Fishing the Findhorn September 26, 2006

The ghillie’s son Garry, a guide in his own right, called at the cottage around 10 to take me fishing. After kissing Holly good-bye and leaving her to her paint-by-numbers, oatmeal cookie baking and jigsaw puzzle we drove a mile or so up the farm road to a pool that Garry announced would be our first try of the day. We slipped the 9” foot fly rods from the roof rack and slid down a short steep embankment to the side of the river. I do not have much experience with a fly rod and it has been a number of years since I have used one so as I stood here on the banks of a river in Scotland about to fish for Atlantic Salmon, I was a bit intimidated. Garry gave me a five minute lesson, handed me the rod and said good luck. At least I think he said good luck because combining my poor hearing and his thick Scottish accent I was guessing about half the time. The next ten minutes were some of the ugliest I have ever spent. The fly on the end of my line clearly had a mind of its own as it went everywhere except where I intended it to go. My saving grace was that with the steep embankments set close to the river we could only roll cast. Not necessarily and easy cast but it kept me from trying an overhand cast and probably impaling myself and certainly hanging the fly in brush. We worked our way down the first pool watching as a myriad of salmon jumped from the water, but when we reached the tail end neither I nor Garry had any strikes.

Pool number two was narrower with swifter water. I started at the head of the pool casting the fly to let it sink and drift downstream. Garry dropped about half way down the pool and started expertly casting across the swift dark water. It wasn’t long before I heard him shout and I looked up to see his rod bent and a big salmon jump. Garry waved me down and when I reached him he did what a good guide with a not so good fisherman would do; he handed me the rod with the fish. The clouds parted and the sun shown through when I felt the strength of the fish along the length of the rod. He made a run up stream and threw in a jump or two for good measure. Garry had retrieved the landing net and was giving me instructions on how we would position to land the fish. This section of the river was lined with large stones and boulders which make footing dangerous and getting the net under the big fish difficult. Time after time I turned the fish and brought him to shore just to have him run again when he saw the net. Then the fish rolled on his side for just an instant but it was enough to tell us that he was tiring. A few minutes later I was able to get the salmon’s head up and turned toward the bank as Garry swept the net under him and then swung the fish onto the rocks. The salmon was a beautiful dark brown, rust, green with a muscular body and a lower jaw that was slightly hooked. Garry estimated the weight at 12-13 pounds. We admired the fish while the ghillie worked to remove the hook and then after a moment I released the salmon back into the Findhorn.

I had lunch with Holly at the cottage telling her of the morning’s adventures as I sampled her oatmeal cookies. She baked these cookies from memory of a recipe sometime in the past, and I’m oh so glad she has a good memory as the cookies were delicious. My only regret was that the aroma of fresh baked cookies was gone before I had the chance to enjoy it.

Walter picked me up about 1:30, as Garry had other duties this afternoon, and we were off to whip the water again. I won’t fill space here with the details and even though we had a great afternoon everything after the salmon this morning was anticlimactic as we didn’t hook anymore fish. I had a great time today and was thankful I had the chance to fish for salmon on a Scottish River. As I sit here writing this and resting weary arm and back, I think I may take Walter up on his offer of another hour or so of fishing tomorrow.