YSB, here's a poem, especially for you. Typed, prose-style in order to save space.
Consolation.
The angler at he season's end, reluctant to depart, by darkness forced to leave the favoured stickle, turns from the beck and mounts the lonely bank with heavy heart, and empty bag -- why were the trout so fickle?
So lightly from his shoulder hung the angler's net and creel, when bursting buds relieved the stark thorn hedges; but now his back is bowed beneath a weight that is unreal, as waders rasp against the dying sedges.
A pheasant cannons from his path, exploding into sight, its rattling wings the moist air harshly cleaving. As panic lifts it speedily in noisy, headlong flight, a falling feather marks the hasty leaving.
Wild duck on whistling pinions rise, and wheel above his head; dark silhouettes, in autimn light fast failing, that melt into the murmuring shallows of a gravel bed and, in their turn, disturb the timid grayling.
The angler notes the fleeing shoal, he smiles and turns about, his step is lighter now, his mood less sober. Lucky, the man who, in September, bids, 'Good-bye' to trout, yet greets 'the Silver Lady' in October. TC c.1977

The lads are right, don't stop fishing, and cheer up. TerryC

Very Good!
You're quite a poet

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Mae unigedd i'r enaid fel bwyd i'r corff

Lovely stuff TC- here's a short one back for you on a similar theme...

Terry Cousin, keeps a-buzzin'
Some might stop, but Terry doezzn'

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Hi' Lads and Lasses.
I put this poem on the wrong thread somehow, but YSB found it, so I won't delete it; and since it gave a couple of you a smidgeon of pleasure, I shan't apologise Better than snarling at somebody over what constitutes fly fishing. TC
PS For the record, putting a bluebottle, a Mayfly, a daddy longlegs or a stonefly on a hook, and hanging it over a fish, now that is fly fishing.

Quite agree, I have only ever regarded "fly fishing" as a description of a particular specialist method of catching fish, using a specialist type of rod, reel and line. Although even then, taking your more literal line, you could use a natural fly on a fixed spool reel and float rod. Its when people start applying some sort of artificial ethical code to it that you get the arguments

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Very Nice indeed Terry,but what about us poor Paddies with no grayling to see us through the winter.
Corky

Hi', Corky. Thanks. One day I will have to compose something about fishing in Ireland, because I have Irish blood in me. My dad's ma was born in Cork; and I first cast a fly on the water of the Ballinderry, as an 18-year-old lad in the Queen's uniform. And you won't believe this, my wife's maiden name was Eileen McDonough. You can't get much more Irish than that. And my lads, Gary and Kevin, now 45 and 42.
A couplet for you.
'Twas on the Ballinderry,
That fishing captured Terry. Cheers, Terence --it's Sunday.

Ah, tall tales to warm the heart on a wet and blustery night!

Like sitting round an open fire in a fishing cabin (except in my house we don't have one because of underfloor heating and a ground source heat pump and the flat screen tv sits where we were thinking of putting one - ah, well - progress!).

Terry, I think you've mentioned that you write a column in your local paper?

Have you compiled a best of? ...if so do we get to have a read?

with you on that one terry!
regards
bert

Thats exactly how I caught my first ever fish after what seemed about 200 blank trips.
I was at Tarn hows and I saw fish eating little things on the surface so I gave up my bread paste and worms. I caught a blue bottle and put it on my hook 6'' under a tiny quill float and before I knew it my 12 year old hands was holding a three inches of silver roach.
Who was most hooked of the two of us is still the question!