I found John’s new book a very interesting read. It documents his travels and fishing trips through different countries (USA, Canada, Sweden, Scotland, Ireland, etc.). From catching small brook trout in the Rocky Mountains to massive Baltic salmon in Sweden and representing Ireland at international level in fly fishing competitions. Anyone interested in angling should definitely give Fish Scealta a read.

Kevin Lafford, Munster River Champion 2022 and member of Irish Winning team in Banks Competition in Wales 2022.

Introduction

Like many anglers I began fishing in a small spring fed stream. Our local stream, on the outskirts of Clonmel in County Tipperary was called the Frenchman’s Stream. It followed a course from the Wilderness, through the outskirts of Clonmel, to enter the River Suir. Today it is called Wilderness Gorge or in Irish: Scornach an Fhiántais. St. Patrick said that the stream would flood Clonmel seven years before the end of the world!

Today, however, most of the stream is culverted. It flows by an industrial estate, under Ryan Motor Power and also by a housing estate called Brookway. As a result, I presume that Clonmel will not suffer the apocalypse?

Our tackle consisted of shrimp nets, vegetable strainers and jam jars. Our target species was Pinkeens, Briceens, known to the most knowledgeable as sticklebacks – the three spined variety. Up to fifty children converged on the Frenchman’s during the warm summer holidays in July and August. The stream was about 1-2 metres in width and barely 0.5 metre in depth. The Pinkeens lived under the water plants close to the verges.

The prime catch was the male or cock stickleback. He guarded the nest and had lovely red and blue colours under the chin. A plump hen with eggs followed in second place. She was more camouflaged and duller in appearance for protection. The average catch was the one inch long juveniles with their pink, silvery flanks. Most captives were taken home and fed on chopped worms. Needless to say, the majority died after a few days and were buried in a matchbox, with a wooden cross, made of matchsticks, as a tombstone!

Next came fishing with worms for eels and trout, in the Suir in the centre of Clonmel along the Quays. Eels were extremely plentiful and haunted the outlets from Burke’s Bacon Factory, where there was an ample supply of flesh scraps and blood to feed them. Big trout also inhabited these areas and could be caught on the White Pudding. White pudding (not black) mixed with flour and placed on a small treble hook. A cork was used as a float indicator.

If you were lucky, like I was, your father took you to the River Nire and taught you how to fly fish at the age of four. As one got older, you acquired a bicycle. Travel was possible on one’s own or with boyhood friends. The Moyle, a tributary of the Anner, held good worming holes. The Glenary was shallow, fast and safe to wet-fly fish for small browns. The Tar, at the foot of the Knockmealdowns, was the ideal place to try for a grilse, brown trout and especially big pike.

Summer work and finally a career in education gave me the chance to go after the ‘King of Fish’ and eventually to travel in pursuit of many different species: whether it was from a hostel, tent, bare-ground or a hotel.

The word Educator comes from the Latin word: Educo = to lead out. I always considered travel as one of the best educations. It broadens the mind with real-life experiences. Travel also broadens the anglers mind and sharpens his or her skill. You meet many anglers from different countries, with their own national culture and of course their own angling traditions.

In this book, I try to recount my memoirs of fishing, work and travel. It shows that you don’t need a large wallet if you want to catch the fish of your dreams. You may be a student or worker, so take your opportunities when they come. Better to have tried, and caught nothing, than to never have fished at all!

Montauk – The End

The plane left Shannon Airport bound for J.F.K. in New York. It was my first time crossing the ‘pond’. The farthest west I had been before this was the Skelligs—the location for the Star Wars movie. The journey took seven hours against the headwind but it was interesting to look down on Greenland, New Foundland and Maine. I could see the mighty Penobscot River where Atlantic salmon are now making a return, as many of the dams, which obstructed their journey, are being removed.

As I travelled by taxi from J.F.K. to Manhattan I could see the skyline lit up by the skyscrapers including the Twin Towers. The date was July 1980 and I was hoping to get summer work on Long Island for the next two months. From memory, I was supposed to meet Michael at the Blarney Stone pub on 38th Street. I went into the pub. Michael wasn’t there! What was Paddy to do in one of the biggest cities in the world? The barman said there were lots of Blarney Stones in New York. However, he said that there was another across the street. I crossed over, on a street in a city that never sleeps, Michael was having a Budweiser at the counter! Panic departed and after a few beers we returned to the Y.M.C.A. for the night and made plans to find work the following day.

The next day we took the subway to Gaelic Park where we thought we might get some construction work. We had played Gaelic Football in our time and hoped that this might aid our C.V. That, however, was not to be. Bar work was another option but the students who came over in June had taken all the best jobs. People in another Irish tavern told us to try Montauk. It was a holiday resort right out at the end of Long Island. The Hamptons were nearby. All the wealthy New Yorkers holidayed in this area. Pele and Chevy Chase lived there. Montauk Marine Basin was a famous fishing centre. The gulf stream passed by and all sorts of leviathans swam by there. It sounded like paradise to an angler like myself. We purchased tickets for the Long Island Railroad and left New York around 6 p.m. from either Grand Central or Union Station. Montauk was at the end of the railroad. The next place was the Atlantic Ocean. We found a motel and bedded down for the night. We had reached The End.

We got up the next morning and decided to go out for breakfast. Montauk really was a fishing town. It was perched right beside the ocean. Most of the buildings were of wooden construction, shingle or clap-board exteriors and grey with white trim on the windows and doors. The buildings down by the docks were situated on dry land with walkways on wooden stilts outside. These stilts were embedded in the sea floor. Many of the restaurants were located over the water, again on large wooden beams or supports which added to the dining experience.

American breakfast consisted of orange juice (O.J.), coffee, bacon (streaky rashers), hash browns and fried eggs. Sunny-side up was a normal fried egg. Rolled-over easy meant fried on both sides. Bread was white or rye. It cost about $2.50 and kept you nourished until evening. You could drink as many fills of coffee as you could manage. We met some commercial fishermen at breakfast. They told us to try for work where the private charter boats were berthed. A deckhand (they told us) could make up to $550 per week, with tips! Deckhands would bait the hooks, fix the outriggers and wash down the boat at the end of a fishing trip.

Down we went to the charter boat section of the marina. The boats looked fabulous with their white and blue fibre glass hulls, their fighting chairs, outriggers and big h.p. engines. The item which impressed me the most was the extra observation/driving decks which topped the main cabin. These were used to spot large game fish, tuna or marlin or shoals of bait fish breaking the surface. Some boats had two of these decks and looked like conning-towers.

We met a few captains and asked them if they needed any help. All had enough crew as the positions had been filled in June. The captains were friendly and informative. They told us that they were all licensed by the U.S. Coast Guard. They would spend the summer in New York, the Empire State and then move to Florida, the Sunshine State for the winter. Migrating just like the fish they were targeting. They told us that if a client caught a tuna, the captain would keep and sell the fish which was worth thousands of dollars. The client, a sport fisherman would be offered a day’s fishing at no cost in return.

We eventually got work in Gosman’s Dock. It was a family owned seafood restaurant and burger joint at the sea front, in the heart of the tourist area. The year was 1980. I was twenty-four years old and a principal of a primary school in Ireland. I had two months holidays, was single and a free agent. With wages and tips I was making as much as I would working in Ireland. A single person in Ireland was taxed at 65 pence in the pound (65p/£1.00), which meant that a worker took home 35p in each pound or 35% of salary. I had told the manager of the restaurant that I was a student. Both Michael and I looked younger than our years. We learned later to always take our passports with us. A person had to be 21 or over to be served in a public bar. The Irish always did extremely well when they emigrated to the USA. They worked hard and their families were well educated later on. It is my personal view that there was a great incentive to work hard and make money when the taxman didn’t take most of it from you!

We worked hard all day and generally finished work at about 6 p.m. There was a charter boat company called The Viking Fleet which took people fishing for ½ day or evening trips. We decided to go one evening. It was $30 and bait and tackle was supplied. The tackle consisted of standard size boat rods and Penn Multiplier reels with monofilament lines. The terminal tackle was 4ozs of lead, wire trace and a large single barbed hook. There were no circle hooks in those days.

The boat was steel hulled, forty feet long with powerful diesel engines. Inside the harbour the speed limit was 5 m.p.h. so it wouldn’t create a wake. When we entered the open sea the captain opened up the engines, the bow rose up and we seemed to surf along the waves. We headed in the direction of Block Island. Behind we could see the famous Montauk Point Lighthouse. The canyons, where the ocean could be up to ten miles deep, were a couple of hours further out. We would be much closer to shore where the water was shallower. The captain told us that our target was bluefish.

Block Island Sound

Bluefish (Pomatomus Saltatrix) could measure up to two feet (61cms) long. The average weight was between 14-22lbs. We used pieces of herring and small squid as bait. Anglers were spread out about 2m apart. There were two deckhands—one to port and one to starboard. Their job was to assist the clients and bait the hooks and to gaff or net the catch. Having sea fished for pollock, conger and mackerel off the coast of Ireland, we didn’t need any help. The captain dropped the anchor and told us, over the loud speaker, to drop our lines.

Before my line hit the bottom I got a powerful tug. I raised the rod and struck hard. The line took off like a bullet and I knew that I had a good fish on. The fish’s runs were as fast as any tuna and eventually I brought it to the surface where the deckhand gaffed him. The handle of the gaff was at least 14ft long which enabled him to reach down over the gunwale and lift the bluefish onto the deck. It weighed about 14lbs, was blue in colour but with a head and a body that was tapered for speed. Michael was next to hook up with a fish that was about 20lbs. The bluefish hunt in shoals and attack the herring and menhaden in fast, furious ambushes. An angler who was about 3 persons to my right hooked a blue. It took off at a rate of knots. In an attempt to escape it passed under Michael and I. With so many lines in the water it was no surprise to see many lines get tangled. This was where the deckhand earned his dollars. Tangles like these took five to ten minutes to sort. I took note of everything the deckhand did. At a later stage it would help me to get a job on the same boat!

We finished fishing after 3 hours and went back towards the lights on the Montauk shore. The deckhands filleted the bluefish for a couple of bucks. As was, and still is the custom, everybody tipped the deckhands but not the captain. Michael and I were told that you could get a good price for bluefish from the restaurant chefs. We had ten blues between us and one was certainly enough to keep. We kept our catch in the shower that night and sold them the next day for 17cent a pound. The first fish I had ever caught in the United States!

Three nice Blue Fish

The Viking fleet had a smaller charter boat which took people on all night trips. The target species here was porgy, a type of sea bream. Groups or teams of people came down from New York City at the weekends to fish for porgies. Catch and release had not come into being yet and the Porgy hunters were really angling for the pot. I never ate or caught any porgies but they were supposed to be excellent to eat.

Another species of fish which inhabited the sandy bottom off Montauk was flounder, similar to flat fish which are caught along the Irish and British shoreline. Half-day and evening trips were available on the Viking boats. Rates were the same and so was the tackle. However, the terminal tackle was a paternoster type as used for ground tackle. I can’t rightly remember the bait we used but I think it was chunks of squid and herring. We may have used some shell-bait but I am not sure. The fish ranged from 1½ to 3½lbs and were usually netted by the deckhands. The fishing was not as exciting as blue fishing but again it was a different experience.

Jaws was written by Peter Benchley. The film was made in 1975 and was directed by Steven Spielberg. It was a summer film. Many people think that it was made on Long Island but the actual location was Martha’s Vineyard which is off the coast of Massachusetts. The Vineyard is only a couple of hundred miles east of Montauk. There was always great conversation about sharks in Montauk. The beaches in the area were similar to those in the movie. The local newspaper always carried news about sport fishing in the area. On one occasion an aerial photograph showed a charter boat with the shadow of a Great White Shark underneath. The animal was almost as big as the boat! One time I went water-skiing in Long Island Sound. I was doing fine until dirty petrol got into the carburettor. The boat stopped, the line slackened and I gradually sank into the still water. I was floating with my lifejacket and my legs were held up by the skis. My eyes were at sea level and after a while I was expecting to see the dorsal fin of a shark. Ten to fifteen minutes I remained like this! My imagination working overtime! Eventually the crew got the engine going and pulled me to safety.

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Montauk Shark Fishing Tournament

The pinnacle of the fishing season in Montauk was the annual shark fishing tournament. It generally took place at the weekend over two days. I did not take part in the competition as weekends were very busy in the restaurant. New Yorkers love to come to the area to get away from the heat and humidity of the Big Apple.

During the 1980s it was mostly a Catch and Keep competition. There was a large fishing store opposite the restaurant where we worked. On my days off I went there to see the great selection of sea-angling gear and chandlery. The rods were impressive with their curved handles which fit into the fighting chairs. The fighting butts were generally made of brass. The reels were huge and also made of brass. They cost hundreds of dollars back then so I presume they may cost thousands today.

The item which impressed me most in the shop was a rack with a number of shotguns. This was not a hunting store and there were no other items on display which dealt with that aspect of outdoor pursuits. One gun which still stands out in my memory was a pump-action shotgun. It was a 12 gauge with a wooden slide and stock. However, the barrel and action were made of stainless steel. I was really puzzled but a commercial fisherman told me later what the gun was made for. When the sport fisherman caught a large shark they would bring it to the side of the boat. A member of the crew would then shoot the shark with a slug in the head. Similar to the way that alligators are hunted in Florida. The metal parts were made of stainless steel so that they wouldn’t rust. Many rifles today have stainless steel barrels but it is more for cosmetic purposes as most hunting is done on dry land.

The shark tournament in Montauk is now Catch and Release. The fish are returned unharmed and many are tagged for scientific purposes. The rules for the 2020 competition confined anglers to 150 boat limit. This was a 50th anniversary competition. The entrance fee was $1000 and there was a prize purse of $50,000. It was called the Montauk Shark Tag Tournament. There were prizes for:

The Largest Shark

The Largest Mako

The Largest Blue

The Largest Thresher

The Largest Hammerhead

No fish under 215 counted except mako. An eligible female mako had to have a minimum length of 83. An eligible male had to have a minimum length of 71". Circle hooks were mandatory. The law for hooks was non-offset, corrodible circle hooks, except when fishing flies or lures.

867 lbs Shark

There was great excitement in the evening when the boats returned with their catch in the 80s. The docks would be lined with hundreds of tourists waiting to get a close up look at a real shark. I have a postcard of two massive mako caught off Montauk. Both fish are hanging by their tails with their jaws exposed. It was custom to boil the jaws and mount them as trophies in bars and tackle shops. I lived in Massachusetts from 1987-1990. Some of my friends were sea anglers. They had heard of instances where mako sharks had grabbed onto the propellors of outbound motors.

One morning when we were having breakfast in the local diner a report came through that a massive shark had been caught. After finishing two cups of coffee we headed for the docks to check the validity of the rumour. As we approached the docks we could see a large crowd but we couldn’t see any fish. We made our way through the onlookers and there he was. It was a shark and it was huge. The tail was hoisted up by a forklift but the head and pectoral fins were still on the ground. The mouth and snout were held up by an S-hook and a rope. The teeth were long and sharp. A human body could have crawled into the cavernous mouth! Who caught him?, I asked. Where was he caught? What bait was used? The answers were a little less sporting!

A young whale had made its way up the Hudson River in New York city and apparently died. The body began to bloat and smell. The corpse was eventually towed out to sea and left to drift on the ocean waves. If a sheep dies on the side of a mountain carrion crows, magpies and ravens will soon find and attack the body. Next will come the larger predators such as foxes, coyotes, bears and wolves. The wolves of the ocean would attack this young whale! A trawler was passing nearby and saw some commotion in the water. There, according to the story, were hundreds of sharks of all shapes and sizes, stripping blubber from the whale. One of the crew spotted a massive shark amongst the feeding frenzy. He got a harpoon and killed the shark. The fish was towed back to Montauk where he was a spectacle for all to see. I cannot remember what species of shark it was. I am definite that it was not a Great White. It weighed between 2000 and 2200 pounds. Almost a ton!

2000 lbs Shark

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The summer was coming to an end and the schools would re-open at home during the first week of September. The official end to the holiday season in the USA is Labour Day, i.e., the first Monday in September. Most places in Montauk would begin to close down and the sport fishing captains would think about moving south. The dollar was very strong against the pound (£1) at this time so our venture had been successful on a financial basis. We handed in our notice and decided to hit the town that night and to go fishing the following day on the Viking charter boat!

Michael and I went out to a tavern/saloon later that evening. We put our dollars on the counter and let the barman take what we owed whenever it was necessary. We didn’t drink Guinness as the company had not yet developed a system to export the porter and make it taste like home. One method Guinness had developed was to put the beer on an oscillating mini-platform. However to us the finished product tasted like melted liquorice. We began our night with cocktails. We had enough of Bud over the past few weeks. Bloody Marys were our favourite. There was no Sex on the Beach in those days. We also tried Black Velvet before we met a few Americans lassies. Soon we were on Black Russians and the conversation and craic was quite good. Craic being the Gaelic word for a good time! The girls offered us a lift home early in the morning. The driver had an old VW Beetle with a soft top. We headed back to our lodgings passing the lake. We all had a little too much to drink but I think the driver had a little more than drink taken. She drove the Volkswagen at breakneck speed and soon lost control. I could see the surface of the lake, lit up by the town lights, and thought that my time had come. However, she swerved at the last moment, gained control and drove on. I thought I was safe until she hit the throttle hard and lost control again. Again we headed for the waters of the lake. What a way to go! Drowned in the back of a VW in a lake in New York. Once again she swerved hard on the steering wheel, careered on two wheels and eventually came to a stop. We got home somehow and I must have survived if I am writing this book. There must have been somebody up in the sky looking down and taking care of us!

That afternoon we booked an evening trip on the Viking fleet. We hoped to catch some bluefish but as the