Divine Water
Bob McColl takes us on a journey through hills and heather to find the perfect day's fishing
After many years of talking, I finally took a long standing business friend from Gloucester on his first Highland fishing foray recently. Much planning and discussion went into the trip, and as D-day approached, Ian’s excitement and anticipation was heading higher into the stratosphere with each phone conversation we had. Finally the longawaited day arrived and we were driving up the A9 past Blair Atholl, Drumochter, Kingussie, Slochd, familiar names to generations of sportsmen who have followed the pilgrim road north to Highland sport over the centuries. By this stage I was getting a bit worried. Had I talked the fishing up too much? Could any hill loch deliver the quality of trout that were now rising freely to copious hatches of mayfly in Ian’s imagination?
A day later and we were enjoying a lunchtime sandwich on the banks of Loch Meadie near Altnaharra. By now I was sure all my worst fears had come true. The morning had yielded a smattering of half-pounders, but nothing more substantial had been seen or felt. Ian was worryingly silent, though I was a little perplexed by his contented, far off gaze and the euphoric edge to his smile. After his second sandwich, he finally put his thoughts into words, and they came boiling out. The situation, the scenery, the solitude, the atmosphere, the silence, it was fantastic. Better than he had imagined, even. But what really amazed him were the trout themselves. To have such an abundance of totally wild fish was a
rare luxury and a f.....
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By Bob McColl
Section : Scottish Fishing
Page number : 56