Part 10
After walking and crawling along the bed of a burn for about half a mile we got into a position from which we were able to spy the deer, as it had ceased raining and the light was better. We made out that there were two lots of hinds on the face of the hill with stags in both lots, and between them five stags. The largest of these stags had a very fine head, and, as often happens in the case of a big stag, had in attendance on him a smaller or sentinel stag. The stalker said he thought the big stag was a Royal, but was not quite sure. This stag and the others which were with him had evidently been driven away from the hinds by a heavy 10-pointer, who was the master stag, and who was making a great disturbance, chasing the smaller stags away, and rounding up the larger lot of hinds.
After a very laborious crawl, sometimes on all-fours, sometimes flat, sometimes in the burn, sometimes out of it, for about three-quarters of a mile further, we reached a point in the burn about 600 or 700 yards below the five stags which I have before referred to. In the meantime the wind had risen, and the weather was now very rough and stormy. Macdougall whispered to me that we should have to crawl up the hill in full sight of the deer, and this we proceeded to do for some 500 yards, watching the deer with the greatest care, and whenever one of their heads went up instantly becoming as motionless as statues, and so gradually getting up the hill until at last we got behind a little tussock. The little stag was in front of the four stags, close to him was the big stag, and some little distance behind the latter were the other three stags. Macdougall pulled the rifle out of its cover and beckoned to me to crawl up. He then whispered, “You’ll have to take him now, sir; it’s the only chance you’ll get. We can’t possibly get a yard nearer.” “Take him now,” I said; “why, how far off do you say he is?” “Oh, maybe 330 yards,” said Macdougall. “He’s too far,” I said. “I shall probably wound him, or more likely miss him.” Macdougall’s reply was, “I think you can manage him, sir, and, anyhow, it’s your only chance; we cannot get nearer.” “Why not try to get to that next knobby,” I asked, “about 100 yards further on, behind which the big stag is just going?” Macdougall said that if we tried to do that the other three stags behind the big stag would be certain to see us and would bolt and put the whole lot off. “Well,” I replied, “if they do, we shan’t be worse off than if I fire now and miss. Come on, let’s do the bold thing, it sometimes pays.” Macdougall shook his head and said, “It’s no wise, I’m thinking.” “Come on,” I said. “Well, sir,” said Macdougall, “if you will have it, we’ll try, but I don’t think it will be any good; we shall have to crawl as hard and fast as ever we can up the hill, quite flat the whole way.” Away we went as hard as we could, and it took me all my time to keep up behind Macdougall, who propelled himself along at a prodigious rate. Arrived behind the knobby, we very carefully raised our heads, and found that Macdougall’s prophecy had fortunately proved only partly correct. The three stags behind the big stag and his fag, the little stag, had seen us and had bolted, but instead of going forward, as Macdougall had expected, they had turned tail and made off in the other direction, with the result that they had only put off the deer behind them and none of the deer in front of them. Macdougall hurriedly whispered, pulling the rifle out of the cover: “The big stag is still there, sir, but he and the wee staggie are getting varra suspeecious, and you’ll have to take him varra quick. He’ll be about 220 yards.” “Well,” I said, “I must get my breath; I’m absolutely blown,” the fact being that at the moment I felt absolutely done to the world and was quite incapable of shooting straight. The big stag had slightly moved and was now standing about three-quarters end on, a very difficult shot. I raised the rifle, sighted the stag, and pressed the trigger. There was a sound of a little click, and that was all. “A misfire!” I muttered below my breath. “Are you sure you loaded the rifle after lunch?” “Yes, sir, I am,” said Macdougall. “Very well, then,” I replied, “I’ll try him with the second barrel,” and raised the rifle. “Don’t fire,” said Macdougall; “we’d better make sure.” With some difficulty, owing to the position I was in and the necessity of keeping as flat as possible, I opened the rifle, and lo and behold it was empty! I loaded it as quickly as I could. Meantime, the stag had moved on a few yards, and was now standing broadside on. I put up the rifle, took a steady aim, and fired. There was a thud; the stag gave a start and then moved slowly forward. “You have him,” said Macdougall. I said, “I don’t know that.” “He’s varra sick,” said Macdougall, “and will never get over the hill.” The stag had evidently been shot in the stomach. He was looking very sick, poor beast, and was walking slowly forward, stopping every now and then. All the other deer had disappeared as if by magic except the little stag, who kept some distance in front of the big stag, constantly looking round at him, evidently loth to leave his lord and master. I said, “I’d better fire again,” and put up the 250 yards sight, as I estimated that the stag was now nearly 300 yards from us, and fired. “Over him, sir,” whispered Macdougall. “We must get a bit nearer,” I said. “I’m afraid if we move he’ll see us and begin to run,” Macdougall replied. “Well,” I said, “we’d better try and get round him.” So we crawled right round behind the stag, who kept on moving slowly and then stopping, and got to within about 220 yards of him. “Tak’ your time, sir,” said Macdougall. The stag gave me a good chance, broadside on; and I fired, believing that I was quite steady. “Missed him, sir,” said Macdougall; “I saw something fly up behind him.” “I’m not so sure,” said I, and as I spoke, the stag, who when I fired had bounded forward three or four paces, staggered and then fell and rolled over and over down the hill, shot through the heart, as we subsequently found. Macdougall seized my hand and shook it vigorously, saying, “I hope, sir, he’s a Royal. I believe he is.” As we were getting up to the stag I said, “I see three on one top, but not on the other.” “Ach, yes,” said Macdougall, “he has three on both tops. Yes, sir, he’s a Royal, and we shall have to fine you a bottle of whisky according to the custom of this forest.” “You may be quite sure I shall not mind that,” I replied. On getting up to the stag we found that his head was a fine wild one, with exceptionally long horns. My first bullet had passed through the second compartment of the stomach, or, as it is called in Gaelic, currachd an righ, close to but a little below the heart.
Currachd an righ means in English “the King’s cap,” though it is sometimes called “the King’s night-cap.” Turned inside out it resembles in shape and dice pattern the old-fashioned night-cap. It is said that certain internal parts of the stag and other ingredients cooked in this “bag” or “currachd” was a favourite dish in the olden days, “fit for a king,” or such as only a king could afford. That may be why it is called “currachd an righ.” The corresponding small bag in the stomach of the sheep is also called “currachd an righ,” and in English “the King’s hood.” The same word is used in Gaelic to signify Hood and Cap. _Night-cap_ translated literally is “currachd oidhche,” but in Gaelic the word “oidhche” or “night” is omitted; presumably because there was only one kind of cap.
“Poca buidhè,” which means yellow bag, is the Gaelic name of the first compartment or large bag of the stag’s stomach, and is a name used only in the case of the stag.
Macdougall signalled for the pony, and then gralloched the stag. It proved to be a very troublesome job to get the stag on to the pony, although the latter was usually very quiet under such circumstances. Macdougall said the reason for his being so restive was that he could see the very long horns. After helping the gillie and the pony-man to put the stag on the pony, Macdougall and I tried to find some other stag, but in the time still at our disposal we saw nothing more except a few hinds. Curiously enough, the weights of the 10-pointer and the Royal were exactly the same to an ounce--namely, 15 st. 7 oz. clean, without heart and liver--and were the two best heads of the season in the forest of Fealar. Macdougall, who was a stalker of long experience, told my host that he had never had so strenuous a stalk as the stalk after the Royal, and he said to me on the way home, “I shall never believe in thirteen being an unlucky number again, sir, for I found just after we had started that we had only thirteen cartridges, and very nearly went back to leave one of them at home.”
On our way down from the hill there kept ringing in my ears the familiar lines of Ruskin in _A Joy for Ever_, lines so true in the experience of those of us who are no longer on the threshold of life:
“It is wisely appointed for us that few of the things we desire can be had without considerable intervals of time.”
My host had also shot two stags, though he had not met with the wonderful luck I had had. No one could have been more genuinely pleased at my good fortune than he was. So ended for me the last day of the stalking season of 1913, which was one of the most enjoyable and lucky days I have ever spent in the Highlands, and will always be to me a red-letter day.
XV
THE LOCH PROBLEM
For some twelve years I have been trying experiments on lochs on my ground in the North of Scotland, and have written what follows mainly because I hope and believe that the result of these experiments may prove useful to some of those who love trout-fishing as I do, and have the means at hand, possibly without fully realising their opportunities, of increasing their sport and that of their friends. I have spent much labour and a good deal of money in attempting to improve the fishing in various lochs. In some cases these efforts have proved useless; in others the labour and money expended in stocking the lochs and increasing the food supply have been altogether out of proportion to the results obtained, but in one case, and one case only, the results have been phenomenal, not only in my own experience, but also in that of my keeper, who, like myself, has all his life been keenly interested in and familiar with trout-fishing in the North. In the case of those lochs where no good result has been achieved, I have at least learnt something from my failure. The loch upon which I experimented with such wonderful results must have been a veritable larder of food for the trout when I put them into it, for there was a large quantity of water lizards, leeches, frogs, and above all, fresh-water shrimps; there were also various kinds of insect life, water beetles, notably the coch-y-bundhu, and a smaller beetle with a silver body which moves with a swift darting movement. It is impossible for the trout to spawn effectively, as there is no burn coming into or going out of the loch and no water continually moving over a shingly bottom. The loch is not more than six acres in extent, and is about 500 feet above the level of the sea. At the time, just thirteen years ago, when I began to put fish into it, there were no fish in it, and so far as I know there never had been any, except some years ago when a few trout were put in, but these had no doubt been caught or died long before I began my experiments. I am also quite certain, for the reasons already mentioned, that they had left no descendants. Every year, in May or June, about 2½ acres of the loch are covered with a common kind of rush, the “Horse-tail,” _Equisetum maximum_, and about one-quarter of an acre with grass, which, I believe, is a species of _Scirpus_. In the rushes and round them are patches of a kind of surface weed which is common in Highland lochs, and which, as every fly-fisher in the Highlands knows, is a great danger to him. This weed, the scientific name of which is, I am told, _Potamogeton polygonifolius_, covers an area of some 20 square yards. Lastly, and most important of all, there is in the loch a considerable quantity of the well-known Water Milfoil or shrimp-weed, _Myriophyllum verticillatum_, which in this water produced quantities of fresh-water shrimp.
By August and September the rushes have, of course, largely increased, and extend to nearly four acres, leaving a comparatively small part of the loch which can be fished. The depth of the loch is about 3½ feet all over with the exception of two places, a very small part of it, where it is about 5 feet. Its bottom is for the most part fairly hard ground, but on one side there is soft mud, and on another side, for about an acre and a half, the bottom is rocky. I began stocking the loch in 1910, and during the first three years put into it small trout from burns and other lochs on my ground, but in 1913 and 1914 put into it 150 and 200 Loch Leven yearlings respectively. These yearlings were supplied from one of the well-known hatcheries. In 1915 I put no trout into the loch, but since, and including 1916, I have put in every year on an average about eighty small trout taken entirely from burns--one of which runs into the sea and contains the young of sea-trout as well as small brown trout. The following table shows the exact numbers of fish put into the loch, showing a total of 1062.
1910. Aug., Sept., Oct 62 (20 fair size) 1911. July, Aug., Sept 61 (16 fair size) 1912. July, Sept., Oct 20 1913. April 150 1914. April 200 1916. June, July 104 1917. June, July 105 1918. June, July 96 1919. August 74 1920. July 96 1921. July, August 44 1922. July 50
I have taken care that the loch should not be fished too much, and nothing has been used but the wet fly. It has only been fished in May and June and in August and September. In May and June, which are, of course, the best months of the year, it has only been fished for two or three weeks, and in August and September it is very difficult to persuade the trout to rise, and a rare experience to catch one. It has been suggested to me that I should introduce rainbow trout into the loch, as they would rise freely in August and September, when the large brown trout will not do so.
In May and June there is a hatch out of flies from the weeds on the loch and from the heather on the adjoining moorland. In particular there is a hatch out of a large fly, of which I have caught specimens. These I have sent south for examination, and am told that they are all sedges, the largest being the large red sedge, _Phryganea grandis_, those next in size being cinnamon sedges. I have had flies dressed in imitation of these, and if one is fortunate enough to be on the loch when the sedges are hatching out, there is grand sport to be had, and sport which is greatly increased by the presence of so many troublesome weeds. The loch was not fished until 1913, three years after trout were first put into it. Every fish caught under a pound, with very few exceptions, has been returned to the loch, but it is a curious fact that the fish rise very little until they reach about a pound in weight, and so we have not been troubled much by catching the smaller fish which would have to be returned to the loch.
The following is the record of fish caught, showing a total of 216, weighing 482 lb. 1 oz., and averaging nearly 2¼ lb.
1913. 6 trout, weighing 8 lb.; average 1⅓ lb.; largest 2 lb.; smallest ½ lb.
1914. 19, weighing 29 lb.; average slightly over 1½ lb.; largest 2½ lb.; smallest ¾ lb.
1915. 14, weighing 29 lb. 11 oz.; average just over 2 lb.; largest 3½ lb.; smallest 1 lb. 1 oz.
1916. 20, weighing 58 lb. 9 oz.; average nearly 3 lb.; largest 4 lb. 7 oz.; smallest 2 lb.
1917. 18, weighing 58 lb. 11 oz.; average about 3¼ lb.; largest 4 lb. 10 oz.; smallest 2 lb.
1918. 44, weighing 98 lb. 5 oz.; average nearly 2¼ lb.; largest 6 lb.; smallest ¾ lb.
1919. 13, weighing 28 lb. 4. oz.; average over 2 lb.; largest 4¼ lb.; smallest 1 lb.
1920. 20, weighing 59 lb. 6 oz.; average very nearly 3 lb.; largest 7½ lb.; smallest 1 lb. 2 oz.
1921. 30, weighing 48 lb. 13 oz.; average about 1⅝ lb.; largest 4¾ lb.; smallest ¾ lb.
1922. 32, weighing 73 lb. 6 oz.; average slightly over 2¼ lb.; largest 5 lb. 2 oz.; smallest 1 lb.
The exact weights of the 20, 18, 20, and 32 fish caught respectively in 1916, 1917, 1920, and 1922 (in which years the highest average was reached) were as follows:
1916. 1917. 1920. 1922. lb. oz. lb. oz. lb. oz. lb. oz. 4 7 4 10 7 8 5 2 4 1 4 1 4 10 5 1 3 13 4 0 4 8 4 8 3 10 3 14 4 7 4 4 3 9 3 14 4 4 3 4 3 6 3 10 3 10 3 4 3 1 3 9 3 10 3 4 3 0 3 8 3 0 3 0 3 0 3 8 2 9 2 12 3 0 3 5 2 8 2 8 2 12 3 1 1 12 2 4 2 12 3 ½ 1 10 2 2 2 9 2 13 1 10 2 1 2 8 2 8 1 10 2 0 2 8 2 8 1 8 2 0 2 4 2 4 1 8 2 0 2 3 2 4 1 8 3 of 1 12 2 2 2 0 1 4 7 of 1 8 2 0 .. 1 4 5 of 1 4 2 0 .. 1 2 1 0
The fish caught have been remarkable not only for their weight but also for their extraordinary beauty and condition. Those of us who have seen them have seen many trout in our time, but have never seen trout to compare with those caught during the first four or five years after we began fishing the loch. Several of these, which we measured, were as much in girth as in length from the gills to the point of the tail where the flesh ends. They had small heads and were most beautifully coloured. Their flesh was in colour a deep red--no doubt due to the pigment in the fresh-water shrimps which, as I have said, abound in the loch.
It is an interesting fact that, although the loch was very little fished by ladies, they secured the two largest fish, one of 7½ lb., which took over three-quarters of an hour to land and gave splendid sport, the other 6 lb. The former was a most extraordinary fish. It was 22 inches in length, 16 inches in length from the gills to the point where the flesh ends at the tail, and 16 inches in girth. There is, however, no doubt that, with the exception of this particular fish, the fish caught during the last four or five years, whilst in excellent condition and comparing very favourably with the ordinary large brown trout caught elsewhere, have not been so extraordinary in their girth as in the first few years after the loch was stocked.
These experiments show the correctness of the opinion expressed by one of the most experienced of writers on the subject of trout culture, Mr. P. D. Malloch, who says in his well-known work on the _Life History and Habits of the Salmon, Sea-trout, Trout and other Fresh-water Fish_[31] (p. 186): “When a farmer rents a piece of land for grazing he knows how many sheep or cattle it will pasture, and that if he puts on more than the proper number they will not grow. He also knows that if he introduce too few they will become fat and too lazy to eat up all the pasture, and he will thus lose part of the money paid for the pasture land. If the proprietor or the tenant of a loch would consider the matter in the same way as the farmer, he would obtain full value out of his lochs, be saved a deal of grumbling, and find life more pleasant.” The same writer also says (p. 157): “Many naturalists maintain that there are different species of trout in the British Islands--Loch Leven trout, Gillaroo trout, tidal trout, and many others--but from a close study of all these trout for the last forty years, I have come to the conclusion that there is only one species of trout in Great Britain, and that in the different varieties the differences are caused by the nature of the water in which they are found and by the food they eat.” Thus, as would be expected, there is no apparent difference between the so-called Loch Leven trout which were put into the loch from the hatcheries and the little trout from my own burns. Numbers of these splendid trout running up to 5, 6, and 7 lb. must be the brothers and sisters of the little fingerlings of the same age in the burns. The best authorities are apparently agreed[32] that the average life of trout is about ten years (although there are authenticated instances in which they have lived for a much longer period), that they reach their prime in six or seven years, that they remain in their prime for a few years longer, and then begin to lose condition and weight as old age creeps on. Those of the trout put into the loch in 1910 and 1911 which I have described as of fair size were about three to the lb., some rather larger and could not then have had many years to live. Those from the burns were probably of different ages, but it is highly likely that in 1913 and 1914, when the yearlings from the hatcheries were put into the loch, there were very few of such other trout as were still there that could live more than three or four years longer.
So far there has been little indication that any of the trout caught have been cannibals--probably because they can obtain plenty of other food, and since their transfer to the loch have not been in the hungry condition in which they certainly were when they lived in the burns. On one occasion we found when carrying some of the little brown trout from one of the burns to the loch that one of the captives on the journey in the small can in which they were being carried had caught and succeeded in half swallowing another little trout half its own size.
Both Mr. Malloch (see pp. 130-132 of his work mentioned above) 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.
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._