The untimely death yesterday, of my friend and great friend of the River Spey, Mr Stewart Mackay, of Home Farm Aberlour, leaves me saddened, as, at 58 years, he was far too young.
I had known Mackay Family since around the age of 14, when I shot pigeons on one of their farms near Elgin, but not until I moved to Knockando and begun to shoot pigeons on Stewart’s farm at Aberlour did I get to know him properly.
As with a lot of us, lack of time in his early years meant Stewart had little or no interest in either shooting or fishing, however, this all changed around the late 1980s when he decided to take up both, and I have to say, never have I been in the company of anyone, new to fishing or shooting, who embraced each sport for all the right reasons, and I know for a fact there will not be a ghillie or keeper in the whole of Scotland who would dispute my sentiment. Although a hard businessman, Stewart was a people person, more than anything, he loved company during any days sport, and would never dream of shooting or fishing alone. To him, it was never about the bag, but always about the company.
I can recall many wonderful days on the Spey, both at Knockando and on the Brae Water, where we caught a great many fish, but, of the many fun days we had, the one we had earlier this year, for me, epitomised everything he liked best about a day’s sport. Good company, good fishing, a good large long lunch, and most of all, a good laugh; and on this day, the laugh was to be on me!
Having taken all rods on beats 1 and 2 of the Brea Water he found himself one rod short and, instead of ghillieing, I was asked to join the fishing group. As was normal, lots were drawn and we all slipped away to our respective pools, me landing the Flats, a nice glide just above the Rock on Beat 2, knowing I would then drop down to the left bank of the Rock, I fancied my chances, however, as is quite normal in salmon fishing, the gods had penned a script, slightly different to that going on in my head!! As lunchtime approached and I had fished over a great many fish but caught nothing; knowing what this party was like, an ominous sense of foreboding begun to envelop me. The fact I had seen at least 5 fish being taken by the others, left me almost panic stricken in the midst of this mischievous party. Slowly each of the team arrived back at the fishing hut, and although still fishing more than 100 meters away, on surveying the scene, I could see the grins getting wider and more cheesy, none more so the Stewart himself! Eventually, at around ten past one, which it has to be said, only made matters worse, I begun the slow walk with head hanging, toward the now extremely happy group sitting on the lunch table outside the fishing hut. With each step I saw bigger grins and more teeth! “How many then Ian”, roared Stewart, ensuring all within ten miles could hear, whilst at the same time finding it hard to contain himself. Knowing what was about to come, I answered, Not a pull Stewart! What!!!!!! An expert fishing behind a load of beginners and catching nothing!!! “We’ll have less of the beginners”, came from the lunch table, and from that moment on, lunch got louder and funnier, my fishing prowess, or lack of it, at the heart of each, less than complimentary remark.
So, on this particular day it was me, on many others it was Stewart himself, whilst on others it was one of his many sporting friends. Every day I ever spent on the river with Stewart Mackay ended with words to this effect – Well thanks for another fantastic day Ian, “By Christ we had a lot O fun” and abody enjoyed themsells”! Just Great!! But, in essence, it was himself who made the day fun.
I for one, and I know many others, will miss his humour and fantastic appreciation, not only of the river but also those living and working on it.
World Champion Speycaster, STANIC, AAPGAI, Advanced Double Handed Fly Casting Instructor, Ian Gordon is also known by many as being an authority on Salmon and Sea Trout Fishing in Scotland. His Company – Spey online, provides a complete resource for all connected with Salmon Fishing home and abroad as well as Double Handed Spey Rods in General.
Thursday, 29 December 2011
My First Salmon on Fly part 2
Please read part one "my first salmon on the fly" before reading this, all will make better sense!
My initial thought when the fish took was – My fly must have almost been on the bank! Although the water was deep directly below my feet, the fly could not have been 30cm from the bank when the fish took. I was recall this many times in the future when fishing pools with similar character, making sure I fished the fly right to the edge and many times, taking off a sinking to so as I could fish the fly even closer to the shore without snagging the bottom. How many times this tactic worked during my time on the river? Countless!!
Anyway, back to the story. The fish pulled hard and in an enormous first run of more than 100 meters, almost vacated, not only the pool I had hooked him/her in, but the one below that also. I knew I had to try and keep the fish from running into the Stable flats as access to this was difficult and meant a dangerous wade around a deep rock ridge, fortunately however, the fish must have felt safe in the depths of Banff Rock and decided to stop. A war of attrition ensued, with me standing precariously on the 40cm wide walkway, pulling as hard as I dare with my home made 12’6” Glass fibre rod. My main problem was, having not had any fish on fly, how hard could I pull? Fortunately for me, my father, who had heard my Shakespeare reel singing during that first hard run, had made his way to the high bank behind me and begun to give guidance. I shall never forget being amazed at just how much pressure he asked me to apply! Again, this valuable lesson would come back to me many times in the future to help a great many others who found themselves in that similar situation. With new found confidence I begun to apply even greater pressure, bending the strong rod in a manner I would not have dreamed of prior to my father’s advice, and soon, and for the first time, I saw the colour of my 15lb Maxima and around two fathoms below, the first glimpse of my silver prize. Shocked at the length of the fish I eased up, releasing some pressure, only to hear from behind me the authoritative voice of my father say, “no”, “don’t let him dictate”, “keep the pressure on and when he gives you an inch, take a mile, as he/she will do the same”! With those words ringing in my ear, again, I tightened on the fish, which after four or five hard runs which took me into my backing, was now becoming a little less active, yielding more ground with each turn of my reel. After some 20 minutes and an incredibly aching arm, both my father I could see the wonderful silver specimen rolling on its side, but agonisingly, just out of reach in the lifeless water on the far side of the stream. He/she was not yet mine. I was now beginning to feel my rod was just not big and strong enough to deal with such a fish, my underlying excitement was slowly giving way to a sense of frustration, which, again fortunately for me, was also detected by my father who calmly told me to “get below my fish” and use the current to my advantage whilst applying side strain to the fish.
Again, how many times I would use this later in life.
With side-strain now being firmly applied and my rod now pointing upstream and bent double over the narrow walkway, my father, seeing the fish was ready to be nettwd, slid down the high bank and confidently slipped the net under the beast, which, because of the angle I now had my rod, was now coming through the fast current close to me like a torpedo on the surface, its giant [to me] head almost out of the water; at last the battle was over and the 19lb sea liced hen fish was mine. The small fly, lodged firmly in the lower jaw, would never have came out. I had my first salmon on the fly; and what a fish!!
Interestingly, It feels every bit as good relaying the story right now as the moment I caught the fish. It may be a long time ago but salmon fishing in the company of friends provides us with the most fantastic memories.
My initial thought when the fish took was – My fly must have almost been on the bank! Although the water was deep directly below my feet, the fly could not have been 30cm from the bank when the fish took. I was recall this many times in the future when fishing pools with similar character, making sure I fished the fly right to the edge and many times, taking off a sinking to so as I could fish the fly even closer to the shore without snagging the bottom. How many times this tactic worked during my time on the river? Countless!!
Anyway, back to the story. The fish pulled hard and in an enormous first run of more than 100 meters, almost vacated, not only the pool I had hooked him/her in, but the one below that also. I knew I had to try and keep the fish from running into the Stable flats as access to this was difficult and meant a dangerous wade around a deep rock ridge, fortunately however, the fish must have felt safe in the depths of Banff Rock and decided to stop. A war of attrition ensued, with me standing precariously on the 40cm wide walkway, pulling as hard as I dare with my home made 12’6” Glass fibre rod. My main problem was, having not had any fish on fly, how hard could I pull? Fortunately for me, my father, who had heard my Shakespeare reel singing during that first hard run, had made his way to the high bank behind me and begun to give guidance. I shall never forget being amazed at just how much pressure he asked me to apply! Again, this valuable lesson would come back to me many times in the future to help a great many others who found themselves in that similar situation. With new found confidence I begun to apply even greater pressure, bending the strong rod in a manner I would not have dreamed of prior to my father’s advice, and soon, and for the first time, I saw the colour of my 15lb Maxima and around two fathoms below, the first glimpse of my silver prize. Shocked at the length of the fish I eased up, releasing some pressure, only to hear from behind me the authoritative voice of my father say, “no”, “don’t let him dictate”, “keep the pressure on and when he gives you an inch, take a mile, as he/she will do the same”! With those words ringing in my ear, again, I tightened on the fish, which after four or five hard runs which took me into my backing, was now becoming a little less active, yielding more ground with each turn of my reel. After some 20 minutes and an incredibly aching arm, both my father I could see the wonderful silver specimen rolling on its side, but agonisingly, just out of reach in the lifeless water on the far side of the stream. He/she was not yet mine. I was now beginning to feel my rod was just not big and strong enough to deal with such a fish, my underlying excitement was slowly giving way to a sense of frustration, which, again fortunately for me, was also detected by my father who calmly told me to “get below my fish” and use the current to my advantage whilst applying side strain to the fish.
Again, how many times I would use this later in life.
With side-strain now being firmly applied and my rod now pointing upstream and bent double over the narrow walkway, my father, seeing the fish was ready to be nettwd, slid down the high bank and confidently slipped the net under the beast, which, because of the angle I now had my rod, was now coming through the fast current close to me like a torpedo on the surface, its giant [to me] head almost out of the water; at last the battle was over and the 19lb sea liced hen fish was mine. The small fly, lodged firmly in the lower jaw, would never have came out. I had my first salmon on the fly; and what a fish!!
Interestingly, It feels every bit as good relaying the story right now as the moment I caught the fish. It may be a long time ago but salmon fishing in the company of friends provides us with the most fantastic memories.
Wednesday, 28 December 2011
My First Salmon on Fly
As a boy I was fortunate to have access to some of the finest salmon fishing in the country, The Forglen beat of the river Deveron was 2.5 miles of double bank fishing, which at that time, could only be fished by invitation of the owner. My father and I were privileged to know the owner and had almost an open invitation to fish here any time we wanted, and, more often than not, were the only two people fishing the water! Very lucky for any boy!!
My first fish came on a Saturday morning in early September 1977, although I had caught a few fish on worm and bait, I had yet to score with the fly, and wow, when it came it was certainly worth the wait.
The day was calm and overcast, the river low and clear but with lots of fish present in almost every pool. Mid way through the morning, my father and I arrived at a pool called Banff Stream, a slow deep holding pool with very narrow, but fast flowing run of no more than 15 feet wide which flowed tight to the walkway under our feet on the left bank. The far side of this run was dead water with no current, stretching a further 25 feet before reaching the tall reeds of the far bank. The pool was shaded by overhanging oak and ash trees on this, the left bank, all of which had been there for at least 150 years. Looking downstream this stream run into the deep holding pool which was Banff Rock, itself giving way gave way to The Stable flats, a shallow, but at that time, as I was about to find out, very productive pool with all fish lying tucked under the far bank and requiring a good fishing technique to catch them. At the end of this 100 meter long pool and nestling on the top of the hill was a house, an imposing building, the type of which I had only ever seen in film. A stately home fit for a king and with much character and history. Although empty most of the time, when fishing here I felt people watching as we fished, those were not people from the present, but from the past, keeping an ever watchful eye on their river, enjoying the fact nothing much had changed in the 100 years or so of fly-fishing there. As a boy, I found this place rather eerie and a little frightening, and certainly like to have my father close by when fishing there.
On that particular September morning I recall looking downstream and watching my father take four fish from the Stable Flats. A fact which was a little frustrating as he had told me to go there in the first place, but feeling there was a better chance where more fish were showing, I chose to stay in Banff Stream. Feeling somewhat dejected at my lack of success, which on reflection, was because I was constantly stuck in the trees behind me, I sat down to reflect [always a good thing to do when things are not working whilst fishing for salmon]. After a short piece of advice from my father, I shortened my line, made a roll cast of no more than 25 feet and watched my number 8 silver shrimp, slowly at first, before picking up pace at it swung through the fast current, eventually come to a stop around a foot from the bank, I slowly retrieved the line and begun to raise my rod, a movement which must have been too much for the fish to resist, for just at this point, I felt the resistance, not of a rock or weed, but of a strong pull from the opposite direction. Instinct told me to let go of the slack line which I had previously retrieved, the rod tip bent and I was in contact with something heavy, much heavier than I had felt before, not just the tip, but the whole rod begun to bend, I felt the rod blank flex through my upper hand and knew something very sizable indeed had taken hold.....
My first fish came on a Saturday morning in early September 1977, although I had caught a few fish on worm and bait, I had yet to score with the fly, and wow, when it came it was certainly worth the wait.
The day was calm and overcast, the river low and clear but with lots of fish present in almost every pool. Mid way through the morning, my father and I arrived at a pool called Banff Stream, a slow deep holding pool with very narrow, but fast flowing run of no more than 15 feet wide which flowed tight to the walkway under our feet on the left bank. The far side of this run was dead water with no current, stretching a further 25 feet before reaching the tall reeds of the far bank. The pool was shaded by overhanging oak and ash trees on this, the left bank, all of which had been there for at least 150 years. Looking downstream this stream run into the deep holding pool which was Banff Rock, itself giving way gave way to The Stable flats, a shallow, but at that time, as I was about to find out, very productive pool with all fish lying tucked under the far bank and requiring a good fishing technique to catch them. At the end of this 100 meter long pool and nestling on the top of the hill was a house, an imposing building, the type of which I had only ever seen in film. A stately home fit for a king and with much character and history. Although empty most of the time, when fishing here I felt people watching as we fished, those were not people from the present, but from the past, keeping an ever watchful eye on their river, enjoying the fact nothing much had changed in the 100 years or so of fly-fishing there. As a boy, I found this place rather eerie and a little frightening, and certainly like to have my father close by when fishing there.
On that particular September morning I recall looking downstream and watching my father take four fish from the Stable Flats. A fact which was a little frustrating as he had told me to go there in the first place, but feeling there was a better chance where more fish were showing, I chose to stay in Banff Stream. Feeling somewhat dejected at my lack of success, which on reflection, was because I was constantly stuck in the trees behind me, I sat down to reflect [always a good thing to do when things are not working whilst fishing for salmon]. After a short piece of advice from my father, I shortened my line, made a roll cast of no more than 25 feet and watched my number 8 silver shrimp, slowly at first, before picking up pace at it swung through the fast current, eventually come to a stop around a foot from the bank, I slowly retrieved the line and begun to raise my rod, a movement which must have been too much for the fish to resist, for just at this point, I felt the resistance, not of a rock or weed, but of a strong pull from the opposite direction. Instinct told me to let go of the slack line which I had previously retrieved, the rod tip bent and I was in contact with something heavy, much heavier than I had felt before, not just the tip, but the whole rod begun to bend, I felt the rod blank flex through my upper hand and knew something very sizable indeed had taken hold.....
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