Category — Fishy stories

On Saturday I went up the west coast to Oban for a wee day trip. ‘Twas a fine day indeed, particularly since the forecast all week proclaimed doom. No fishing featured in proceedings, but a sight seeing stop by the bonny shores of Loch Awe did reveal a strange aquatic beast. Lying on the bank, next to a half-burnt fire containing a fine collection of rubbish, was a large fish skull. Unquestionably that of a pike, and a pretty big one too. The array of teeth was particularly impressive. Certainly makes me glad I’m not a perch..

I wondered how it had got to be there. I’d like to think it was roasted and eaten as part of an enjoyable fishing trip. But given the state of the rest of the place, I couldn’t help but suspect a more brutal, pointless history. From what I can understand, killing large pike like that, even when they live in a trout loch, is not a particularly good idea. Along with eating the weaker, often sick and injured fish of smaller species, they stem the tide of young jack pike that can really do damage. I won’t go into the subject of the state of Loch Awe any further at the moment, for if I start it will be a tirade of venting… holy $%^£(*^ are some people stupid.

As we were walking up back to the car, a bright red mushroom was spotted. I’ve never seen anything like it before. I’m still trying to find out what it was, because none of my books show anything so deep a red. There were a few of them together, buried under the long wet grass. If anyone is an expert (or otherwise), I’d be delighted to know it’s name.

There’s a pool I know. Get into the river by the bridge, and go past the grey tree. The water deepens and is slightly brown and opaque. Look for the shopping trolly in the mud by the broken wall, and the orange traffic cone twenty yards further on. Take a look around you. The fresh green leaves, the twinkling new spring sunshine. Feel the early breeze pinch at your face.

Now you’re close.

Find the bush which wears the supermarket bags as leaves. Bright red and blue, a flash of the rainforest in the central belt.

Now you’re very close.

The water is clearer here. It gurgles and slides around two jagged rocks, then slows and dives a little deeper. Glance upstream. A little blue thunderbolt streaks across your line of sight. A deepening furrow in your brow. Kingfishers, here?

A bus thunders along the road, beyond the trees that hide your river. A thousand engines churn in neutral. Two million people take a breath, exhale, and continue their work. You feel like a sneaky twelve year old truant going into town, peering past the school gate whilst everyone else learns to conjugate verbs. The furrow is a smile now. You know a secret, and it’s very, very close.

The pool. It’s the best one anywhere on this river. It’s like ten pools really, full of streamy seams and pockets and little bathtub hollows. It’s the kind of place that might take two seasons to explore. A true hidden gemstone, in between crumbling walls and flowing through an unknowing city. There are trout here. Wild brown trout with red spots that eat dark olives, kebabs and grey dusters. You gratefully oblige and tie on a size 16. A favourite fly, perfect for searching the foamy runs. If things get desperate there’s a good chippy a hundred yards along the road. The urban river is an amazing place.

Happy new year.