My much-anticipated trip to Caithness didn't go the way I'd hoped.
It was frustrating, to say the least. The weather refused to play ball and, unfortunately, the group dynamics never really clicked either.
We simply weren't on the same wavelength. There was a lack of shared enthusiasm and, perhaps more importantly, very different ideas about how the trip should unfold: where to fish, when to fish, and what approach to take.
The long drive north passed without incident apart from a lorry fire on the A9 which we luckily passed before the road got closed.
Upon arrival at our idyllic lochside cottage, we settled in for a few days ahead. After a delicious meal prepared by Scott, we headed out to fish the loch.
To my surprise, both of my companions opted to fish from the shore, leaving me to venture out alone in the boat, taking up the oars myself.
I made several drifts and managed just two takes on a Blue Zulu. No sooner had the trout hooked themselves than they were off again. I wasn't too disappointed. It was enjoyable enough being out on the water, although rowing soon became more of a workout than a fishing trip.
After an hour or so I returned to the cottage, freshened up, prepared some supper, and sat down for a chat. Before long, however, both companions disappeared off to bed without much conversation.
Before turning in, I called through to Scott to ask what the plans were for the following day.
"Up at 3am to go to Watten," came the reply.
My intention for this trip had been to relax and take things easy, not to get up at an hour more suited to bakers than fly fishers.
Sure enough, in the middle of the night I was rudely awakened by movement in the cottage. Listening carefully, I could hear the wind howling outside. There was no way I was heading out in those conditions, so I informed them I was staying put and off they went.
I rose at a much more civilised hour, enjoyed breakfast and coffee, and relaxed. I briefly considered taking the boat out again, but the wind was far too strong. The gusts were severe enough to make both boat and shore fishing unpleasant, if not impossible.
Instead, I spent the morning editing photographs, listening to a couple of fishing podcasts, and watching the weather refuse to improve.
Scott and Tam returned from Watten around 11am, fishless, but suggested we try again later that evening.
The wind continued unabated. We spent the afternoon driving around several lochs in search of fishable water, but every venue we looked at was rendered unfishable by the conditions.
After dinner we headed back to Watten, hoping to take advantage of the long northern evening and fish well into the night.
On arrival there was a fair breeze, but nothing that should have prevented us from getting afloat. However, Scott announced he wasn't going out on the boat and Tam declared he would fish from the shore.
I removed my life jacket, sat down on an upturned boat, and quietly simmered.
Everyone knew the electric outboard was inadequate for Watten's exposed conditions. My immediate thought was why we hadn't hired the available petrol engine when arranging the boats. Nevertheless, I bit my tongue and said little beyond expressing my growing frustration.
And so another day passed without me even wetting a line.
To make matters worse, on the journey back to the cottage I was informed that we would be returning to Watten at 4am the following morning.
Back at the cottage my head was spinning. There was absolutely no way I intended to get up at such a ridiculous hour to go fishing.
As expected, I awoke around 4.30am and announced I wasn't going. I could hear my companions bustling around preparing to leave.
After a great deal of deliberation, however, I decided to get up after all. The prospect of spending yet another day alone at the cottage wasn't particularly appealing.
We arrived at Watten around 5.30am. This time the conditions looked promising. If the wind remained stable, the engine would cope.
Tam chose the shore while Scott and I headed out onto the loch.
At last, some fishing.
Over several long drifts we each managed a couple of trout. My fish fell to a Dunkeld Sparkler and a Blue Zulu, while Scott enjoyed success on an olive-coloured Snatcher.
For a few hours, things finally felt as though they were falling into place.
Unfortunately, it didn't last.
Back at the moorings, Tam and I headed out for another drift, but the battery was already beginning to fail. At the same time the wind strengthened considerably, forcing us back before conditions deteriorated further.
As we locked up the boat, the rain arrived.
We were back at the cottage about noon, we hoped conditions might improve enough to fish the loch outside the door. Instead, the wind increased even further. Although the rain eased, the loch remained largely unfishable.
We made a few token casts more out of hope than expectation before returning indoors to pack our bags for the journey home.
Once again, a ridiculously early departure time of 4.30am was decided — and once again, not by me.
The irony was that the following morning dawned with near-perfect conditions on the loch. We could easily have enjoyed a couple of hours' fishing before travelling south.
But the driver had made his decision.
So south we went.
I arrived home in Airdrie early enough to sit down to breakfast at 9.30am.
As I write these final words, I'm still not entirely sure what to make of the trip.
I enjoyed the few hours of fishing I managed to squeeze in on Watten and it was good to spend time in Caithness once again. Beyond that, however, the trip felt like a succession of missed opportunities, poor decisions, and weather-induced frustrations.
Perhaps every angler needs the occasional trip like this.
Not because they're enjoyable, but because they remind us just how much the success of any fishing expedition depends not only on fish and weather, but on being surrounded by people who share the same outlook, enthusiasm, and expectations.
