Was regularly up in the Achness Hotel for stalking in Sutherland.
The hotel is (predominately) a hotel for fishermen.
I recall once seeing an old chap in the Oykel (you could see him from the hotel). He was a retired army Colonel and of very advanced years.
He was stood in the river and the rain was coming in at him horizontal. I do not know how he kept upright.
The staff in the hotel informed me that he had been coming up every year for the past twenty years. He had never caught a fish.
Now that (for me) is the real definition of a sportsman.
The passage of time tells me he must have died by now.
If there is a Heaven; then I hope they have rivers.
I pray he is fishing still.
The perfect afterlife should comprise of days spent on the banks of a spate river that is just fining down nicely. The weather will be overcast with a gentle breeze. The fish will be moving in the river. As well as my trusty old Orvis rod I'll have a full box of my favourite flies.
Knowing my luck I will instead find myself on the banks of a river that is reduced to a trickle. The weather will be scorching hot with not a cloud in the sky. The river will be devoid of fish. I will have a telescopic spinning rod with with nothing to tie on my leader but a Booby. Oh, and it will be midgy!
