Highlands and Lows

Decidedly mixed feelings crowd my head as I sit and type this, slightly cranky from a long drive. Enthralled on the one hand from some beautiful and unexpected fishing in Scotland; gutted on the other with a car repair bill that nearly made me faint. What looked like an affordable holiday quickly got expensive when my car blew a head gasket on the trip up. Just before Stoke, the other half commented that the engine sounded funny- a bit like there were a gang of Chileans under the bonnet playing pan pipes. Five minutes later and I was looking at a horrible mixture of steam and oil. A total mess; it looked someone had massacred Thomas the Tank Engine. I guess we do use and abuse our fishing vehicles.

We might have abandoned our trip there and then, but I thought sod it. Cramming supplies into a rental car, we were on the road again, getting to Fort William decidedly late. The right decision, because when your head isn't in a good place there's nowhere better for the soul than the Highlands. Loch Morar is so beautiful it makes you gasp, even on a return visit.

It was also great to see Loch Superintendent Viv de Fresnes again, who was there with a smile and a cup of coffee, ready to take on Morar. Fishing was challenging at times, but Viv took me to some fabulous looking areas of the lake. Perhaps the biggest surprise is that on two visits I've never seen another fly fisherman on the Loch.

Viv's approach is classic, pulling meaty traditional flies through a rolling wave to stir up aggressive wild brown trout. Well, that was the plan- sometimes the weather was just too still and sunny. I like a guide who gives it to you straight- and Viv is not one of those who'll waste your time and money when conditions are all wrong. Instead, we held fire and returned for better periods when a proper breeze was kicking up.
Even when the fishing was tough, the crack was great. Viv was as keen as I was to raise a monster "troot", and without his relentless optimism and knowledge of Morar I would have been on a hiding to nothing. The tactics were smart and varied too- which I'll detail at greater length in an article, along with more on the fascinating character of this magical place. Each time the line went solid I was enthralled by the savage power of these trout, with even the half pounders throwing severe temper tantrums on a seven weight. (Grab a look at www.lochmorar.org.uk/fishing for more info on great value guided fishing).

The other real bonus in Scotland is the huge variety of hill lochs. I tackle these with a float tube where possible. Lazy fishing it is not. The walk is often like hell, the fishing like heaven. Jo and I battled the hillside carrying supplies to find a good sized upland lake totally new to me. She fished from the shore, while I took the tube.

Puffing the bloody tube with air is pretty character building after a steep hike, but once you're set up it affords you endless freedom to hit areas that simply never see a fly line. I had a dozen splendidly marked fish to around the pound mark. Last year I battered them on the Sedgehog- a fly I've been slightly fixated with ever since my pal from the Shetlands, artist Paul Bloomer sent me a little bundle of them. This time, they seemed to pick of the other flies in the team more often (although I always feel the "wake" of the hog helps draw fish to your other flies). The "Heathen" is my latest experiment. To all extents and purposes it's like a traditional hackled wet fly crossed with (gulp!) a blob. The trout loved it:

When you're in the middle of a wild lake, the wind on your face and hits coming thick and fast, it's impossible not to feel like the world is a better place, hefty vehicle bill or not. I absolutely love it here.
And the fun wasn't quite over on the way back either. We stopped in Glasgow, of all places, to have a cast on the local canal. Beguilingly pretty it was too, and contrary to the cliches, all the locals we met were incredibly friendly. The fishing wasn't easy, but there were some cracking fish showing. In the space of an afternoon session we saw pike, roach and even a carp. It was the roach that really excited me. Some of them looked huge.

I started with the fly rod, but with a combination of heavy tow and a fierce cross wind I found a convincing presentation impossible. Tempting them on bread flake under a waggler didn't seem much easier- some fat roach taking a look but proving totally suspicious in the clear water. I finally managed a cracker of a pound and a quarter, but the rest spooked and with the tow picking up I felt like I'd have been better off with a stick float and centre pin. Plan C was a quiver tip. I kept feeding mashed bread and, relieved to see some seriously large roach still milling about, stuck with a big piece of flake. My set up was rather unusual to say the least- but it worked! In fact I think I may have stumbled upon something really useful, largely by the accident of only having limited tackle at my disposal. More on this at some other juncture- necessity is indeed the mother of invention!


The best of the bag (above) was ridiculously broad. It looked like it had swallowed that Glasgow delicacy, a battered Mars bar. This was a truly giant canal roach, and a bit like my car repair bill, darned near priceless!

A Highland Fling

Having never been to Scotland before (shame on me), I was more than a little excited to be heading north of the border last week. Until I saw the weather forecast. Not very typical May conditions, even up in the highlands. But what you find as you break through the tower blocks of Glasgow, regardless of the weather, is a landscape of grand, wind-blasted beauty. Mountain heights and huge valleys; trickling streams and huge lochs. Other than staggering amounts of space and natural wilderness everywhere, the other startling discovery is just how sparsely populated the landscape is, comparable to Scandinavia in fact. Here is one end of Loch Shiel- a site which, if it were in Devon, would be packed with parked cars and tacky gifts: The approach to Loch Morar, our destination, was hardly less beautiful. Not sure I've ever seen whiter sands as by the river mouth here. The loch itself is deep. Spectacularly so in fact, as Britain's deepest lake, with black descents to rival parts of the North Sea. Much as I love to explore, you can't beat a local guide when faced with this kind of expanse of water, so we met with Viv, the local ranger (google "Loch Morar Fishing" and you'll find details easily enough). Twenty years experience seemed a safer bet than twenty hours in this case: It's always fascinating to try a big mysterious water and hear the local lore. Morar has it's own secrets- hulking ferox trout and even its' own monster "Morag". From his cautious smile I got the feeling Viv didn't want to pour cold water on that particular legend. From the sheer size of the place there must be hidden monsters, was his verdict. Maybe not prehistoric beasts though- but huge eels. Our more modest aim was a brown trout, for which the loch is well known. Classic "team of three" tactics were employed in the face of a stout Northerly breeze. I love the sheer variation in fishing tactics you find when travelling and this was no exception. In total contrast to the painfully slow -or non existent- retrieve of the southern softie fishing buzzers, these lochs demand a healthy pull to present bushy flies through a rolling wave. It was cold work, but with Viv's experience we covered some fantastically rocky, fishy looking reefs and bays and after a couple of hit and miss takes, the rod eventually thumped over. An average specimen for Morar, but what a fresh looking and powerful trout: Amidst other days out in the nearby wilderness and the romantically named Isle of Muck, I also really fancied a day or two in the hill lochs. These are destinations not for the casual visitor, with hearty walks, boggy land and an icy breeze to contend with. Worth every step for their high flung grandeur and sense of totally wild seclusion however. A real sucker for punishment, I even dragged my float tube over these rocky, wet climes to search near virgin water. I'd be lying if I said it was easy, comfortable fishing- but what I found will stay with me forever. In a brisk chop, I opted for classic, bushy flies to draw trout from the waves. The initial hits were from small fish- but what amazing colours. Is there a fish as varied, or beautiful, as the brown trout? The real secret weapon proved to be the push and presence of the Sedgehog however. Shetland based artist and angling pal Paul Bloomer sent me a little selection that proved absolutely deadly. There's only one thing better than a really effective method- and that's an effective method high on visual thrills and spills. These bushy flies float like cork, making a wake across the surface which wild trout react to with explosive force. I would almost compare it to popping for pike, such were the savage hits, misses and airborne fireworks of hooked fish. Breathtaking sport: I saved the best for my last little foray however, when blown across the bitter expanse of a larger hill loch in the tube. I'd been buffeted up and down in the wind, then treated to hail. Was this any time to be float tubing? The take on the Sedgehog was brutally hard, before the fly line plunged deep under the waves. The tube span round; I lost my left flipper. I started laughing as the wind stung my face, the float tube travelling in circles and a good fish leaping clear of the water. At around 15" it was a fine wild "troot"- and an outstanding fighter. What a final day it was too, with more trout in the tube. A case of hauling your sorry backside to the far shore of the loch each time, before letting the wind take the tube across acres of rocking water casting as you go. Cold but thrilling work. When you've walked about six miles complete with chest waders and a float tube, you really feel it in your legs and arms. Never have a hot shower and a tin of beer tasted so good. A satisfying end to my Scottish trip then, but the surprises didn't end there. Sitting in the shadow of Ben Nevis, the Caledonian Canal was a welcome stop en route as we headed back to England. The canal anorak inside me was intrigued by "Neptune's Staircase", the crazy series of eight consecutive locks at the Fort William end of this waterway. No time for a cheeky cast, but this looks a fascinating water for another time. A fantastically clear canal with brown trout in it you say? Only in Scotland. In fact, the only expected ingredient missing from the week was a hooked pike. There are none in Morar, but I enjoyed a close encounter with the beauty above in Loch Lomond Aquarium, which also has a whole host of other native species on show including perch, bream, tench and sea fish. The drive back was epic in itself- but I must say, the time passed much quicker amid the highland scenery than it did on England's motorways. The ludicrous petrol costs were about the only pricey bit of our stay too, with a week's permit for Morar just £30.