No. 2. Body brown floss silk, ribbed with silver, large motley brown cock's tail feather over the body, and a spotted turkey tail for wings. No. 9 hook.
No. 3. Body, puce floss silk ribbed with silver, black-red hackle, a mixed wing of glede, turkey tail, and mallard, with a topping over all, and a dark claret or purple hackle. Hook No. 9.
No. 4. Light puce body with a hackle of the same colour, topping for tail, and a gaudily mixed wing, (not too much so) broad silver. No. 8 hook.
No. 5. Yellow body, puce hackle, mixed wings, rib of silver, and tail a topping. Hook No. 9. These, with the painted ones, will do the work to a nicety in this dashing river.
The River Nairne, in these quarters, is not a bad one for grilse and salmon fishing in September; the town of Nairne, is the most convenient station, beginning a few miles up, and proceeding higher; the small salmon flies that I have given for the Spey will suit this river well.
RIVERS AND LAKES ADJACENT
TO FORT WILLIAM, ON THE
CALEDONIAN CANAL.
These wild and majestic scenes in the heart of the Highlands of Scotland are without doubt splendid, either to look upon or for the purpose of salmon and trout fishing, the recollections of such to the intelligent and contemplative mind of the gentle angler who has visited this region, must be lasting and agreeable. [E]The sail down the Clyde from Glasgow, passing Dumbarton Castle (on a rock in the water to the right), to Greenock, is most enchanting; opposite this fine town the angler will observe a grand expanse of deep and blue salt water, bordered in the distance with mountains dark and high, filling the imagination with awe, while pacing the decks of the frail but well appointed little steam boat Helen McGregor in the gloom, as she creaks away through briny silvered waves of lakes, estuaries, and straits, to Caledonia's "noblest work"—the Great Canal. Rounding a rough northern head land, where seven currents meet, of seas, sounds, and straits, Crenan in the wake, compassing the shore in Jura Sound, the "little Helen" struggling with the swelling tide, appeared to be standing still though at full speed; Loch Etive, on the starboard—into whose bosom, Awe's serpentine waters steal at solitary "Bunaw;" Lismore in the distance, Mull in our wake, due West—the rapid subsiding—through it "the fair one" tripped gallantly. In these "meetings of the waters," what oceans of salmon sported and played at large in their blue and fresh element, far from the wily bars! The "Heroine" seemed at once to be stepping up hills from lock to lock, till she levelled the base of "Ben Nevis;" close to which mighty mountain, the "fair one" squatted for the night. Glad enough were her living freight to get on firm footing, and wend their way across a mossy plain, without a rolling stone, to a little house under a hill, that kept beds "well aired," and "usquebaugh," for travellers. At the dawn of morning, through the haze, could be descried, "Fair Helen," smoking—her steam was up—sitting, "sidey for sidey," by the lofty Ben, the sight of which, to look up at, was staggering. He had yet his nightcap on of hazy grey, but enough of the giant hill could be denoted that his base on that side was hewn away, facilitating the great track. This morning, away went the "fair one," rattling like "sticks a breaking." Hurrah for Fort William—a voice, "and the Camerons of Lochiel,"—here we are at Crystal Laggan, Lochiel, and Lochey's excellent waters for the Salmon Trout—(I will give the flies to suit them a little further on). "Fair Helen" began her movements slowly for some time, creeping through locks, o'er hills, in basins—Macomer on the starboard,—Lochiel, farewell!—now skimming into saltless "Lochey's" (famed for its ancient mountain clans) soft and balmy waters; through the lake she dashed, breast high—a strait ahead—steaming by Balalister at seven knots by the log, soundings the deep nine, "Fair Helen" entered the gorge, and now rushing down an inclined plain, to the fear of the timid, and delight of the stouthearted, double quick did run the "fair one," making up for lost time experienced in the "meeting of the waters"—through lock gates, up hills, &c., now through an embankment, nearing Fort Augustus, and the head of Lochness, down she settled between two stupendous lock gates. "What aw-fu' gates!" What work bestowed on them—what an enormous depth are they—the wet and muddy sides of which beat chilly. Down, "down below," went the "fair one," till she levelled the golden waters of—"O, that lovely lake,"—into which she slipped like a fairy elf. After her cold incarceration, "Helen the Fair" tripped merrily down the centre of the "fathomless Lochness," the sun breaking, beamed out upon us cheeringly after the chill and hazy morning. Like looking-glass did that sun-lit lake appear, stretching away before us, losing itself in the distance, bordered by hills and mountains on either side, till on the larboard was seen Morrison's lonely glen and meandering stream. We neared the bay, sounded whistle, and lowered steam. A few minutes more, and off went the Helen McGregor, making head like a waddling duck through the valley of golden[F] waters. Hush! The mountain sylph is heard in the cabin. Hush! by the powers, it's Phillips, warbling the incantation of the wizard of the glen.
"Farewell to the mountain,
And sun-lighted vale."
O, shade of Wilson! the soul of Scottish song. Angler, may you rest in peace. On the starboard was observed the "Falls of Fyres," descending, perpendicularly, over a craggy precipice—most curious. "Bonny Helen" slid smoothly along, till, at the "heel of the evening," we entered the last embankment of Caledonia's Grand Canal, just where the beautiful river Ness issues out of "that lake," opening into a lovely and fertile valley, in the centre of which is a boat upset, an antiquity, covered with motley trees. A few minutes more and we were safely landed at the quay of the fair and sweet metropolis of the ancient Highlands, Inverness, seated on a hill above the river. O, I sigh for the days that will never return! High and airy rock, I split upon you twice, steering northwise fra' bonny Dundee, through the "Carse o' Gowrie," by Laburnam, to famed Dunkeld, on Tay's noble waters; Blair Athol and Fore's Macbeth crossed the source of Spay, through a waste and dreary plain, with villages far apart, where ran those weirdy thinly kilted lads to see the "four-in-hand;" up hill, down dale, and heathered moor we steered, till at length we galloped towards the glooming, by the graves of dark Culloden's blood-stained field—nearing the city, on went the drag, and over a well macadamised road, "knapped" by the hardy highland wight, we hurried into Inverness. Alas! this bronchial asthma, that shuts me from that fishing. Fond memory brings the light of other days around me.