Drone’s a bad buzz when you’re fishing GLORIOUS ISOLATION RUINED
I STOOD — fishing rod in hand — on rocks facing the Atlantic, inches from churning water. I stared at the drone. The drone stared back at me.
Fishing is one of the greatest things I can do. I love it because sometimes I catch fish, but also because it lets me mind my own business.
I like being on my own because it’s one of the best ways I can have a good conversation. Fishing enables all this.
So, early on Monday, I went to the Clare coast and stood on the edge of the Burren trying to catch a mackerel.
The only life, apart from me, was wildlife. Even the fish had decided to leave me alone which, to be reasonable, is fair enough. Glorious isolation, and gulls.
Then, I heard it — a buzzing noise not usually associated with the flora and fauna of cliff edges in the West of Ireland.
I was so alone I first thought it might be water fizzing through an underground cavern. Then the bastard drone flew right past my head.
I can tell you right now that the best footwear might not be sufficient to maintain balance and not fall onto rocks and die a horrible death in those circumstances.
I think I inadvertently yelped aloud words along the lines of “what the f**k was that?” — and then the buzzing was silent...
Until the damn thing came back a few seconds later, from the opposite direction, just as low and interested in the angry expression on my face.
I looked around, wondering what else might fly past, when I saw three tourists 100 metres away. The littlest, and perhaps most annoying, of the three was holding a remote control.
Then the drone returned, this time hovering in front of me, a red light on it blinking ignorantly.
Shot
Often, when caught up in an absurd situation, I only think of the perfect thing to say hours or days later. This was no different.
I turned to the tourists again and, to my eternal shame, shouted: “hello”.
That was no way to deal with this developing travesty. The drone shot up vertically, flew off to my left, and then returned for some flybys behind me.
I did what I had to do. I f **** d off. As I was getting into my car back up on the road, so did they. They even gave a little wave as they drove towards Fanore. Somewhere, someone — possibly called Pablo, possibly called Hank — has great video footage of an angry Irish person.
I can only imagine and hope — after all that — I qualify for some sort of tourism grant. I’ll take it. Thanks.