… there are lochs a-plenty and even some trout if you persevere.
Grabbed a quick evening last weekend while up in Assynt. God’s country if ever there was. Easterly breeze, cold, and 3 hours without a sign of a fish. Going through the motions, enjoying the light and land more than the casting. Last cast (actually a genuine last cast) at the end of the loch and suddenly the line is pulling away, deep into the pale peaty water. A fly of improvised tying, butcher-like with some extra tassles. Probably didn’t matter anyway, but what did matter was that it sat on the edge of the mouth of a beautiful brown trout.
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