Beaters Walk By The River In Winter

Beaters Walk By The River In Winter.

All off cried Alan the driver, so we alighted from our cart,
It starts in fifteen minutes so we had better make a dart.

No rushing is needed to arrive at our points,
we will saunter at ease to the field.
And if we note something of interest,
we will stop and discuss as we need.

All spaniels well behaved and yearning,
to flush out the pheasants we seek.
Their coats all glistining and shiny,
this is the highlight of their week.

We pass the Clodagh rushing,
over the Comeraghs rocky wash.
Passing over King Johns bridge,
We stop to watch.

Lying suspended over gravel,
a salmon is resting a while.
Out there cried Johnny I see one,
we strain the sight from our eyes.

Ah your dreaming said O`Riordan,
sure there is nothing down there.
They have all been lamped by Blackie,
the sneakiest poacher I swear.

But then we all see the shape looming,
In the snow fueled waters below.
The silver sheen of its belly,
The blue back bending slow.

Salmo the migrator states Eddie,
from Greenlands icy flows.
All the way to this little river,
to settle under my nose.

Its a wonderment of nature replied Alan,
that it would stop here and snooze.
If he only knew who was looking,
he would realise what he could lose.

I`ll wait to the season spoke Eddie,
and I will cast the fly.
Maybe a Thunder and Lightning,
or perhaps a pattern more sly.

Sure you could`nt catch a cold,
if you lay in a hospital ward.
And you expect to catch a salmon,
sure a child would wipe you eye.

We continued along the bankside,
the horn cried the sound.
Come on all you lazy dreamers,
but we still took in all what was around.

Charlie tuged at the slip lead,
the scent was there to sniff.
We laughed at the comments of others,
and especialy when Murphy did slip.

A beater sees more than pheasants,
he takes in all there is to see.
On a pleasant winters morning,
to share a feeling thats free.