Tim Bonner: Trout and the election trail

This article was first published in Shooting Times magazine.

There are worse places to follow a general election from than the campsite at the Scottish Game Fair and there was enough 4G for me to file copy for an update email and the Countryside Alliance magazine. The result was no surprise, but that does not reduce the scale of change in Parliament. Now we will find out whether the work we have been doing since 2018 with the Labour think tank the Fabians, Labour MPs and candidates will bear fruit. I am ever optimistic and remain confident shooting will not look dramatically different at the end of this government, whenever that is, than it does at the beginning. That does assume that we both stick to high standards and make sure that our voice is heard. The Alliance will ensure the latter and we all need to take responsibility for the former.

Election done and two days at the brilliant Scottish Game Fair complete the boy and I headed for the hills for a political detox. Assynt is home to great mountains and willing trout and Monday found us afloat on Loch Urigill with the savage outline of Suilven as a backdrop fishing a sparse mayfly hatch. As a Hampshire man born and bred I would like to claim the mayfly for the South, but there are little known lochs which are home to the mayfly across the Highlands. The most extraordinary hatch I have ever fished was on a large central Sutherland loch early in July when every fish in the loch seemed to be concentrated in an eight foot slick on one bank where the mayfly shucks lay so thick the emerging flies struggled to find a way through. In Caithness there is an even later hatch on one loch in August where I have taken really good trout and even arctic char on a CDC Mayfly pattern originally tied for the Itchen.

The boy is eleven and as keen as mustard, although with trout fishing in particular it is important to deliver results at that age. The winds were light and the fish not that willing, but he had two lovely fish on a mayfly emerger that renowned fly tyer Allan Liddle had tied for him at the game fair. The next day we walked up to the famous Gilaroo loch above Inchnadamph via limestone caves and an underground river. The sun shone, we slapped on the factor 50 and after a good walk he had 4 fish on a little dry fly tied for him by that other great tier George Barron and I started to worry that I had bred another son to be a better fisherman than me. We retired to our camping spot by the sea, opened up the roof tent and ate steak and salad as the sun set over the Summer Isles. As usual I asked myself why I do not live in the North.

The week went without any of the usual hiccups, which in Assynt regularly include midges and storms. The burns were full after rain the previous week and we fished a little stream under Quinag I last visited a decade ago with the boy’s elder brother. Then he and a friend had disappeared into the evening catching fish after fish. We dropped into the same burn and fishing downstream with the breeze the boy caught more than 20 bright, fat little hill trout as his fly searched through pools and runs.

Like wildfowl and woodcock the joy of wild brown trout is not just that they are a brilliant and beautiful quarry, but also that they live in the most stunning parts of the country. The pursuit of trout is not just fishing, any more than hunting ducks and waders is just shooting. These are wonderful, soul cleansing experiences which are the perfect antidote to the necessity of modern life.

Our week continued with every loch or stream we fished producing trout. Even the arrival of Northerly winds and proper Scottish mizzle later in the week did not stop the fish coming. We even stopped off in Perthshire on the way South for a successful stalk and got home late and tired with a car packed with dirty kit and a bucket full of memories.