. . .Scotch judge who gave us our first collection of flies; the friend who took us with him on his salmon-fishing expedition, and made men of us with real rods, and “pirns” of ancient make.  The companions of those times are scattered, and live under strange stars and in converse seasons, by troutless waters.  It is no longer the height of pleasure to be half-drowned in Tweed, or lost on the hills with no luncheon in the basket.  But, except for scarcity of fish, the scene is very little altered, and one is a boy again, in heart, beneath the elms of Yair, or by the Gullets at Ashiesteil.  However bad the sport, it keeps you young, or makes you young again, and you need not follow Ponce de Léon to the western wilderness, when, in any river you knew of yore, you can find the Fountain of Youth.

LOCH AWE THE BOATMAN’S YARNS

Good trout-fishing in Scotland, south of the Pentland Firth, is almost impossible to procure.  There are better fis. . . Read More