The Early Days
The year was 1983 and I was twenty seven years old, single
and a proud house owner. I had been coming to Sutherland for over ten years in
pursuit of the brown trout and now it was time to say goodbye to camping and
static caravans and stay at the famous Scourie Hotel. A visit a few years
earlier which went as far as the entrance of the hotel where six huge stuffed
trout adorned the walls of the entrance, and were all caught by the same
angler, from the same loch, on the same day! I knew this was the place for me.
My brother Robin and I booked bed and breakfast, but it soon
became apparent that there were few other choices for dinner, so we ate in the
hotel that first night. Dress code was relatively formal, a blazer and tie were
respectable enough for our fellow guests which included a couple of reverends
and a handful of ex military personnel. Our first night was eventful, the
gentleman who served us wine was a little shocked when we requested a second
bottle of Valpolicella, at £3.30! I wished we had drunk even more at that price!
It turned out that our wine waiter was in fact the proprietor Mr Ian Hay who
over many years, became a great friend.
Many writers including Negley Farson, Jon Beer, Bruce
Sandison, James Babb and Roger Pierce have their own take on this fishing oasis
in the far north of Scotland. I cannot compete with their brilliant writing
ability so I will just tell you my story as it is.
After our second bottle of red wine on our first evening we
were summoned to the map situated in the main lounge as it was our turn to
choose a beat for our first days fishing. The Board Master, let’s call him Bob
, was an austere character who had sat at dinner immersed in a book in between
courses, of soup, melon and mutton with capers followed by queen of puds (a
favourite at that time). The Board Master demanded that we showed him our fly
boxes, which were full of size 12 & 14 traditional wet flies to which he
declared “useless, last week in the terrible gales we were fishing with size
two salmon flies !”. We were stunned and
after some issues over our fitness which seemed unnecessary, we were allocated
a beat with a short stiff climb and a fly which Bob called his green squirrel
tail fly size six, as the weather was looking more favourable. We were prepared
for our first day at this auspicious place with a preferred beat and THE fly
despite its size, we retired to bed.
I would love to skip the next part of our evening but even
today I shudder at my stupidity when in the middle of the night I left my
single room for a nature break in the shared toilet on the landing only to hear
my bedroom door close behind me.
It was late May, very light, and I was naked without my key.
At least my bladder was empty. I went slowly downstairs to reception, what did
I expect? Twenty-four-hour service? This was not a London hotel with 24 hour
service! What sort of a hotel would be prepared for a stupid and slightly inebriated person who had
locked themselves out of their room? I returned upstairs to my brothers’ room
and knocked on his door explaining the predicament. I spent the rest of my
night on his floor which was cold, and I remained sleepless.
After breakfast we travelled to our beat which was indeed a
short but tiring walk. Robin caught the best fish of the day after a matter of
minutes on the fly which he had been given the night before in a cloudless
sunny day.
People who visit the hotel tended to book the same week or
fortnight every year and we got to know Bob over the years, and he became
slightly less scary and more friendly year after year. Unbeknown to us some
years later he had been tying a selection of his favourite flies for our group
and gave us all a small packet of them.
They were beautifully created traditional flies, Silver
Invicta, soldier palmers, butchers, red and silver and guess what? All size 12
& 14.
A few years on, he sadly left the hotel in tears as his
permanent job had gone and he was reduced to a pension to pay for his fishing
outings. His choice was Scourie or his other love Lough Corrib in Ireland. He
chose Corrib but as it turned out he passed away six months later never to
revisit either place.
If you are reading this then you know what I am saying, it is
not a dress rehearsal so fish, fish and fish and enjoy every day because
.......?
Peter, Michel and our dear departed friend Nigel enjoying a pint at the Scourie Hotel 2005
