Loch Hopping In Shetland
- Details
- Published on Tuesday, 31 July 2012 09:20
- Written by Malcolm Prescott
I met Michael Grieve first as a small boy when he canvassed round the tenement doors of Govan in the mid sixties trying to get my parents to vote Communist. “Whit’s a Communist dad” I enquired? “A man who disnae believe in God son” he answered. And that was that, you didn’t argue much with Dad. But I still remember Michael’s face. Those tired eyes and moustache just like his father.
I met him again, about fifteen years later, me as a poverty stricken student in London highly susceptible to anything which would redistribute wealth my way. This time in the pages of a book introducing his father:
“Wind-blasted Whalsay, sodden with the peat of forgotten centuries where trees grew and none now stand, was home - a bucket or two of earth in the chilled bitterness of the North Sea; a place where, at midnight, you can read beneath the stars of the simmer’s dim; and where; in the black thunder of winter with a shaky moon catching the tumbling fluorescence of warring waves, life became a virgin’s ring of uneasy and frustrating self containment.” In that one paragraph he introduced me to two of the great passions of my life: Hugh MacDiarmid and the Shetland Isles but it was still to be 20 years before I got there.
Wife, Assynt, children, Lewis, career, The Uists, all got in the way.
Now I’m there. Lovely house up near Houlland in the North west of Mainland has been found; the first lochs have been fished on the evening of arrival, the astonishing array of bird life have all been marveled at, the amazing rock formations and physical features have been gawped at; there’s a great hollow behind Houlland where the sea crashes against the sand but it’s quarter a mile from the coast and the waves come through a great cave. There are great rock arches that make the Arc de Triomphe seem small and unsculptured. Now they’re all part of the scenery. 
We’re at Collafirth right up in the North. There’s a track up to the mast and the first loch, Roer Water, is a mile and a half away. If this loch were within 50 miles of Glasgow it would be a wee bit special, something to be prized and charged out at £15 a day. We fish quickly round and meet up at the far side. “How d’ye get on” and a dozen fish between three up to a pound and a quarter is the tally.
For Shetland this is decidedly south of average. We split up. Chic and Jim are stolid and sensible, they fish hard with a variety of lines and tactics - they catch fish, lots of them usually and they’re off to the big one: Muckle Lunga. This loch has a reputation. Think Heilan, Lanlish, Ruag, and Loch Leven at 14:00 in a heat wave in August, get the picture?
It’s also got a sign: “Here be Lunkers”. Non-fishers can’t see it but its there in the white stones under dark water, in the very smell of the place. We’ll meet them later.
I’m going Loch Hopping.
A few casts first in Maddle Swankie and Clubby Shuns but these are very ordinary waters and could be anywhere: loads of fish but only up to a pound or so
They don’t hold the attention and it’s off to the Grey Yowe. Muddler and Hare’s ear nymph are the flies of choice. The first one to take the Muddler is a belter, maybe 3 pounds but after a couple of minutes it’s off and the fishing continues for maybe another half an hour working nearly all round the loch when a second fish takes: a nice one but only a pound or so. It’s time to move on. It’s a good loch but small, better to give it a rest. 
Next is Birka water. This is always worth a few casts I suspect a good fish or two live here but the only fish to take are smallish up to three quarters of a pound.
Little Lunga is nearly flat calm, looks great and there’s the odd fish moving, the first rising fish I’ve seen all day. Time for a coffee and it’s on to the hopper on the tail and a suspender buzzer on the dropper. There’s a good fish moving about 20 yards out. I think the first cast is good but the line on the mirror calm puts the fish down. So I leave it and wait. A couple of minutes later a fish, maybe the same one sticks out it’s neb and grabs the hopper. 2lbs or so. The wind comes up and the rise stops. Time to go...
… to see the lads on Muckle Lunga. Chic has had 3 on sunk line as usual but surprisingly all small fish about a pound. Jim has had nothing. But he’s lost the biggest fish of his life on the fiery brown Zulu. “What happened, How big was it, what did it take, where was it, how long was it on for?” I enquired nonchalantly. Turns out he never even saw it “It just kept swimming about” he says. “It didn’t seem to care”. “So it might not have been the biggest of your life then?” I say undiplomatically. Silence then “It was the biggest fish of my life” he says with an uncharacteristic stare. I leave it at that, have a cast and land a 3 pounder. Every dog….
The lads are off to Moosa water. It’s a dour bugger of a loch but characteristically Chic gets one of a couple of pounds and the rest of us blank. There’s a wee hill at the back of Moosa water and in it’s way one of the most startling bits of scenery anywhere. It’s almost industrial: on a blank waste ground lie shards of shattered rock scattered unevenly as if God has has smashed his Jovian hammer into a mountain and left the pieces for 10000 years. It gives me the shivers thinking of our place in the scheme of things.
Back to the Grey Yowe and Jim comes with me. He fishes all round the loch while I have a cup of coffee and a sandwich. Just as he comes back round I cast out the hopper and wait. Just as I’m about to lift off again the fly’s taken and I’ve a fish on. One of the hardest fighting fish I’ve ever had on and it takes several minutes to land. It’s less than 3 pounds which astonishes us both and when we see it all is not well. This fish has a permanent curve in its spine. Turning it over the reason is apparent - one eye is almost totally white. It’s slightly saddening but it’s time to go. A grand day.
And that’s how it was. Or more likely as I remember it and that’s all that counts.
Malcolm Prescott lives in Killearn in Stirlingshire. He has been a fisherman for 40 years and a fly fisher for 35 years. He spends his weekday evenings fishing for sea trout around the Lomond system but his real love is wandering around trout lochs on Scotland's north and west highlands and islands. He is also a keen hill walker often combining the two interests. His favourite areas are: Shetland, Lewis, Eigg and West Sutherland and in addition spends several days every year after the trout season ends exploring the Skye Cuillin.