Moore’s lock was the final lock gate when crossing from the Ringsend side. It ran from Hanover quay to Green Street and was supervised by a man called Mr. Moore who lived in a ‘gate house’ beside the lock. This was a great spot for fishing.

Like most young boys, I began fishing at the lock gates in Ringsend where the Canal, the Dodder and the Liffey form a confluence to meander into Dublin Bay. It was the early 1960s and I had received a fishing rod and reel as a present the previous Christmas.

The coal boats came through the lock gates bringing their cargo to the Gas Company at Misery Hill. On one occasion a ship damaged the lock gate and the Canal basin emptied completely. There always seemed to be dead cats and dogs floating in the canal around this time.

If you crossed the locks at dinner time you would see the men returning to work at Metal Utilities, the Raleigh Bicycle Company and Paul and Vincents. Dockers were ubiquitous, crossing from one quay to another on the ferry.

Snibbing is another word for ‘foul hooking’ a fish and something I would not do today. It’s a cruel way to catch fish. When you advanced from snibbing you would either spin or use a float.

Mullet were in abundance and could be seen in large shoals all along the river Liffey. They appeared in thousands like a dark blanket on the surface of the water, their mouths opening and closing like a massive nautical choir.

Sometimes we’d follow them as far as Butt Bridge and to Marian College on the Dodder. A favourite spot for mullet and bass was the ‘hot waters’, a waterfall of warm water flowing from the ESB station on Pigeon House Road.

From Moore’s Lock to the area known as the Point, dozens of boys and men would fish the summer long. On seeing the massive shoal you’d cast your line among the fish, dragging a number of treble hooks through the water. More often than not you’d snib one or sometimes two fish in the one cast.

Graduating from snibbin’ was a big step. Most of us began to fish for mackerel and bass using either a spinner, or float fishing using herring fry as bait. This was ‘real’ fishing and snibbin’ was now only for beginners.

Watching the float grace the water and then bob below the surface as the bait was taken was magic. You were now catching mackerel and bass, real edible fish. Sometimes trawlers would berth along the quay wall taking up precious fishing space.

On a bright August afternoon as the mackerel were breaking the water’s surface chasing fry, a man fishing next to me cast his line. As the line weaved its way through the air it became entangled in a seagull. This was a new experience. The man reeled the unfortunate bird gently to shore, held its beak, disentangled it and watched as it took to the air once more. The man then continued fishing.

That was really cool, I thought, and when it happened to me some time later I knew exactly what to do. Sometimes we’d fish for ‘flats’. Flats was a name used to describe flounder, plaice and dabs etc.

On one occasion I snibbed a small flounder along the quay wall and a man close by immediately offered me 3d for it. I took the money and the man, without hesitation, threw the fish back into the water. The little fish swam fast and disappeared beneath the surface. I was glad: I had got the message– and the money.