The angling world lost a true character and great fisherman last week with the sad passing of Roy Graham in Fermanagh.
Many of us have also lost a dear friend and companion.
Roy was many fine things and he also possessed a wicked, impish sense of humour that he was quick to visit upon all around him.
It seems like only yesterday that Roy and I were on a certain pool on the Drowes searching for the usual elusive springer.
I remember Roy’s spiel that day: “The best lie for a salmon on the river is just over on the far side where that little stream comes through the reeds.
“You’re a good caster (flattery works every time – he knew me too well) and you should reach that no problem.”
With that he wandered off downstream leaving me to cast with all my might for two years and never getting within a yard of “the lie”.
The trusty Diawa was changed to a fancy Hardy (second hand) and even the brute force of a Bruce & Walker Hexagraph cut no ice.
Eventually I admitted defeat and asked Roy to demonstrate how he fished that lie.
“Oh”, he said, “ I never fished that with a fly. I always used a Devon Minnow”.
I still see the devilish grin and, just to make matters worse, when I eventually caught a fish from that pool it was no more than a rod length from the near bank.
They say mayfly time is “duffers fortnight” and Roy must have seen three duffers coming when we pulled in to join him at Bingham one wet May day.
Angling author Dr Malcolm Greenhalgh, American Fly Casting legend and instructor to Presidents Ed Jaworowski and yours truly had just battered our way up from Purgatory into a fresh westerly wind laden with moisture.
Bingham was a welcome refuge and we were on the point of calling it a day when Roy took time off from sharing his lunch with his black Labrador Barney to give us some advice.
By the way, Barney got the sandwiches and Roy got the tea and cake.
Anyway, Roy said he had just come from Gravelly where he said that despite the weather there was a great hatch of fly and he would still be there except he had an appointment that afternoon.
So back we headed into the now freshening westerly, with two physical giants of the fly fishing world and my rather underpowered 4HP engine.
We bashed our way up to Gravelly, getting a cold shower of spray and rain which the best waterproof gear failed to cope with. Surprise, surprise there was no hatch of fly.
Roy’s appointment was in front of a roaring fire with Barney.
Malcolm, Ed and I eventually got the very dry sense of humour...
