Sweet relief

Faint heart never landed fair salmon, as our indefatigable correspondent discovers after a fishless run, which eventually (and thankfully) comes good

- David Profumo

THE Scottish drought persisted until late July—up the glen here, the heatwave broke spectacularly on the 27th, when a barrage of hailstones the size of carp boilies devastated the noble ranks of Mrs. Reel Life’s ‘Buff Beauty’ roses. Until then, many of the Highland rivers had been on their knees.

En route to the Laxford in June, I made my customary stop at the Shin, wherein 15 minutes I counted some 28 salmon attempting to take the mighty Falls. That seemed auspicious, as did the sight of the burn when I reached the Lodge—it was roaring down and tossing its tawny mane. The deities of Angling know how to provoke a chap.

The Laxford itself was still piteously low, despite some localized rain. A few fish were apparently slipping up to the safety of the lochs and, during the early part of the week, we did manage to move a few, but they would not commit. In the white neck of the Rock, my hitched Norwegian Sunray turned a sizeable fresh salmon, but the wind was bouncing crazily off the rock faces in many pools and conditions were tough—yet not impossible.

‘When are you going to hook one?’ came the now-familiar refrain from the Snapper, eager for some photographic images. ‘Soon,’ I promised. I had just taken delivery of a mass of immaculately tied flies from the talented vice of Stuart Foxall (for inquiries, email [e-mail]) and felt confident that I could ring the changes—Black Frances, mini-conehead Sunrays... surely something would work. Down at the Sea Pool, gillie John and I witnessed the thrilling sight of five grilses wriggling their way upstream over the stones. I was simply relishing that restorative sensation of being back somewhere both wild and familiar.