Mr Colquhoun has this virtue, that he keeps his imagination more entirely in check, as regards matters of fact, than any sportsman with whose writings we are acquainted. He does not make up his bag or fill his creel in a random way; nor does he add to the narrative of one day, quite enough distinguished by its own achievements, the events of another, which perhaps took place a year before. Neither does he commit the error, so common, of representing every day as a triumph. Read the accounts of most modern anglers, and you are led to conclude that they never, in the whole course of their lives, have failed in filling their baskets; whereas every adept with the rod is well aware that the days of disappointment greatly outnumber those of success. The men of the fowling-piece or rifle never miss. If they are in the Highlands, there is always a plethora of grouse and red-deer; if in Central Africa, you would suppose they were practising in a menagerie, and you conclude that there must be prime pluffing in Polito’s. This, of course, is nonsense; and in our humble opinion, it is calculated to act disadvantageously on the character of young sportsmen. Sporting, in all its branches, is an art which requires to be thoroughly studied on principle; and it is very wrong to excite in the youthful mind expectations which cannot be fulfilled. A boy of fourteen should not be told that he is adequate to the capture of a salmon; or that he has only to go to a certain river and throw in his line, in order to secure one. All education is progressive. He should be entered with minnows, and so made acquainted with the science of bait-fishing; he should be furthered with beardies, encouraged with eels, and in due time initiated into the mystery of capturing a trout with the fly. After that, all is plain sailing. But he should be made to feel practically the difficulties which attend even the rudiments of sport—not be impressed with the idea that there exist no difficulties whatever. We have known many a fine young fellow, who might have become a capital sportsman, stopped at the commencement of his career by the disgust engendered by failure. The imagination of the lad has been so excited by flowery narratives that he cannot summon up patience enough to bide his appointed time: he must either succeed at once, or he abandons the pursuit for ever. We regret to observe that the habits of athletic sport, once so common to the youth of Scotland, are rather on the decline; and our regret arises from the conviction that the fine bodily training which is given by field sports contributes very much to the development of a strong and manly mind. It is not difficult to say, after the perusal of any book, whether the writer is or is not a sportsman. If the former, there is a raciness in his style, a familiarity with nature, and a power of illustration, which immediately rivet your attention. Had Scott not been a sportsman, we should have lost one great charm of his novels. He of the back slums, on the contrary, who never wandered by the water-side, or took the hill with the gun upon his shoulder, is always a feeble writer. There is something sickly about his sentiment; he is vapid, dull, and queasy. His ideas of vegetation are drawn from a window-box with some stunted specimens of mignonette, striving, in spite of soot, to struggle into blossom,—or, at best, from a suburban horse-chestnut. He derives his images of animated life from a rabbit-hutch, or an occasional visit to a slaughter-house. He has no taste for the roaring of the seas, the rushing of the blast, or the thunders of a swollen cataract. He seeks repose, maunders about tranquillity, and presents you with the sketch of a lake; which, on examination, you discover to be the accurate portraiture of a horse-pond. Surely the development of ideas is as important a point as the mere acquirement of information. The one is to be gathered in the field, the other in the schools; and we are not sure that, if we were assured that all the boys were trained timeously to fishing, we should not be inclined to vote for a general prolongation of the holidays.
We must really crave pardon of Mr Colquhoun for having left him in this unceremonious manner. Another batch of canvassers, on the Seceding interest, having probably received notice of our imprudent act of hospitality, has just invaded the premises, and we have had great trouble in getting rid of them at a considerable expenditure of liquor. One gentleman in a fustian jacket tried to engage us in a discussion on the subject of education; but, as his grammar was singularly imperfect, we could not accurately comprehend his meaning. We parted, however, good friends, notwithstanding that one acute Diomede tried to make a Glaucus of us in the matter of a bran-new hat which happened to be exposed in the lobby. Nathless we managed to retain our basnet, and the ‘prentice-cup went its way. We have said already that Mr Colquhoun’s book may be relied on for accuracy of fact; but we should by no means wish to impress our readers with the idea that he is at all deficient in imagination, where imagination can be legitimately employed. Some of his descriptions indeed are very beautiful, and recall the picturesque scenery of the Highlands to the mind as vividly as the inspired pencil of Horatio Macculloch can present it to the eye. But he never condescends to make pictures merely for effect; and perhaps it is this absence of exaggeration which gives such a stamp of truthfulness to his volume. Neither does he affect the magnificent in sporting—a fault which is rather conspicuous in some other writers whom we could name. After reading the lucubrations of some sportsmen, and hearing them discourse, you would conclude that they never condescended to expend powder and lead upon a lesser object than a red-deer, and that they would consider it highly derogatory to exert their energies on the capture of trout, in the unavoidable absence of salmon. That is all fudge. Deer-stalking is an excellent thing in its way, and may indeed be considered as the highest branch of the art venatorial as practised in these islands; but there is not one sportsman out of five hundred who ever had the opportunity of levelling his rifle at a stag, and not one out of a thousand who can pursue the sport systematically. Besides this, the habitual deer-stalker must be a person endowed with uncommon stamina. Quickness of vision—accuracy of aim—caution and perseverance—are admirable things; but the stalker of the deer in his native solitudes must moreover possess the inestimable gifts of muscle and wind in larger proportion than is usually allowed to the inhabitants of cities. He must account it nothing to lie half immersed for hours in a bog or burn, without even the trifling excitement of an occasional glimpse of an antler; he must be prepared to crawl up or rush down precipices, as the exigency of the case or the movements of the deer may require; and he must, moreover, make up his mind to return homewards many an evening, after having been on the hills before cock-crow, wet, weary, and famishing, without a single incident to console him for all his great exertion. Now, there are very few people who will willingly submit to this; and we cannot wonder at it, if other sport can be obtained with a less expenditure of labour. We never knew a deer-stalker yet who had lost his rest for grouse-shooting; and we have known several who, from choice, would rather stalk a curlew than a stag. Your “whaup,” indeed, is a most difficult fellow to circumvent. Seated on the sea-beach, he might defy the approach of Sir Tristrem; indeed, to have shot a whaup in the month of October is an exploit of which any man has just reason to be proud. The true sportsman piques himself on the universality of his skill, not in exclusive addiction to one particular pursuit. Therefore, as a general rule, you may set down every writer on sporting subjects who affects to be more magnificent in his views than his neighbours, either as an impostor, who in reality knows little, or as a monomaniac, whose general experiences of the chase are worthless, and who cannot serve as an adequate guide.
No branch of sporting comes amiss to Mr Colquhoun, who is also an accomplished naturalist. Great on the lake and salmon-river, he is knowing at the “lochan” and the burn; and is aware that oftentimes as much dexterity is required for the capture of a half-pounder, as might suffice for the hooking of the lordliest fish that ever threaded the rapids of the Dee. Even the piscatory student who knows Stoddart by heart—and Tom has long been considered as quite at the summit of his craft—may obtain many a valuable wrinkle from Colquhoun, who is fertile in devices little known to the majority of practical anglers. It is the fashion of some of the brethren of the wand to speak superciliously of sea fishing, as if no sport could be obtained except in fresh water. Now we admit at once that finer fishing is required in fresh than in salt water; but there are times when the latter may be resorted to both with profit and amusement. What the haaf or deep-sea fishing may be we know not; but in the lochs which indent the western shores of Scotland excellent sport may be obtained. We take leave to draw the attention of our sporting friends, who about this time of the year repair to the Highlands, to the following extract from the volume before us:—
“The sea loch has a character peculiarly its own—no wooded islands, no green or pebbly margin, like its inland sister, except, perhaps, for a short time at full tide; and the dark mountain more often rises abruptly from its side in craggy and bold relief. It is a novel sight for the traveller, whom the refreshing evening breeze has tempted out of the neighbouring inn, at the landlord’s recommendation, to try his fishing luck with such a clumsy rod and tackle as he had never dreamt of before. The awkward-looking herring ‘skows,’ well matched with their black or red sails, scudding in all directions; the nasal twang of the Gaelic, as they pass the bow or stern of his boat, shooting their nets; the hardy weather-beaten face of the Highlander, always civil in his reply, and courteous in pointing out the most likely ground to the ‘stranger’—reiterating his injunctions (when his stock of English extends no further) ‘to keep on the broo,’ yet plainly showing that he expects the like courtesy in return, and that the least slip on your part would immediately make him change his tone,—all this can hardly fail to impress on the mind of the imaginative, that the spirit of the Highlands, though dormant, is not dead, and to carry back his fancy to the old times of clans, caterans, and claymores.
“The fishing of the sea loch is not nearly so scientific as that of the inland. The great art lies in being thoroughly acquainted with the best state of the tide for commencing operations—in having a perfect knowledge of the fishing-ground, and being able to set your long-line with neatness and despatch. Having lived for a couple of years on the banks of two sea-lochs, I had every opportunity (which I did not neglect) of practising the different kinds of fishing, and making myself master of the most propitious times of the tide for doing so with success.
“Trolling for sea-trout may be ranked at the head of this fishing; but before attempting to describe it, I shall mention two curious facts relative to the sea-trout and salmon, which it is difficult to account for. One is, that the former will take greedily in one loch, while you may troll a whole day in its next neighbour, though full of them, without getting a single bite. This was precisely the case in the two lochs alluded to. The other, that although you may see the huge tails and back-fins of salmon rising all round, I never heard of one taking the bait; and during the whole of my trolling in the salt water, I have only killed one grilse. This is the more strange, as the salmon is not at all shy of the spinning-bait in the fresh-water loch.
“The best time to begin fishing for sea-trout is at the turn of the tide when it begins to ebb: the same rod and tackle as when trolling from a boat in fresh water. The herring-fry, salted, are the most killing bait, (also excellent for large fish in fresh-water lochs,) although minnows are very good; a sand-eel may also do, the black skin pulled over the head so as to show nothing but the white body: this shines very bright, but, as it does not spin, is far less deadly than the others. A boatman who thoroughly knows the fishing-ground is indispensable, as it is much more difficult to find out than in the fresh water. Strong eddies formed by the tide are often good places; also any bays, especially if mountain-burns run into them. The largest size of sea-trout are caught in this way; and, when hooked, from the depth and strength of the water, make capital play. Large lythe also are frequently taken; these are like passionate boxers—fight furiously for a short time, after which they are quite helpless.
“If there is a good pool at the mouth of any mountain-burn, by going down with your fly-rod during a ‘spate,’ or coming down of the water after heavy rain, and when the tide is at the full, you may have excellent sport. The trout are all floundering about, ready to take your fly the moment it touches the water. This only lasts for a short time, as they all leave the pool at the receding of the tide. I say nothing of sea-trout or salmon flies, which vary so much in the different lochs, rivers, and streams, that every angler should be able to dress them for himself. Any fishing-tackle maker will be happy to teach him for a consideration. He has then only to learn from an approved hand near, what flies are best for the loch or stream he intends to fish, and tie them accordingly.”
These latter remarks savour too much of the old school. It may be useful in the case of emergency to be able to busk a fly; but we are free to confess that it is upwards of twenty years since we attempted such an operation. In the days of our youth we were accounted rather a good hand at dressing, and could turn out, on occasion, an excellent fac-simile of a bumbee. But we discovered anon, that to busk our own flies was a frightful loss of time, and necessitated the collection of an infinite quantity of feather, fud, floss, carpet, and twistings, which very soon, without any manipulation on our part, produced abundance of insect life in the shape of moths. Therefore, one fine morning we pitched the whole contents of our poke out of the window, and have since had recourse for our supplies to the regular professional artists. Every man who knows anything at all about fishing is competent to the selection of his own flies; and notwithstanding all that has been written to the contrary, we assert, from our own experience, that it is not necessary to carry with you a very diversified stock. For trouting, eight or ten of the most approved sorts of flies are amply sufficient: of course you must take care to have them of different sizes. There is more variety in salmon flies; but if you attend properly to colour, you may easily, at a moderate expense, furnish such a pocket-book as will enable you to fish with success in every river in the kingdom, provided you know how to handle your rod. We by no means undervalue local information. If you can pick up an intelligent poacher, or in default of him a gamekeeper, you can readily, for the matter of a mutchkin, ascertain what colour is considered most killing on the particular river which he depopulates; and you will find something in your book which will correspond accurately enough. If you are short of flies, the same free-tacksman of the stream will, for a shilling or two, tie you as many as you may require. And do not be afraid that he will lack the material. The feathers of the bubbly-jock make admirable wings—a red cock, adorned with a ruff of hackles, sounds his trumpet upon every midden; and your unlicensed acquaintance usually contrives to put by various sylvan furs and plumage, during the season when game fetches a good price in the metropolitan market. Trust to him for having retained sundry souvenirs of grouse, blackcock, mallard, and plover—besides a hare’s lug, in affectionate remembrance of some departed maukin. And do not, unless you are a justice of the peace, be hard upon the poor fellow for obeying, in a moderate way, the impulses of his nature. He is not by any means to be confounded with those brutal bludgeoneers who harbour in towns, and go out methodically in gangs to poach. He is simply an Indian in disposition, very kind to his colley and affectionate to his child, passionately fond of tobacco, whether in the shape of snuff or pigtail, and on the best possible terms with a brother Celt, whose dwelling is supposed to be subterraneous, and impregnable to the curiosity of the exciseman. We say, do not be hard with him, for were he merely a clodhopper, he could not busk a fly.
There is also another kind of fishing to be had in the salt-water lochs, which is not without its attraction, although, as Mr Colquhoun observes, it is not the daintiest in the world. We mean the fishing with the long-line which we have seen practised with great success both in Loch Long and Loch Fine, and which is worth the attention of the sportsman. Let us hear our author upon it.