The Connemara loughs

There may be no older way to fly fish than this. Wooden rowing boats, carved with figures where Celtic myth and early Christianity fold into one another. Tea brewed on board with water lifted straight from the lough. And the ghillie.

The ghillie is not an improvised job. It is a tradition that took its modern shape in the early 1900s and has been handed down since. He owns the boat, reads the wind, and chooses the drifts. He is the custodian of the water and he holds nothing back: a day on the boat is a lesson, and the longer you stay, the deeper it goes.

Wind and rain mean wet fly. Calmer, softer days mean dry fly. Get used to the first one, in Ireland, bad weather is good weather, and the days that would keep other anglers indoors are the days the ghillie will want you on the water.

Then there is the mayfly. From late April into early June, brown trout rise across water so wide it seems impossible they could ever find your fly. You will wonder how. Arm yourself with patience and you will be answered.

Corrib and Mask hold wild brown trout in exceptional condition. The average fish runs one to two pounds, four and five pounders are not rare, and historic photographs from these loughs record fish far beyond that. Whatever the size, they fight harder than their weight suggests — 4x is the minimum here, not a precaution. Salmon and pike also swim in these waters, but we fish only for the trout.

We base the trip in Cong, on the narrow strip of land between the two loughs, and choose the water each morning according to wind and season. Between days on the boat there is the Connemara itself: stone walls, empty roads, the Atlantic light. It is a place that rewards a travelling partner who never picks up a rod.