Fealar, where it had been my good fortune to spend the first ten
days of October. I had been out stalking for eight days, during
two of which I did not get a shot, but, with the exception of the
preceding day, which had been a black Friday for me, I had been
very lucky, having shot eight stags, and three of these I had
stalked without the aid of a stalker, which had added greatly to
my pleasure. But it was a melancholy fact that the last day had
arrived, and what had it in store for us? On the preceding day I
had had a series of misfortunes, and when I got up and looked out
of my bedroom window the prospect was not a cheery one. A thick
mist enveloped everything all round the lodge, which is one of the
highest, if not the highest, of all the shooting lodges in the
Highlands, 1764 ft. above the level of the sea. On coming down to
breakfast my host said to me, “Well, I don’t think it is any use
going out to-day. What do you say?” But I knew quite well that my
host, one of the keenest and best of sportsmen, was only poking fun
at me on this the last day of the season. By ten o’clock the mist
had slightly lifted. There was a steady drizzle; the high tops were
still covered; the wind was east to south-east--the wrong wind for
this forest--and the prospect was certainly not inviting. However,
we determined to make a start, and I was sent out on the beat of
the head stalker, Macdougall. We had not gone more than a mile from
the lodge when we saw a shootable stag with some hinds, and after a
stalk up a burn and a considerable crawl over a peaty bog, we got
to a point within shot of them. Macdougall was just getting the
rifle out of its cover when something disturbed the deer, and away
they went. Macdougall said he thought I must have shown myself,
though I was not conscious of having done so. At any rate, I had
succeeded in getting wet through in my efforts to keep flat and
out of sight.
The weather continued thoroughly unsatisfactory. It was impossible
to spy, and for the following hour we saw nothing. About the end
of that time it cleared up a little, and we spied about a mile
off a large herd of deer, between 200 and 300, and amongst them
what appeared to be some very fine stags. We had to make a long
détour, and then, by walking and crawling along the side of a
burn, we succeeded in getting within what we thought must be a
very short distance of some of the stags, judging from the sound
of their roaring. We crawled up the bank of the burn, and found
ourselves within about 200 yards of one end of the herd, where
there was a fine 10-pointer continually on the move, rounding up
the hinds. Macdougall said he thought we could get in much nearer
by going back into the burn and crawling further up it. This we
did, and then, after crawling a little way up the side of the hill,
we got to within 100 yards of the 10-pointer. Almost immediately
after I had got the rifle into my hands the stag, which had been
perpetually on the move, stood for a moment broadside on, giving
me a splendid chance. I fired, and the stag bounded forward a
few paces, and then fell dead. He had a fine, regular head of
ten points, certainly the best head I had obtained this season,
although I had been fortunate in shooting a good many stags. It was
by this time just twelve o’clock. Macdougall said we had better
have lunch in order to allow the deer to settle down, and added
that he did not think they would go very far. He said he was quite
sure that there were at least other two very fine stags amongst the
deer that had gone forward.
The stag was soon gralloched, and the gillie was sent back for the
pony. We did not take long over lunch, and then set off in the
direction in which the deer had gone, being guided by the perpetual
roaring of the stags. After going some little distance we located
the deer on the face of a hill rather less than two miles from us.
Though there was still a drizzle and the light was bad, the wind
had risen, and the mist had to some extent cleared from the lower
ground.
After walking and crawling along the bed of a burn for about half
a mile we got into a position from which we were able to spy the
deer, as it had ceased raining and the light was better. We made
out that there were two lots of hinds on the face of the hill
with stags in both lots, and between them five stags. The largest
of these stags had a very fine head, and, as often happens in the
case of a big stag, had in attendance on him a smaller or sentinel
stag. The stalker said he thought the big stag was a Royal, but was
not quite sure. This stag and the others which were with him had
evidently been driven away from the hinds by a heavy 10-pointer,
who was the master stag, and who was making a great disturbance,
chasing the smaller stags away, and rounding up the larger lot of
hinds.
After a very laborious crawl, sometimes on all-fours, sometimes
flat, sometimes in the burn, sometimes out of it, for about
three-quarters of a mile further, we reached a point in the burn
about 600 or 700 yards below the five stags which I have before
referred to. In the meantime the wind had risen, and the weather
was now very rough and stormy. Macdougall whispered to me that
we should have to crawl up the hill in full sight of the deer,
and this we proceeded to do for some 500 yards, watching the deer
with the greatest care, and whenever one of their heads went up
instantly becoming as motionless as statues, and so gradually
getting up the hill until at last we got behind a little tussock.
The little stag was in front of the four stags, close to him was
the big stag, and some little distance behind the latter were the
other three stags. Macdougall pulled the rifle out of its cover and
beckoned to me to crawl up. He then whispered, “You’ll have to take
him now, sir; it’s the only chance you’ll get. We can’t possibly
get a yard nearer.” “Take him now,” I said; “why, how far off do
you say he is?” “Oh, maybe 330 yards,” said Macdougall. “He’s too
far,” I said. “I shall probably wound him, or more likely miss
him.” Macdougall’s reply was, “I think you can manage him, sir,
and, anyhow, it’s your only chance; we cannot get nearer.” “Why not
try to get to that next knobby,” I asked, “about 100 yards further
on, behind which the big stag is just going?” Macdougall said that
if we tried to do that the other three stags behind the big stag
would be certain to see us and would bolt and put the whole lot
off. “Well,” I replied, “if they do, we shan’t be worse off than if
I fire now and miss. Come on, let’s do the bold thing, it sometimes
pays.” Macdougall shook his head and said, “It’s no wise, I’m
thinking.” “Come on,” I said. “Well, sir,” said Macdougall, “if
you will have it, we’ll try, but I don’t think it will be any good;
we shall have to crawl as hard and fast as ever we can up the hill,
quite flat the whole way.” Away we went as hard as we could, and
it took me all my time to keep up behind Macdougall, who propelled
himself along at a prodigious rate. Arrived behind the knobby,
we very carefully raised our heads, and found that Macdougall’s
prophecy had fortunately proved only partly correct. The three
stags behind the big stag and his fag, the little stag, had seen
us and had bolted, but instead of going forward, as Macdougall had
expected, they had turned tail and made off in the other direction,
with the result that they had only put off the deer behind them and
none of the deer in front of them. Macdougall hurriedly whispered,
pulling the rifle out of the cover: “The big stag is still there,
sir, but he and the wee staggie are getting varra suspeecious, and
you’ll have to take him varra quick. He’ll be about 220 yards.”
“Well,” I said, “I must get my breath; I’m absolutely blown,” the
fact being that at the moment I felt absolutely done to the world
and was quite incapable of shooting straight. The big stag had
slightly moved and was now standing about three-quarters end on,
a very difficult shot. I raised the rifle, sighted the stag, and
pressed the trigger. There was a sound of a little click, and that
was all. “A misfire!” I muttered below my breath. “Are you sure you
loaded the rifle after lunch?” “Yes, sir, I am,” said Macdougall.
“Very well, then,” I replied, “I’ll try him with the second
barrel,” and raised the rifle. “Don’t fire,” said Macdougall; “we’d
better make sure.” With some difficulty, owing to the position I
was in and the necessity of keeping as flat as possible, I opened
the rifle, and lo and behold it was empty! I loaded it as quickly
as I could. Meantime, the stag had moved on a few yards, and was
now standing broadside on. I put up the rifle, took a steady aim,
and fired. There was a thud; the stag gave a start and then moved
slowly forward. “You have him,” said Macdougall. I said, “I don’t
know that.” “He’s varra sick,” said Macdougall, “and will never get
over the hill.” The stag had evidently been shot in the stomach. He
was looking very sick, poor beast, and was walking slowly forward,
stopping every now and then. All the other deer had disappeared as
if by magic except the little stag, who kept some distance in front
of the big stag, constantly looking round at him, evidently loth
to leave his lord and master. I said, “I’d better fire again,” and
put up the 250 yards sight, as I estimated that the stag was now
nearly 300 yards from us, and fired. “Over him, sir,” whispered
Macdougall. “We must get a bit nearer,” I said. “I’m afraid if we
move he’ll see us and begin to run,” Macdougall replied. “Well,”
I said, “we’d better try and get round him.” So we crawled right
round behind the stag, who kept on moving slowly and then stopping,
and got to within about 220 yards of him. “Tak’ your time, sir,”
said Macdougall. The stag gave me a good chance, broadside on;
and I fired, believing that I was quite steady. “Missed him,
sir,” said Macdougall; “I saw something fly up behind him.” “I’m
not so sure,” said I, and as I spoke, the stag, who when I fired
had bounded forward three or four paces, staggered and then fell
and rolled over and over down the hill, shot through the heart,
as we subsequently found. Macdougall seized my hand and shook it
vigorously, saying, “I hope, sir, he’s a Royal. I believe he is.”
As we were getting up to the stag I said, “I see three on one top,
but not on the other.” “Ach, yes,” said Macdougall, “he has three
on both tops. Yes, sir, he’s a Royal, and we shall have to fine you
a bottle of whisky according to the custom of this forest.” “You
may be quite sure I shall not mind that,” I replied. On getting
up to the stag we found that his head was a fine wild one, with
exceptionally long horns. My first bullet had passed through the
second compartment of the stomach, or, as it is called in Gaelic,
currachd an righ, close to but a little below the heart.
[Illustration: “THE BIG STAG IS STILL THERE.”
By FRANK WALLACE.]
Currachd an righ means in English “the King’s cap,” though it is
sometimes called “the King’s night-cap.” Turned inside out it
resembles in shape and dice pattern the old-fashioned night-cap.
It is said that certain internal parts of the stag and other
ingredients cooked in this “bag” or “currachd” was a favourite
dish in the olden days, “fit for a king,” or such as only a king
could afford. That may be why it is called “currachd an righ.” The
corresponding small bag in the stomach of the sheep is also called
“currachd an righ,” and in English “the King’s hood.” The same word
is used in Gaelic to signify Hood and Cap. _Night-cap_ translated
literally is “currachd oidhche,” but in Gaelic the word “oidhche”
or “night” is omitted; presumably because there was only one kind
of cap.
“Poca buidhè,” which means yellow bag, is the Gaelic name of the
first compartment or large bag of the stag’s stomach, and is a name
used only in the case of the stag.
Macdougall signalled for the pony, and then gralloched the stag.
It proved to be a very troublesome job to get the stag on to
the pony, although the latter was usually very quiet under such
circumstances. Macdougall said the reason for his being so restive
was that he could see the very long horns. After helping the
gillie and the pony-man to put the stag on the pony, Macdougall
and I tried to find some other stag, but in the time still at
our disposal we saw nothing more except a few hinds. Curiously
enough, the weights of the 10-pointer and the Royal were exactly
the same to an ounce--namely, 15 st. 7 oz. clean, without heart
and liver--and were the two best heads of the season in the forest
of Fealar. Macdougall, who was a stalker of long experience, told
my host that he had never had so strenuous a stalk as the stalk
after the Royal, and he said to me on the way home, “I shall
never believe in thirteen being an unlucky number again, sir,
for I found just after we had started that we had only thirteen
cartridges, and very nearly went back to leave one of them at home.”
On our way down from the hill there kept ringing in my ears the
familiar lines of Ruskin in _A Joy for Ever_, lines so true in the
experience of those of us who are no longer on the threshold of
life:
“It is wisely appointed for us that few of the things we desire can
be had without considerable intervals of time.”
My host had also shot two stags, though he had not met with the
wonderful luck I had had. No one could have been more genuinely
pleased at my good fortune than he was. So ended for me the last
day of the stalking season of 1913, which was one of the most
enjoyable and lucky days I have ever spent in the Highlands, and
will always be to me a red-letter day.
[Illustration: A Real Nice One.]
XV
THE LOCH PROBLEM
For some twelve years I have been trying experiments on lochs
on my ground in the North of Scotland, and have written what
follows mainly because I hope and believe that the result of
these experiments may prove useful to some of those who love
trout-fishing as I do, and have the means at hand, possibly without
fully realising their opportunities, of increasing their sport and
that of their friends. I have spent much labour and a good deal
of money in attempting to improve the fishing in various lochs.
In some cases these efforts have proved useless; in others the
labour and money expended in stocking the lochs and increasing
the food supply have been altogether out of proportion to the
results obtained, but in one case, and one case only, the results
have been phenomenal, not only in my own experience, but also in
that of my keeper, who, like myself, has all his life been keenly
interested in and familiar with trout-fishing in the North. In
the case of those lochs where no good result has been achieved,
I have at least learnt something from my failure. The loch upon
which I experimented with such wonderful results must have been a
veritable larder of food for the trout when I put them into it,
for there was a large quantity of water lizards, leeches, frogs,
and above all, fresh-water shrimps; there were also various kinds
of insect life, water beetles, notably the coch-y-bundhu, and a
smaller beetle with a silver body which moves with a swift darting
movement. It is impossible for the trout to spawn effectively,
as there is no burn coming into or going out of the loch and no
water continually moving over a shingly bottom. The loch is not
more than six acres in extent, and is about 500 feet above the
level of the sea. At the time, just thirteen years ago, when I
began to put fish into it, there were no fish in it, and so far
as I know there never had been any, except some years ago when a
few trout were put in, but these had no doubt been caught or died
long before I began my experiments. I am also quite certain, for
the reasons already mentioned, that they had left no descendants.
Every year, in May or June, about 2½ acres of the loch are covered
with a common kind of rush, the “Horse-tail,” _Equisetum maximum_,
and about one-quarter of an acre with grass, which, I believe, is
a species of _Scirpus_. In the rushes and round them are patches
of a kind of surface weed which is common in Highland lochs, and
which, as every fly-fisher in the Highlands knows, is a great
danger to him. This weed, the scientific name of which is, I am
told, _Potamogeton polygonifolius_, covers an area of some 20
square yards. Lastly, and most important of all, there is in the
loch a considerable quantity of the well-known Water Milfoil or
shrimp-weed, _Myriophyllum verticillatum_, which in this water
produced quantities of fresh-water shrimp.
[Illustration: AN AUTUMN DAY, LOCH CARRON--LOOKING WEST.
By Mrs. SCHRODER OF ATTADALE.]
By August and September the rushes have, of course, largely
increased, and extend to nearly four acres, leaving a comparatively
small part of the loch which can be fished. The depth of the loch
is about 3½ feet all over with the exception of two places, a very
small part of it, where it is about 5 feet. Its bottom is for
the most part fairly hard ground, but on one side there is soft
mud, and on another side, for about an acre and a half, the bottom
is rocky. I began stocking the loch in 1910, and during the first
three years put into it small trout from burns and other lochs on
my ground, but in 1913 and 1914 put into it 150 and 200 Loch Leven
yearlings respectively. These yearlings were supplied from one of
the well-known hatcheries. In 1915 I put no trout into the loch,
but since, and including 1916, I have put in every year on an
average about eighty small trout taken entirely from burns--one of
which runs into the sea and contains the young of sea-trout as well
as small brown trout. The following table shows the exact numbers
of fish put into the loch, showing a total of 1062.
1910. Aug., Sept., Oct 62 (20 fair size)
1911. July, Aug., Sept 61 (16 fair size)
1912. July, Sept., Oct 20
1913. April 150
1914. April 200
1916. June, July 104
1917. June, July 105
1918. June, July 96
1919. August 74
1920. July 96
1921. July, August 44
1922. July 50
I have taken care that the loch should not be fished too much, and
nothing has been used but the wet fly. It has only been fished in
May and June and in August and September. In May and June, which
are, of course, the best months of the year, it has only been
fished for two or three weeks, and in August and September it is
very difficult to persuade the trout to rise, and a rare experience
to catch one. It has been suggested to me that I should introduce
rainbow trout into the loch, as they would rise freely in August
and September, when the large brown trout will not do so.
In May and June there is a hatch out of flies from the weeds
on the loch and from the heather on the adjoining moorland. In
particular there is a hatch out of a large fly, of which I have
caught specimens. These I have sent south for examination, and am
told that they are all sedges, the largest being the large red
sedge, _Phryganea grandis_, those next in size being cinnamon
sedges. I have had flies dressed in imitation of these, and if one
is fortunate enough to be on the loch when the sedges are hatching
out, there is grand sport to be had, and sport which is greatly
increased by the presence of so many troublesome weeds. The loch
was not fished until 1913, three years after trout were first put
into it. Every fish caught under a pound, with very few exceptions,
has been returned to the loch, but it is a curious fact that the
fish rise very little until they reach about a pound in weight,
and so we have not been troubled much by catching the smaller fish
which would have to be returned to the loch.
The following is the record of fish caught, showing a total of 216,
weighing 482 lb. 1 oz., and averaging nearly 2¼ lb.
1913. 6 trout, weighing 8 lb.; average 1⅓ lb.; largest 2 lb.;
smallest ½ lb.
1914. 19, weighing 29 lb.; average slightly over 1½ lb.;
largest 2½ lb.; smallest ¾ lb.
1915. 14, weighing 29 lb. 11 oz.; average just over 2 lb.;
largest 3½ lb.; smallest 1 lb. 1 oz.
1916. 20, weighing 58 lb. 9 oz.; average nearly 3 lb.; largest
4 lb. 7 oz.; smallest 2 lb.
1917. 18, weighing 58 lb. 11 oz.; average about 3¼ lb.;
largest 4 lb. 10 oz.; smallest 2 lb.
1918. 44, weighing 98 lb. 5 oz.; average nearly 2¼ lb.; largest
6 lb.; smallest ¾ lb.
1919. 13, weighing 28 lb. 4. oz.; average over 2 lb.; largest
4¼ lb.; smallest 1 lb.
1920. 20, weighing 59 lb. 6 oz.; average very nearly 3 lb.;
largest 7½ lb.; smallest 1 lb. 2 oz.
1921. 30, weighing 48 lb. 13 oz.; average about 1⅝ lb.;
largest 4¾ lb.; smallest ¾ lb.
1922. 32, weighing 73 lb. 6 oz.; average slightly over 2¼ lb.;
largest 5 lb. 2 oz.; smallest 1 lb.
The exact weights of the 20, 18, 20, and 32 fish caught
respectively in 1916, 1917, 1920, and 1922 (in which years the
highest average was reached) were as follows:
1916. 1917. 1920. 1922.
lb. oz. lb. oz. lb. oz. lb. oz.
4 7 4 10 7 8 5 2
4 1 4 1 4 10 5 1
3 13 4 0 4 8 4 8
3 10 3 14 4 7 4 4
3 9 3 14 4 4 3 4
3 6 3 10 3 10 3 4
3 1 3 9 3 10 3 4
3 0 3 8 3 0 3 0
3 0 3 8 2 9 2 12
3 0 3 5 2 8 2 8
2 12 3 1 1 12 2 4
2 12 3 ½ 1 10 2 2
2 9 2 13 1 10 2 1
2 8 2 8 1 10 2 0
2 8 2 8 1 8 2 0
2 4 2 4 1 8 2 0
2 3 2 4 1 8 3 of 1 12
2 2 2 0 1 4 7 of 1 8
2 0 .. 1 4 5 of 1 4
2 0 .. 1 2 1 0
The fish caught have been remarkable not only for their weight but
also for their extraordinary beauty and condition. Those of us who
have seen them have seen many trout in our time, but have never
seen trout to compare with those caught during the first four or
five years after we began fishing the loch. Several of these,
which we measured, were as much in girth as in length from the
gills to the point of the tail where the flesh ends. They had small
heads and were most beautifully coloured. Their flesh was in colour
a deep red--no doubt due to the pigment in the fresh-water shrimps
which, as I have said, abound in the loch.
It is an interesting fact that, although the loch was very little
fished by ladies, they secured the two largest fish, one of 7½
lb., which took over three-quarters of an hour to land and gave
splendid sport, the other 6 lb. The former was a most extraordinary
fish. It was 22 inches in length, 16 inches in length from the
gills to the point where the flesh ends at the tail, and 16 inches
in girth. There is, however, no doubt that, with the exception of
this particular fish, the fish caught during the last four or five
years, whilst in excellent condition and comparing very favourably
with the ordinary large brown trout caught elsewhere, have not been
so extraordinary in their girth as in the first few years after the
loch was stocked.
These experiments show the correctness of the opinion expressed
by one of the most experienced of writers on the subject of trout
culture, Mr. P. D. Malloch, who says in his well-known work on the
_Life History and Habits of the Salmon, Sea-trout, Trout and other
Fresh-water Fish_[31] (p. 186): “When a farmer rents a piece of
land for grazing he knows how many sheep or cattle it will pasture,
and that if he puts on more than the proper number they will not
grow. He also knows that if he introduce too few they will become
fat and too lazy to eat up all the pasture, and he will thus lose
part of the money paid for the pasture land. If the proprietor or
the tenant of a loch would consider the matter in the same way
as the farmer, he would obtain full value out of his lochs, be
saved a deal of grumbling, and find life more pleasant.” The same
writer also says (p. 157): “Many naturalists maintain that there
are different species of trout in the British Islands--Loch Leven
trout, Gillaroo trout, tidal trout, and many others--but from a
close study of all these trout for the last forty years, I have
come to the conclusion that there is only one species of trout in
Great Britain, and that in the different varieties the differences
are caused by the nature of the water in which they are found and
by the food they eat.” Thus, as would be expected, there is no
apparent difference between the so-called Loch Leven trout which
were put into the loch from the hatcheries and the little trout
from my own burns. Numbers of these splendid trout running up to
5, 6, and 7 lb. must be the brothers and sisters of the little
fingerlings of the same age in the burns. The best authorities are
apparently agreed[32] that the average life of trout is about ten
years (although there are authenticated instances in which they
have lived for a much longer period), that they reach their prime
in six or seven years, that they remain in their prime for a few
years longer, and then begin to lose condition and weight as old
age creeps on. Those of the trout put into the loch in 1910 and
1911 which I have described as of fair size were about three to
the lb., some rather larger and could not then have had many years
to live. Those from the burns were probably of different ages, but
it is highly likely that in 1913 and 1914, when the yearlings from
the hatcheries were put into the loch, there were very few of such
other trout as were still there that could live more than three or
four years longer.
So far there has been little indication that any of the trout
caught have been cannibals--probably because they can obtain plenty
of other food, and since their transfer to the loch have not been
in the hungry condition in which they certainly were when they
lived in the burns. On one occasion we found when carrying some of
the little brown trout from one of the burns to the loch that one
of the captives on the journey in the small can in which they were
being carried had caught and succeeded in half swallowing another
little trout half its own size.