Little Rivers [27]
This northwest corner of Great Britain is the
best place in the whole island for a modest and impecunious angler.
There are, or there were a few years ago, wild lochs and streams
which are still practically free, and a man who is content with
small things can pick up some very pretty sport from the highland
inns, and make a good basket of memorable experiences every week.
The inn at Lairg, overlooking the narrow waters of Loch Shin, was
embowered in honeysuckles, and full of creature comfort. But there
were too many other men with rods there to suit my taste. "The
feesh in this loch," said the boatman, "iss not so numerous ass the
feeshermen, but more wise. There iss not one of them that hass not
felt the hook, and they know ferry well what side of the fly has
the forkit tail."
At Altnaharra, in the shadow of Ben Clebrig, there was a cozy
little house with good fare, and abundant trout-fishing in Loch
Naver and Loch Meadie. It was there that I fell in with a
wandering pearl-peddler who gathered his wares from the mussels in
the moorland streams. They were not of the finest quality, these
Scotch pearls, but they had pretty, changeable colours of pink and
blue upon them, like the iridescent light that plays over the
heather in the long northern evenings. I thought it must be a hard
life for the man, wading day after day in the ice-cold water, and
groping among the coggly, sliddery stones for the shellfish, and
cracking open perhaps a thousand before he could find one pearl.
"Oh, yess," said be, "and it iss not an easy life, and I am not
saying that it will be so warm and dry ass liffing in a rich house.
But it iss the life that I am fit for, and I hef my own time and my
thoughts to mysel', and that is a ferry goot thing; and then, sir,
I haf found the Pearl of Great Price, and I think upon that day and
night."
Under the black, shattered peaks of Ben Laoghal, where I saw an
eagle poising day after day as if some invisible centripetal force
bound him forever to that small circle of air, there was a loch
with plenty of brown trout and a few salmo ferox; and down at
Tongue there was a little river where the sea-trout sometimes come
up with the tide.
Here I found myself upon the north coast, and took the road
eastward between the mountains and the sea. It was a beautiful
region of desolation. There were rocky glens cutting across the
road, and occasionally a brawling stream ran down to the salt
water, breaking the line of cliffs with a little bay and a half-
moon of yellow sand. The heather covered all the hills. There
were no trees, and but few houses. The chief signs of human labour
were the rounded piles of peat, and the square cuttings in the moor
marking the places where the subterranean wood-choppers had
gathered their harvests. The long straths were once cultivated,
and every patch of arable land had its group of cottages full of
children. The human harvest has always been the richest and most
abundant that is raised in the Highlands; but unfortunately the
supply exceeded the demand; and so the crofters were evicted, and
great flocks of sheep were put in possession of the land; and now
the sheep-pastures have been changed into deer-forests; and far and
wide along the valleys and across the hills there is not a trace of
habitation, except the heaps of stones and the clumps of straggling
bushes which mark the sites of lost homes. But what is one
country's loss is another country's gain. Canada and the United
States are infinitely the richer for the tough, strong, fearless,
honest men that were dispersed from these lonely straths to make
new homes across the sea.
It was after sundown when I reached the straggling village of
Melvich, and the long day's journey had left me weary. But the
inn, with its red-curtained windows, looked bright and reassuring.
Thoughts of dinner and a good bed comforted my spirit--prematurely.
best place in the whole island for a modest and impecunious angler.
There are, or there were a few years ago, wild lochs and streams
which are still practically free, and a man who is content with
small things can pick up some very pretty sport from the highland
inns, and make a good basket of memorable experiences every week.
The inn at Lairg, overlooking the narrow waters of Loch Shin, was
embowered in honeysuckles, and full of creature comfort. But there
were too many other men with rods there to suit my taste. "The
feesh in this loch," said the boatman, "iss not so numerous ass the
feeshermen, but more wise. There iss not one of them that hass not
felt the hook, and they know ferry well what side of the fly has
the forkit tail."
At Altnaharra, in the shadow of Ben Clebrig, there was a cozy
little house with good fare, and abundant trout-fishing in Loch
Naver and Loch Meadie. It was there that I fell in with a
wandering pearl-peddler who gathered his wares from the mussels in
the moorland streams. They were not of the finest quality, these
Scotch pearls, but they had pretty, changeable colours of pink and
blue upon them, like the iridescent light that plays over the
heather in the long northern evenings. I thought it must be a hard
life for the man, wading day after day in the ice-cold water, and
groping among the coggly, sliddery stones for the shellfish, and
cracking open perhaps a thousand before he could find one pearl.
"Oh, yess," said be, "and it iss not an easy life, and I am not
saying that it will be so warm and dry ass liffing in a rich house.
But it iss the life that I am fit for, and I hef my own time and my
thoughts to mysel', and that is a ferry goot thing; and then, sir,
I haf found the Pearl of Great Price, and I think upon that day and
night."
Under the black, shattered peaks of Ben Laoghal, where I saw an
eagle poising day after day as if some invisible centripetal force
bound him forever to that small circle of air, there was a loch
with plenty of brown trout and a few salmo ferox; and down at
Tongue there was a little river where the sea-trout sometimes come
up with the tide.
Here I found myself upon the north coast, and took the road
eastward between the mountains and the sea. It was a beautiful
region of desolation. There were rocky glens cutting across the
road, and occasionally a brawling stream ran down to the salt
water, breaking the line of cliffs with a little bay and a half-
moon of yellow sand. The heather covered all the hills. There
were no trees, and but few houses. The chief signs of human labour
were the rounded piles of peat, and the square cuttings in the moor
marking the places where the subterranean wood-choppers had
gathered their harvests. The long straths were once cultivated,
and every patch of arable land had its group of cottages full of
children. The human harvest has always been the richest and most
abundant that is raised in the Highlands; but unfortunately the
supply exceeded the demand; and so the crofters were evicted, and
great flocks of sheep were put in possession of the land; and now
the sheep-pastures have been changed into deer-forests; and far and
wide along the valleys and across the hills there is not a trace of
habitation, except the heaps of stones and the clumps of straggling
bushes which mark the sites of lost homes. But what is one
country's loss is another country's gain. Canada and the United
States are infinitely the richer for the tough, strong, fearless,
honest men that were dispersed from these lonely straths to make
new homes across the sea.
It was after sundown when I reached the straggling village of
Melvich, and the long day's journey had left me weary. But the
inn, with its red-curtained windows, looked bright and reassuring.
Thoughts of dinner and a good bed comforted my spirit--prematurely.