Chasing Britain's Highest Trout
- Details
- Published on Thursday, 03 January 2008 05:39
- Written by Tony Jackson
I read that Loch Etchachan, 3,000 feet up in the Cairngorms once held native wild brown trout. I also read that landowners stocked high lochs just for the sport of catching trout in the highest waters of Britain - an elitism for the select few. This set me wondering where the highest altitude water might be that actually held catchable trout.
I have passed by Loch Etchachan several times, heavily laden with rucksack and climbing gear, but as much as I gaze over its surface, I never see any sign of fish. That’s not to say they are not there, but I doubt it. There is very little vegetation around the loch and half of the year it has ice across it. If there are any fish, they’re probably small and few. It's quite a big loch and you’d spend all day casting and probably never find such fish. 
Further downhill at 2,385 feet is its neighbour the lovely Loch Avon. This water holds fish and plenty of them. I have taken trout there to one and a half pounds and once had 50 fish over three days of camping on its fine sandy beaches.
Both Etchachan and Avon are remote and relatively inaccessible. If you want to get to them you’ll have to put in plenty of effort and pass over Cairngorm itself. Then there’s the weather; I have seen snow in June and rain – well let’s say ‘Sheffield style’… though the greatest problem can be the wind.
A few miles to the north east from Loch Avon lies the great bulk of Ben Avon and its neighbour Beinn a’ Bhuird; good, high mountains who’s size cannot possibly be imagined from books and maps. You have to see them in person, on foot. Nestled in a corrie on the eastern flanks of Beinn a’ Bhuird is a little dubh (nameless) loch at 3,099 feet. Many years ago I camped at this corrie but saw no sign of trout. It is a cold and windswept place, best left to the grouse, hare and ptarmigan that live there. From a distance, however, I did spy distinct circular rings on a pool half a mile away from this corrie. I figure they were trout but never actually confirmed it. My mistake.
I decided I had to return to that pool near Beinn a’ Bhuird and make my claim for the highest trout in Scotland and even the British Isles for that matter. The last time I went I had a big heavy rucksack, boots and tent and spent two days on the journey in and out. This time I had a mountain bike.
Stopping the car at the Linn of Quoich, I took the bike off the back of the car and checked I had all the necessary gear, map, compass, food, flybox, rod and reel. I figured that my goal was six miles up country so I should be able to make it there and back to the car in daylight. Leaving the sleeping bag and pop bottle in the car I set off in glorious sunshine, making good speed along the track with rucksack and rod for 4 miles.
I‘d chosen a good day, there was blue sky and sunshine, so even if I blanked the trip was worth it. I crossed two rivers with moderate difficulty keeping my boots dry, and even saw another pair of bikes locked together in the heather – it seems others have the same idea about this first distance.
Eventually I got to the end of the track where it fords the river. I locked my bike to an obliging tree root and set off on foot following the stream uphill through the trees. After 20 minutes I approached the beginning of the exposed mountainside. From here on it was really uphill.
As usual in the hills I had my altimeter watch – to guide my ascent. I figured I needed to get to 850 metres
and then stay at that height and walk round the eastern flanks of Beinn a’ Bhuird. Well, that was plan A; it didn’t quite go that way and I quickly changed to plan B – I had to go up and down and then up again because of a lot of scree and huge flat rock slabs. Then I saw the first snow patches…
It was hard work – but once I got to the good ground – where the heather is as flat as carpet because of the wind – and it was just weathered granite gravel patches – I made good speed, following deer tracks where I could. I hiked up around a big dome of a hill and met a path on the other side. This path crossed a bealach and by now I was starving, so I sat in a rock crevice just off the path, out of the wind and ate some rolls. A hiker came by and we exchanged the usual greetings and as he stood chatting his eye wandered to my rodbag next to the rucksack. He didn’t ask – but I know he wanted to. Perhaps he didn’t say anything because he already knew I was some daft fisherman trying to catch fish in high pools where there were none.
After 10 minutes, I forced my feet further up and along the path but realised from the map and compass that this route would take me the wrong way so I left it and continued through the heather and rocks. The pungent aroma of freshly produced deer droppings drifted by, shortly before my boot slid errantly amidst the rocks. Now generally this stuff is hard and dry by the time I see it, but not so on this occasion – the deer had to be very close by, but I didn’t see them. It became very windy – in fact it was a relief to get behind big boulders now and then for a drink or a bit chocolate. Eventually I saw my destination. The little pools at the top of the Quoich Water headstreams… at OS 102 995 – to the east of the main Beinn a’ Bhuird corrie.
I made my way down the pools in anticipation of little fish, trying a small Connemara Black and a Claret Bumble. Almost instantly a ‘monster’ of 4 oz leapt out in an attempt at the Bumble. I cast again – and this time got two fish simultaneously. Done it!
Small yes - but worth the effort to get what I believe to be the highest trout in the British Isles… My watch showed 849m (2,793 feet) – but altimeters are prone to local pressure variation and the OS map shows one pool between 840 and 850m. However, there are actually 3 wee lochans joined bit by bit together – and the top one was certainly a couple of meters higher up… So I had to have a go there too… and with small fingerling success but as the OS map says between 840 & 850m for the three lochans (as one on the map) –I’ll therefore claim 849m.
Yet there was still some higher water to test. Even though last time I saw no fish move in the corrie loch, there was still a chance – so I pulled up and over the lip of rocky terrain to have a go in the loch at 942m altitude (3,099 feet). It was very hard casting here with the wind in full control of everything.
Although I didn’t get anything – or see any fish move in the big loch – there was another connected to it, still a little higher. So I stomped my way up to the snowy hollow but as expected, it didn’t yield anything either…
At 4.30pm I sheltered behind a big boulder and brought out my trusty Triangia stove and cooked some hot soup…
Isn’t it funny how an exposed location and bad weather conditions can dramatically improve the cheapest of packet soups? I sat on the rucksack and enjoyed my minestrone while the wind howled across the corrie water in front of me.
The weather seemed to worsen and I figured I was due to leave. I had what I wanted and now it was time to escape from these imposing boulders and cliffs. The place looked like a scene from Lord of the Rings, with me like a wee Hobbit huddled over a stove trying to warm some soup.
With the weather worsening by the minute I began to come back. I spotted a stream with pools on the far side of the glen further to the north east – but I wasn’t going to trudge all the way over and up to them to find out - not today anyway. I was satisfied that I’d got my trout at 849m; that would be hard enough for others to better. Time to go home.
It was a hard slog back down to the bike and my legs complained bitterly on the ride back. I reached the car by 7.20pm, sore but satisfied. With my mobile signal back again, I phoned my wife to tell my good news… she said I must be absolutely mad.
So there it is, I have caught trout on a rod and line at 849m (2,793 feet) in the UK and I invite others to better this height. If anyone does, I have a further list of four lochs to visit; but as you’ll imagine – they’re all in even more inaccessible locations which would take a huge effort to get to… So I’d prefer not to lose ‘the title’.
Tony Jackson lives in Crieff with his wife and baby daughter. His favourite fishing is in completely wild mountain lochs. He is prone to that disease of the mind that impels him to go to extraordinary lengths just to catch some wild, often small trout. This is despite his wife’s best attempts to cure him.