CHAPTER XVII.
SALMON OF THE AWE.
THE River Awe, in Argyllshire, presents, to my mind, the perfection of angling water. A fine brawling stream, a constant succession of pools, some easy to fish, some only fishable by past masters, lovely, deep, roach-backed salmon trout—all these are bad to beat, and when one adds the fact that the run of the heavy fish takes place in June and July, after the Orchy fish have run through, the two months of all others, perhaps, when salmon fishing is enjoyable, I do not think any further arguments need be urged to enforce my point.
Were I a rich man—which I am not—I should feel inclined to do my best to secure the fishing rights on that merry little river in preference to many others of high repute. It is now many years since I first wetted a line on the Awe. My old gillie, Black Peter, or the "Otter," as he was frequently called, has, I fear, gaffed his last salmon and drunk his last glass of whisky, and (save the mark!) he was mighty good at both. I can see him now, in his somewhat tattered kilt, hanging on to the porch of the Clachan, trying to steady himself, to give me a right cordial welcome when I arrived. No more will he swim the Awe when in spate to land a fish for the "Colonel" that had jumped itself on the rocks on the opposite side of the river, some mile or two above the bridge—a foolhardy feat in such water; but he was always full of sport, and not infrequently, alas, equally full of whisky.
The head of water in this bonnie little river is always maintained fairly well by its being the affluent of Loch Awe. It is not, therefore, so liable to the quick rises and falls of most rivers. The loch is fed by the River Orchy, which flows into its north-eastern end, whilst the Awe, after passing through the Pass of Brander, forms its only outlet. All the Orchy fish, therefore, have to run up the Awe to get to their own waters. These fish run early in the spring, never dwelling for any length of time in the Awe; and, curiously enough, any tyro could at once differentiate between the salmon of the two rivers, though they have a common outlet to the sea. The Orchy fish are long, lanky, and plain as compared with the short, thick-set beauties of the Awe. I recollect once in Ireland coming across the same difference in fish using the same embouchure. It was in Donegal, where the Crolly and the Clady unite at Dum Drum. In this case also one lot of fish are poor in shape, whilst the others are of totally different calibre. And, moreover, in that case the fish never seem to lose their way. Seldom is a Crolly fish found in the Clady, or vice versâ. How accurate are the instincts of nature!
The lower reaches of the river Awe are very varied and very beautiful. The river has churned its way through the solid rock. The two Otter Pools, Arroch and the Long Pool, are good examples of the rock-hewn gorges. In the latter, a fine quiet stretch of water, where local knowledge of the lie of fish is valuable, switching or spey casting is necessary if you wish to avoid being constantly hung up in the trees above. The Red Pool, just above the stepping stones, can only be fished from a plank staging fixed high above the water, and should you hook a heavy one at the tail end and he means going down you will be thankful enough when you have safely negotiated the return journey on the high plank and reached the shore. Even then you have plenty of excitement in store before you can hope to see him on the bank. The rocky sides of the chasm do not form a racing track. But get him once safely down to the Stepping Stone Pool and he should be yours.
This same pool, by the way, is not altogether the place for a beginner, for when the river is in order the aforesaid stepping stones have about two feet or more of fairly heavy water over them; and as they are well-worn boulders, somewhat inclined to be rounded on the top, and are placed at a rather inconvenient distance from one another, they are apt to make a nervous man think. One friend, I can well remember, when I asked him to fish the pool, absolutely declined, asking me if I took him for a "blooming acrobat." Below again we come to the Cruive Pool, a long cast from another staging, the fish lying on the far side, just about as far as an 18 ft. rod will get you. But be there in July when the sun is setting, the redder the better, behind the hills on the far side, and suddenly the silent oily water becomes broken with countless rises, also on the far side. Put on then a cast of sea trout flies and use your salmon rod, otherwise you will never reach them. Do not bother with a landing net, but run them ashore on the shelving bank below you and let your gillie take them off the hooks, and get to casting again as soon as you can. The rise, though a good one, lasts, I assure you, but a tantalisingly short time, and then the pool is as quiet and oily as ever, and you would feel inclined to stake your bottom dollar that there was not a sea trout within miles.
The Thunder and Lightning and the Blue Doctor are the local lures, and kill well. One year, when the river was low and the fish as stiff as pokers, I tied a "medicine" of my own that I fondly hoped would form a standard fly on that water, for its effect was admirable at that time. It was an olive fly, body olive silk ribbed with silver, tag a golden pheasant, dark olive hackles, a light mixed wing with golden pheasant topping. Having caught several fish that year with this fly, I got Messrs. Eaton and Deller to dress me a stock, and must candidly admit that never since then have I caught a single salmon with the "olives."