Am Bratach No. 200
June 2008
editor@bratach.co.uk

Backcoaster’s diary

FISHING NEWS
It seems that conservation plans reported in these columns a month ago, plans designed to save the River Naver from anglers, are not going according to plan. Visiting anglers, who enjoyed a spot of free fishing on the tidal water, are said to be staying away, abandoning the river altogether rather than stump up for a permit, to the detriment of the local holiday trade. On the other hand, local fishermen, not in the angling club, have taken a different tack, drawing on a deep, nonconformist bent — they are carrying on fishing as before, while refusing to collect the free permits that allow them to fish unimpeded. Angry words may even have been exchanged between themselves and angling club members who bravely parade the river bank, challenging the unlicensed.

But the honorary baillies would, perhaps, be wise to consider the history of illegal fishing on the river.

A gentleman of undimmed memory and a certain admiration for one-for-the-pot poachers recalls how an over-enthusiastic water baillie once went so far as to carry a gun on his watch. This didn’t go down well with the local gentry. The gun was snatched out of his hands by the said gentry and the baillie thrown unceremoniously into the middle of a pool. “The gun remains in Bettyhill to this day,” commented our informant, proudly.

ON A LIGHTER NOTE
A more successful and wiser baillie, a native of another airt, was noted for his common sense and discretion. Leading the chase down the bank of the river after the alarm was raised, he spotted the rear end of a female poacher sticking out from underneath a bush. “Keep your big backside in,” he commanded in Gaelic, as he kicked the protruding object in the passing.

A “notorious” double act — neighbouring crofters who, more or less, thought the river belonged to them, were strolling towards one of the river’s better known pools in broad daylight on a fine summer evening when they spied through the trees three or four anglers fishing on “their” pool. Knowing fine they had been sent there by the hostess of a nearby boarding house with fishing rights similar to their own, they quickly hid their net and began talking in loudish voices.

M’lads and lassies heard the voices, quickly hid their rods in the long grass, and assumed an air of innocence.

“Have you seen any suspicious characters around here,” enquired the poachers. “We’re the river watchers.”

“No, none at all,” replied the anglers in unison, before scuttling off in the direction of the boarding house.

The poachers, satisfied with their interjection, sought out their net from its hiding place and enjoyed a fine spell of uninterrupted fishing.

ON A MORE SERIOUS NOTE
While poachers of salmon are the scourge of the landowning and water baillie classes, the latter should, in fact, be grateful for their existence, for without the poachers, they wouldn’t have a job. This fact of life is not generally appreciated by the baillies in the early hours of the morning when they have been run a merry dance through bogs, rocks and trees, with nothing to show for their toil.

Please send us your poaching stories. Your name, if supplied, will not be divulged without permission.