and Mr. Hamish Stuart (_The Book of the Sea-Trout_,[33] p. 240)
agree that the young of the sea-trout, if confined in a loch, grow
rapidly if the feeding be good, and are as silvery as sea-trout
that are fresh run.
My experience in regard to the young of the sea-trout put into this
loch confirms this view, as I have caught sea-trout up to nearly
2 lb. in the loch, which are in no way distinguishable from the
ordinary fresh-run sea-trout. It is curious, however, that so
far no sea-trout larger than 2 lb. have been caught in this loch.
[Illustration: SUNSET ON THE SHORES OF LOCH CARRON.
From a Photograph by Miss ALEXANDRA FRASER.]
To summarise the results of these experiments, it seems clear that
in order to obtain the best results the following conditions should
be fulfilled:
1. _There must be a sufficient supply of the right kind of food for
the fish in the loch in order that they may grow to a large size._
In order to attain this object, it is desirable that the loch
should not be too high above the level of the sea. As Mr. Malloch
says in the work to which I have already referred (p. 179): “Lochs
over 1000 feet above sea-level, fed from snow from surrounding
hills, produce little feeding until May, and owing to the cold fall
off in September, thus giving the trout only four months of good
feeding. On the other hand, lochs at or near sea-level produce good
feeding in March, and continue to do so for three months more than
their Highland brethren. It will be seen, then, that this extra
time for feeding, when extended over the seven or eight years which
constitute the life of a trout, easily accounts for the difference
of size.” Moreover, as the same writer points out, in a loch which
is very high above the sea-level, not only is the feeding-time
shorter, but the food is much scarcer.
On the question of food supply it is worth while to recall the
words of Mr. F. H. Halford:[34] “Food supply generally is ...
chiefly dependent on the presence of the weeds in which the best
forms of food for the fish are to be found.... It must not,
however, be forgotten that, in Marryat’s terse words, ‘while
floating food is caviare, sunk or mid-water food is beef to the
fish.’ Hence, when engaged in his examination of the weeds and
the animal life contained therein, the fisherman should remember
that he can only expect well-fed, good-conditioned, healthy, and
consequently game trout in a (loch) which contains a bountiful
supply of crustaceans, such as fresh-water shrimps and mollusks
such as snails of the genera _Limnaea_, _Planorbis_,” etc., etc.
Further, it is of the utmost importance that the number of fish in
the loch should be regulated in such a way that the food supply may
be sufficient to enable the fish to grow to a large size.
Where the fish cannot spawn effectively, and it is therefore
necessary to renew the stock, experience alone can decide the
number of fish which should be put into the loch every year. Spring
is the best time to do this. The number of fish which should be put
in will obviously depend chiefly upon the amount of food in the
loch and the number of fish caught, and destroyed by their enemies,
during the preceding year. In many lochs there are stones under
which the small trout can find protection from the large ones, but
where there is no protection it is worth while to put stones or
small drain tiles round the edge of the loch.
In lochs where, as is usually the case, the fish can spawn
effectively the fish increase so rapidly that there is not a
sufficient supply of food, and the result is that the loch is
filled with hungry small trout. When it is remembered that it is
reckoned that every spawning trout produces 800 to 1000 eggs for
every pound of its weight, some idea is obtained of the rapidity
with which fish increase. In many lochs Nature intervenes and
the enemies of trout--divers, herons, ducks, otters, etc.--keep
the numbers down, sometimes to the point of extinction; in other
lochs, owing to the severe frosts and other causes, it is only
occasionally that the eggs are hatched out.
2. _The lock must not be too deep or the trout will not rise or
will not rise well._
This, I believe, is the cause of my failure in several of the lochs
upon which I have been making experiments. As Mr. Malloch truly
says:
“When a loch is more than 12 feet deep the supply of food soon
becomes scarce and the trout small, while shallow lochs produce
plenty of food, therefore large trout.... In constructing new
lochs, one should endeavour to have as much shallow water as
possible.... The best depth is from five to nine feet; beyond
twelve feet food becomes scarce and trout do not rise well in deep
water.”
[Illustration: (Deep Water)]
[Illustration: (The Loch Shore)]
XVI
THE SURGEON OF THE DEER FOREST
“In the Forest and on the moor there is a mighty Doctor before whom
the greatest physicians and surgeons in the world must bow down.
Nature acting in a pure air on an absolutely healthy subject will
work wonderful cures.... It seems marvellous that the broken leg of
an animal so restless as a stag should heal, but it is the case....
Such a wound will heal and the animal ultimately be little the
worse for it.”
Such are the words, in his book _Wild Sport with Gun, Rifle,
and Salmon Rod_, of Mr. Gilfrid W. Hartley, a stalker of great
experience, and the author of some most fascinating reminiscences
on stalking.
Every good sportsman is, of course, greatly distressed if he has
the misfortune to wound a stag without being able to kill him. No
matter what care may be exercised, it is impossible, even for the
best of shots who has been accustomed to stalk for many years, not
to experience some time or other a catastrophe of this kind. It is
at any rate some slight consolation to know that Nature can effect
the marvellous cures of which there is authentic record.
Much can, no doubt, be done to improve one’s shooting by regular
practice. Some years ago I was discussing the subject with one
of the old Highland proprietors who is a first-class rifle shot,
and he told me that for many years he had been in the habit of
practising shooting at a small wooden stag, which he had placed
in all kinds of different positions and at different distances on
the hill. He added that he was sure that this had greatly improved
his shooting. This interested me greatly, for I had for a long
time been doing the same thing and am a great believer in its
advantages. Amongst other things which it teaches one, is to judge
distances more accurately.
In the course of my wanderings through many forests, I have often
discussed with experienced stalkers the subject of Nature’s
wonderful cures, and as recently as the year before last, whilst
I was stalking in a forest in the Western Highlands, the head
stalker related to me a remarkable experience of his own. I thought
the story worth recording in some permanent form, but felt that I
myself could not do justice to it. I therefore asked my friend the
stalker if he could find time, after the stalking season was over,
to write out for me the account of this particular experience.
Some five months later I received the account from him, accompanied
by a letter which contained the following words: “You will find the
enclosed story about the wounded stag. And indeed, I would prefer
stalking through wet and bogs for six hours than one hour trying to
put my experience on paper.” Here is the story in question:
“As I promised, I am writing about one of my experiences which
fixed it greatly on my mind as to the power of a stag to recover
from a serious wound.
“The year 1905 was a very wet season in this district, and while
stags were not good in condition, there were some good heads to
be seen. I had that season one of the best of sportsmen who knew
a great deal about deer and their ways, and had an experience of
thirty years behind him.
[Illustration: ON THE EDGE OF THE DEER FOREST.
By FINLAY MACKINNON.]
“My beat is a narrow long piece of high ground and stretching well
in between three adjoining forests coming to a narrow point, and
on this narrow part there is a small corrie. This corrie is the
best for keeping stags I know of, but rather difficult to stalk
except with north-west wind. With other winds, although successful
in a stalk, one is sure to drive the rest of the deer into one of
the adjoining forests, the stalkers in which were very much on the
alert at that time to make the best use of any move in their favour
on the marches. There was a long spell of south and south-west
wind, and although there were quite a lot of stags in this corrie
we had to wait long for favourable wind so as to move them further
into our own ground. About September 25 we were having a spy at
the corrie, and noticed a newcomer with quite a big, strong head
of ten points, and on each horn very peculiarly shaped tops with
cups, the three points on the top in each horn curving towards
one another until the tips almost touched. We at once came to stalk
him, while keeping so far as safe with wind between them and the
boundary. We came to a point we considered likely if they kept
on their way feeding, as in so doing they would pass us within a
reasonable distance. This they did, but the ten-pointer keeping
well at the end. When he was within 150 yards head on, all of a
sudden he turned right round and began feeding quietly away tail
on, with haunches towards us. We were in a high fever discussing
whether he would still turn and follow the rest of the deer or had
made up his mind to part with them altogether. We concluded the
last was his decision, and so prepared to have a long shot if he
would give us the best chance. When well over 200 yards, he turned
half-broadside, and immediately the gentleman had a go at him. His
first shot went high, and the stag bolted down the corrie, and
with his second got him high in the offside hind leg and broke
completely his thigh-bone, as I could see his leg swinging out to
his side at every jump. We sat down, watching him going down the
lower corrie until he came to a shoulder, and began to climb up the
ridge towards the highest part of the mountain. When almost on the
top he stood looking towards us, and after a long time lay down.
When we saw him settling we moved quietly to where we left the
gillie, and gave him instructions to watch and let us know which
way the stag went if he got up and went away, for we had to make a
long detour out of his view to get round and, if possible, to get
above him. When we arrived he was not to be seen anywhere, so we
began to spy and get directions from the gillie, who signed that he
went round the shoulder before us. It was getting late and dark, so
we hurried after the stag. When we got round the shoulder we could
dimly see him limping away a good deal below us, and towards the
boundary, so we considered it was best not to follow further in
case we forced him over the march and then lost him in the dark,
for we were in hopes to find him next morning near this place, and
possibly dead. As he did not catch us following him, he slowed down
to a stand, so we left him there.
“Next morning, we were on the move early and got up to where we
left him, searched every hollow and corner on our side and as far
into the other side as I dared, but could not find or see him
anywhere. So, when home, we wrote to the surrounding tenants with
a description of the head, and to have a look-out, when we would
expect the head to be sent to us if the stag were found dead. But
none ever came across him, so we gave up hopes and expected he was
dead in some hole.
“The following year the forest was taken by a new tenant, and there
was no more thought about the lost wounded stag till, about the
beginning of October, what was my surprise to see, and very near
the same place and corrie, a stag with the same kind of head and
peculiarly formed tops. I mentioned to the gentleman our experience
last season with one very like this stag in the same corrie, but
I remember our remark was that it was more likely one of the same
breed, so lost no time in spying, as everything was favourable for
a successful stalk. We got to a nice distance, and shot him dead.
When I went down to examine him I was surprised to find that he had
no brow-points, and instead of being a ten-pointer he was only an
eight-pointer. I could not see anything like last year’s wound at
the time, but next morning, when I went to the larder where he was
hanging skinned, I noticed at once his right leg showing exactly
where our last year’s bullet had broken it, but now nicely healed
up, and it looked as though both legs were exactly the same length.
I could not say if he had a limp, as he was standing all the time
till we had our shot. I got this haunch for my own use and had it
boiled and stripped of flesh, when I could see plainly how well it
joined. The bone was jagged at both ends, and the longest points
exactly touching, and the missing parts were filled up with tough
hard flesh. I noticed a splinter on the outside which lay so neatly
in place, and even to both ends. The stag weighed 15 st. 11 lb. He
was in fair condition, but not up to the average; he looked to me
to be much heavier the year before, although that year we had much
better average weights.”
Lieut.-General Crealock, in _Deer Stalking in the Highlands of
Scotland_, relates a case of the same kind:
“I remember,” he says, “wounding a Royal Stag some years ago at
Loch Luichart--I broke his fore leg at the shoulder. Having no dog
with me I never succeeded in getting up to him to finish him before
dark, and so lost him. The wound was not mortal--it had shattered
the bone; he recovered and lived for several years after, but
he always had a stiff joint. The first year he never shed his
velvet and dropped a point from his royal head; the second year
he cleaned, but never regained his royal head or even a good one
again.”
[Illustration: IN ACHNASHELLACH FOREST.
By FINLAY MACKINNON.]
In Speedy’s _Natural History of Sport in Scotland with Rod and Gun_
there is an interesting account of a thirteen-pointer whose hind
leg was broken above the hock. In the forest in Inverness-shire
where this stag was, the deer were regularly fed during the
winter. “When feeding commenced he came regularly as before; but
in consequence of his wound he was reduced to a skeleton, and,
being very weak, was kept off by the other stags. He used to hide,
however, not far off, and when the others took their departure he
returned to the feeding-place, when the keeper attended to him and
had opportunities, with the aid of his glass, of noting the injured
limb at a comparatively short distance. Within a month after
feeding commenced, he was able to use it, and in three months was
master of the herd.... As the new antlers grew it was found that
the one on the opposite side from the broken limb was minus the
brow-point.” He was shot in that season, and scaled 17 st. 12 lb.
clean, being then nine years old.
I myself had a personal experience which is perhaps worth recording
in this connection. I was stalking late in the season--indeed it
was the last day that I was out--and we had been unable to get
a shot until late in the evening, when I killed a good stag. We
had some miles to go before we reached the end of the road in the
forest where the motor-car from the lodge was to meet us, and the
light was beginning to fail. We were high up on the side of a
corrie, and were preparing to start on our homeward journey, when
Sandy, the stalker, suddenly turned to me and said, pulling out his
glass, “I see some deer down there on the flat.”
In a moment he had his glass on them, and said: “Would you be
liking another stag? There’s a fine stag with hinds, and we shall
not be long getting down to them. It’s been poor sport to-day.”
I hesitated for a moment, and then, I am afraid, considering how
late it was, weakly yielded to the temptation. I said: “All right!
We shall have to be quick, otherwise we shall not be able to see
what we are doing.” We soon decided our method of approach, and
lost no time in getting down the hill. The deer were feeding
on a small flat piece of ground near the ruins of what had been
a watcher’s cottage many years ago, and we hoped, by getting
into a broad and fairly deep burn, to reach a point about 200
yards further down, from which I could get a shot. The water was
sometimes up to our waists and bitterly cold, and our movements
were necessarily slow, but we arrived at last at a point which was
about 140 yards from the stag. Peering over the top of the bank of
the burn, we saw that the stag was on the far side of the hinds
from us, and was lying down in a dip of the ground, so that only
the tops of his horns were visible. After we had been waiting in
the burn for some time, the stag got up, and, without giving me a
chance for a shot, walked on to lower ground, where he began to
feed in such a position that it was impossible to see him until he
put his head up, and then we could only see the upper part of his
horns. After a few minutes I whispered: “I really can’t wait here
any longer, it is so frightfully cold, and the light will soon be
gone. Let us get out of the burn and chance our being seen: at any
rate, we shall be higher up there, and be more likely to see the
stag.”
We cautiously hoisted ourselves out of the burn on to the flat
ground on the top of the bank, but even there could only see the
stag’s horns and a very small part of his head.
Sandy whispered to me: “You will have to shoot off my back, sir; it
is the only chance.” He carefully raised his back, and I put the
rifle over it. I said: “I am too low now; I can’t see the stag’s
body.”
“Ye’ll just have to put the coat on my back,” said Sandy, pushing
towards me my rolled-up shooting-cape, which was fastened up with
a strap. I hoisted the rolled-up cape on to Sandy’s back, and then
prepared for a shot by putting the rifle on the top of the cape--an
extraordinarily foolish proceeding. What I certainly ought to have
done was to have stood straight up and fired at the stag from my
shoulder. However, I took my shot in the position described, and
something, I don’t know what exactly, caused me to pull off.
“His hind leg is broken,” said Sandy, as away went the stag and the
rest of the deer. I instantly handed him the rifle, as I knew he
was a first-class shot at running deer, and told him, if he could
get the chance, to finish the stag off.
After a short interval I heard a shot, and then a second shot. Soon
afterwards Sandy returned, and said, “You’ll never see him again,
sir. I never touched him.”
It was almost dark, and we started on our homeward journey along
the narrow foot-track through the forest. Sandy asked me to walk
first so that I could go at my own pace. He followed me, and behind
him came the gillie, there being only room to walk in single
file. It is not easy to carry on a conversation with any one who
is walking behind, nor did the fact that I felt very depressed
at having left the wounded stag in suffering, perhaps to die a
painful, lingering death, make it any easier. At first I made an
occasional observation and then lapsed into silence. As I was
walking along engrossed in my melancholy thoughts I noticed that
the path was becoming more and more difficult to see, and indeed
hardly visible in the growing darkness.
I said, “It’s getting awfully dark, and I can hardly see the path.”
No answer. I turned round: neither of the men was to be seen.
I stopped and shouted loudly, “Sandy!” Still no answer. This I
repeated several times with the same result. I then began to think
what I had better do. It was almost dark by this time. I was in
the heart of one of the largest forests in the North of Scotland,
miles from any human habitation, without a scrap of food, with an
empty flask, and soaked to the skin up to my waist through wading
and standing in the burn, which was in flood.
I decided to retrace my steps to the old ruins of the watcher’s
cottage from which we had started. Taking great care not to lose
the path, I began to do this, shouting now and then but hearing
no reply. I tried to think out why the men should not have been
following me on this path on which I was now returning, and which
ran beside a broad burn which was in spate. I then remembered that
the path which I had been following across the forest before I came
to the burn was almost at right angles both to the burn and the
path I was now on, and it occurred to me that possibly the path
which I ought to have taken lay straight across the burn, and that
the men might have crossed the burn and gone in that direction. I
had, I knew, been walking, as I always do on these occasions, very
fast, and this made me think it not unlikely, especially as it was
so dark, that the men had assumed that I had crossed the burn in
front of them. Being careful not to lose the narrow track I was on
in the darkness, I discovered the point at which I had turned up
the burn-side, and found that the other path leading up to the burn
was a little wider, which encouraged me to hope that my supposed
explanation might prove to be the true one. I then waded across the
burn and found there was a path at right angles to it on the other
side which looked more used than the track which I had just left. I
therefore made up my mind to follow this path for a time, shouting
every now and then in the hope that the men might hear me, and if I
did not hear any reply I would then consider whether I would go on
or retrace my steps to the old ruins and there spend the night--a
cheerful prospect indeed.
After going some distance along the path I suddenly heard what I
thought was the sound of shouting a long way off. I stopped and
shouted more loudly than ever, and then heard the shouts coming
nearer, and very soon after Sandy and the gillie appeared. It
turned out that what I had supposed had happened, and that they had
crossed the burn thinking that I was still in front of them.
I have never since then, on my return from stalking, walked in
front of the stalker along a path which I do not know. This
unpleasant incident made us later than ever, and I did not get back
to the lodge until nearly 10 P.M.
The following season I was again stalking in the same forest, and
on my first day was on the same beat where I had had the misfortune
to wound the stag, as described above, and the same stalker was
once more with me. I asked him whether he had heard anything of
the wounded stag, and he replied, “Nothing whatever,” adding that
although he was sure that the near hind leg was broken, he could
not be sure in the darkness at what part exactly, but he thought it
was low down.
We began by spying a corrie, which was about three miles from the
place where I had wounded the stag in the previous season, and
presently found five shootable stags which were together. After
watching them for a time, Sandy said, “There are two much bigger
than the others--one a dark beast; he’s a good stag, with only one
horn.”
“All right!” I said. “Let’s shoot him; he’ll be interesting anyhow.”
We then stalked the stags and managed to get within about 120 yards
of them. As soon as I got a good view of the beasts I noticed
that the stag with one horn was limping slightly, and it flashed
through my mind that he was almost certainly the stag which I had
wounded in the previous season, particularly as he was the same
colour and the horn seemed to me to be very similar to what I
recollected of the horns of the wounded stag. Whilst these thoughts
were rapidly passing through my mind, Sandy whispered, “Don’t take
the stag with one horn, sir, but the yellow stag on the right which
is a much better beast.”
[Illustration: EVENING GLOW, POOLEWE, ROSS-SHIRE.
By FINLAY MACKINNON.]
I replied by shooting the dark-coloured stag--this time in the
right place.
“You’ve shot the wrong beast!” said Sandy. I said, “Oh, no I
haven’t. You were with me last time I fired my rifle, and I then
fired it at that very stag; let us have a look at him and see if
I’m not right.”
On examining the stag we found that low down on his near hind leg
the bone had evidently been fractured just above the fetlock, but
had healed completely and set in the most wonderful way. This,
of course, was what had caused the limp which I had noticed, and
also the absence of the horn on the other side of the head. After
examining the stag, Sandy quite agreed that there was no doubt it
must be the same stag, and we both thought, although it was in very
good condition, that it was at least a stone lighter than it had
been in the previous season.
It is interesting to note that in the case of stags, as in that
of human beings, the muscular movements are controlled by nerve
centres which are situated on the opposite side of the brain.