PAYBACK ON SCOTTISH WATER
BY MARSHALL BISSETT Youthful confessions are rarely dramatic and often self-serving, especially where fishing is involved. But here goes. As a wee boy growing up in central Scotland I was taken to Loch Leven, the ancestral home of America’s brown trout. There, in violation of the loch’s ancient laws, my two uncles, whose angling skills were limited to drinking Scotch in a boat, handed me a fly rod with a tiny worm added to the hook of the fly. Their wives expected fish, and someone had to catch and keep them—a practice that has outlasted all catch-and-release lobbies until the present day. No casting was involved, and dinner was secured. In the glorious 1960s, pristine native browns would eat a dangled worm in any depth of water. In 1929, 53,598 trout were caught and registered in the loch’s ledger. The second confession, while not illegal, has (I believe) jinxed my Atlantic salmon fishing forever, and perhaps into the afterlife. At age 16 I took a job netting salmon on the mighty River Tay, a few miles from my hometown of Perth. It was grueling callus-producing work that paid well. With overtime I was earning more than my school headmaster. We netted round the clock in six-hour shifts and learned the art of bashing salmon on the snout without harming their good looks. Years later the last of these netting stations was bought out by angling associations and the practice ended. For perspective, at that time both bodies of water were viewed as an infinite resource. The Tay fed the appetites of the wealthy before salmon became a supermarket commodity and Loch Leven produced breeding stock for the Western world. More than 50 years later, it’s time to re-visit Loch Leven and the River Tay fair and square—no nets and no live bait. I’m ready to apologize and move on. I’m hoping for redemption, but I would 37
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