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Guides Diary September

Guides Diary September

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Published by Jim Hendrick
General

Fly

Coarse

Sea

Tackle

Guide’s Diary
He may be a guide, but sometimes Jim Hendrick just likes to get off on his own to relax and unwind.
It’s not all about the fishing.

D

riving slowly down the hill, I catch glimpses of the estuary through the trees. Like some magical gold and silver fleece it reveals itself only to those who know where and when to look. I stop the car and get out to study the secret map that I will follow for the next few hours. White surf breaks in clean glea
General

Fly

Coarse

Sea

Tackle

Guide’s Diary
He may be a guide, but sometimes Jim Hendrick just likes to get off on his own to relax and unwind.
It’s not all about the fishing.

D

riving slowly down the hill, I catch glimpses of the estuary through the trees. Like some magical gold and silver fleece it reveals itself only to those who know where and when to look. I stop the car and get out to study the secret map that I will follow for the next few hours. White surf breaks in clean glea

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Published by: Jim Hendrick on Sep 18, 2009
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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05/08/2010

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50
Irish Angler 
GeneralFlyCoarseSeaTackle
Guide’s Diary 
D
riving slowly down the hill, I catch glimpseso the estuary through the trees. Like somemagical gold and silver eece it reveals itsel only to those who know where and when tolook. I stop the car and get out to study thesecret map that I will ollow or the next ew hours. White sur breaks in clean gleaming lines along the sandbars o the outerreaches, channels o rich green and blue water cut throughdeposits o bright gold sand and you already know that thetide is beginning to push in. Just outside, a small group o gannets are working on sandeels, not climbing very highto dive, they quickly gain some altitude and then turn andspike. Tey are eeding close to the surace, caught suddenly by the morning sun, shining white, and then disappearinginto the warm rain o a summer shower. A rainbow arcs intothe sea.Te anticipation o the early morning shing never really lets me sleep properly the night beore. I wake several timesto check the time; I don’t want to miss the tide. My headstings a bit rom lack o sleep. As I take the rod rom the carmy eagerness increases, all other thoughts disappear as I getthe smell o the estuary. I slowly tie on a y, check the leader,check the reel seat, push the rod sections together, wave therod a ew times, and tap my jacket pockets or y box andtippet. It’s always like this no matter how many times I do it,no matter how well I’ve prepared, a ew moments hesitationbeore the start. I begin to walk.Te reedom rom the responsibilities and constant hopethat normally accompanies me when I am guiding a clientis gone now. I am ree rom the burden o the anticipationthat the shery will perorm, and I notice many things thatguiding prevents you rom seeing. Te rippling lonely cry o a curlew welcomes me rom across the shining silver andgrey mudats as I make my way into the heart o some o the greatest peace I can nd. No tramping o eet or jovialconversation, just my light single step along the bubblingshore. Past the wreck and remains o the old timber boat,past the tall yellow pole with the mysterious purpose, around
He may be a guide, but sometimes
Jim Hendrick
just likesto get off on his own to relax and unwind.
It’s not all about the shing.

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