It was only last month that I travelled to the far north of Scotland in search of true wild fish.But once again my heart is yearning to get away to the Highlands on a brown trout adventure to some remote lochan in amongst the mountains. I will have to wait a few weeks more though as my friend has arranged for him and I to go sea fishing this weekend. I do enjoy the occasional sea fishing outing but it does not compare to getting out into the hills with my fly rod and box of flies in search of wild trout.
I came across this poem from my favourite Scottish poet , Norman McCaig. It transports me to places I daydream of everyday.
SMALL LOCHS
Six rods are dapping for sea trout
On Loch Baddagyle. Their blowlines each make
A bosomy downwind curve. Six bushy flies
Ballet dance on sunstruck water.
— See that boulder? In it’s toupee of heather
There’s a wild cat watching me. Two topazes with ears.
…I tilt up and pan along my trail of mountains
From Ben More Coigach all the way down to Quinaig.
An old ewe brings me down to earth
She stamps her forefoot on. I look at her implacable
Whisky and soda eyes. She knows all a sheep
Needs to know: she’s a black-stockinged bluestocking.
And a spinnaker line has straightened. The water
Explodes and shoots a seatrout into the air,
While five bushy flies still dance on the moving glitter,
like water nymphs in their dangerous tutus.
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