TALES FROM THE RIVERBANK
the fishing is slow the ghillie’s repertoire of fishy anecdotes and tall tales can be a godsend to keep the rods distracted! I’ve certainly spent some wonderful days out
Ask the experts
Hiring a ghillie won’t guarantee you a good day’s fishing, but you’re sure to enjoy the banter
WORDS JON GIBB
Scots Gaelic spelling). For others though, the idea of some local man hanging on your shoulder murmuring nuggets of river-craft wisdom would be enough to wreck any day out on the river. Nevertheless there are certainly some fine
F
characters to be met on the riverbanks of Scot- land and I’ve been lucky enough over the years to have amused more than a few of them with my clumsy casting and crude fly selection. Long before the Victorians brought the
concept of sport fishing to Scotland, itiner- ant Highland chieftains would employ boys known as a ‘wet-foot gilles’ to carry them over burns and rivers, and it is thought that this is the origin of the term we use today to describe the men (or even a few of the fairer sex in recent years) who guide us on Scotland’s rivers. Over the years the role and standing of the
ghillie has changed dramatically. Traditionally the ghillie (or ‘man-servant’ as the Gaelic word translates) was in attendance to do little more than carry the sandwiches and cart the fish home at the end of the day. These days though ghillies are more likely to be lifelong friends of the ‘rods’ that they look after, as well as invalu- able sources of local knowledge to the nuances and moods of their beats. Some now even hold official qualifications, with specific river guide courses available in recent years at rural colleges in Thurso and Dumfries. Technical skills aside though, many anglers
undoubtedly see the banter with their favour- ite ghillie as one of the highlights of the week’s fishing. Trust me, as a fishery manager when
or many salmon anglers a day’s fishing is not complete without the attendance of a fishing ghillie (or ‘gillie’ if you prefer the
‘Ghillies are invaluable sources of knowledge to the nuances and moods of their beats’
with some of the very best ‘old school’ ghillies – real highland gentlemen like Johnny Hardy on the Helmsdale or Eddie McCarthy on the Thurso. But I have also been fortunate enough to fish with a few of the younger breed of contem- porary-style ghillies who bring a more relaxed approach to the riverbank without losing any of the traditions of their ancient trade – guys like Mark Melville at Delfur on the Spey (who heads up a team of superb young river guides who await their guests immaculately presented in estate tweeds every morning) or the Spey- casting supremo Scott Mackenzie, who guided for many years on the River Ness before setting up his own highly successful tackle company. And yet, like many, I have also had some
pretty dreadful ghillie experiences. Such as the time six of us flogged a famous fly-only beat on the Tay without so much as a touch (although admittedly the surly and hung-over ghillie had told us in the morning that we were wasting our time and might as well go home). When we returned home, having been turfed off the water at 5pm, we discovered that the Fishtay website recorded nine salmon for the day – our day – on that beat. Seemingly the ghillies went out with their worming rods in the evening and cleaned up, a common practice I am told on the stretch of water in question. But the tricky job of the river ghillie should
never be underestimated. One of my favourite stories about typical ghillie life highlights this and concerns the aforementioned Eddie McCa- rthy who has looked after the Thurso River in Caithness for over 30 years. One day a doctor turned up on the Thurso
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with his wife and he immediately elected to go off by himself and fish one of the best pools on the beat. Meanwhile Eddie was instructed to look after his wife on a lesser pool. So he duti- fully went off to teach her how to fish. Within minutes she was into a very big fish. After an hour and a quarter she was still playing it so she pleaded with Eddie to take the rod. But he politely declined as it is considered bad luck to play someone else’s fish. The woman was furious and told him: ‘Either take the rod or I’ll throw the bloody thing in the river’. Eventually, and much against his better judgement, Eddie capitulated and took the rod from her. But just as the husband approached on the far bank suddenly both fly and fish parted company with a sickening snap. About 20 years later that same doctor came back to fish the Thurso and asked in the bar: ‘Does that little bastard who lost my wife’s big salmon still work here?’
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