The attached amazing old photo was recently sent to me by Euan McGrandle who came across it by accident while looking for something else. It shows himself and his late father, James Mcgrandle, who fished Lomond through the 1930s to his sudden death around 1985. He fished latterly from Balmaha using his own 12ft Moorhen fibreglass boat, a boat many others then fishing thought more than a little on the small side for some of Lomond’s wilder weather. From memory it was a shade of light yellow externally and kinda’ mahogany colour inside. But it was sometimes hard to see the inside colour clearly because of the scattered array of silver scales left by the countless fish that lay within.

James was one of the famous McGrandle family of  4 brothers who all were notable Lomond fishers at the time I arrived as a novice in 1981. The “family boat” was a 16ft clinker built beauty by Kiers Boatyard at Balloch, which they named Kia-Ora, and it served all its life on Lomond until it went recently, having been retired, to be completely rebuilt as part of the apprenticeship boat builder scheme. All the McGrandles were approachable and keen to impart whatever knowledge they had about fishing on Lomond. They would readily show off their perfected techniques, frequently present their preferred tackle and flies as presents to the less fortunate, and generally did whatever they could to ensnare the unwary novice into the spell of Lomond and the history and heritage of the whole undertaking.

He was one of the first real Lomond hard cases (or so I thought) that I plucked up the courage to approach in my novice years. I saw his wee moorhen tucked into the lee of the Cemetery Bay on the Claddich shore one cold and wild spring day, and the sight of the fire already burning was irresistible (It was long before lighting a shoreside fire was a hanging offense).  I pulled in beside his boat and was welcomed by a mug of steaming tea as soon as ashore. From my reticent overture came an outpouring of sheer unbridled enthusiasm, from what was already a man past retiral age but who spoke and acted like one thirty years younger. Fire weren’t fires, they were “bawroasters”, salmon weren’t salmon they were “fush”, and numerous other local bastardisations only a Lomond fisher would recognise. In what I intended to be a short stopover for a heat and a pee, we ended up lying on the sandy shore for above two hours while he filled my head with all manner of stories of his and his brother’s countless triumphs. We eventually left together for Balmaha, after following his advice that the weather was making effective trolling impossible and we’d be better and safer back home and trying another day. 

Ever after, he never failed in a cheery greeting or wave if afloat and introduced me afterwards to all his brothers, many of the established locals, and, just as necessary, told me the ones to avoid. You never knew which McGrandles were going to turn up. They many times went out three together in the Kia ora, sometimes with their young family in tow learning the lore of Lomond and serving their time. They all knew their stuff, and all were mad keen and top-notch fish catchers every season. They all could troll and fly fish with the best, and had the opportunity of a Lomond system at the peak of its productivity where runs of salmon, and particularly sea trout, were the stuff of legend.

The photo shows just what could be done in a short Lomond day when you knew what you were doing and made the best of your chances. Euan is a couple of years younger than me and started his solo Lomond career roughly at the same time, although he had the advantage of twenty years of apprenticeship under the McGrandle family tutilage. Around this time we were both getting ourselves kitted out in the boat and gear stakes and he was getting a mirror image of Kia-Ora built by Angus McFadyen at Milton of Buchanan boatyard. We passed each other frequently in these early days but seldom were in company mostly because I was too focused on spending every minute afloat rather than wasting time blethering or in extended drum-ups (lunch breaks) ashore. We both had our successes and were seperately building our own reputations, but with a keen eye to the others successes. 

At this time, the 1980s, it’s impossible now to describe to those used to todays all but fishless situation, the sheer number of salmon and sea trout Lomond could produce. Days of multiple salmon into the teens and twenties of pounds were commonplace then to those with the skill, dedication, knowledge and opportunity. The real top performers were well known, and some were really exceptional fishers. A read through the printed reports for these years, which were produced monthly  in Trout and Salmon magazine, will fill you with wonder and disbelief. In these days I awaited the T&S monthly issue with bated breath to see what had been getting caught, and I religiously cut out the Lomond&Leven report and filed it away for future reference. I still have them all, some forty-five years later, as a historic reference to what Lomond was capable of in these years. 

And I also still have the old Lomond scrap book detailing catches from the 1930s till the late 19660s. So noone can question the facts and pretend it’s only wishful thinking and thib po ngs then weren’t really any better.

Some of the best anglers of these years almost lived on the loch during peak run times and they “murdered it” week in, week out. Fish arrived in small numbers in March, the first of the true early spring run, rising every week in numbers until by end of May the peak spring run arrived and the real big boys showed up. The summer salmon of June and early July were more numerous but usually slightly smaller, and the grilse runs through July and August were frightening. I’ve a series of reports from different sources from the mid-eighties which note, night after night, running shoals of grilse and sea trout “a quarter of a mile long” pushing into the loch on the nose of the high tide. Such was their attraction to the poaching element that these shoals were being “walked up” the tidal River Leven from Dumbarton to the “barrage gates” by the bailiffs (at that time an eight-man team) using torches to deter any attempts by the well-known teams of netters, jiggers, foul hookers, or other opportunists, etc. who congregated anywhere they thought they might “nip” a few fish before making a run for it. Many members complained about this torch lit walking up of shoals as it spoiled their own legitimate attempts at night time fly fishing and it was soul destroying for night time river fishers watching thousands of fish cruising past unmolested and into the relative safety of the loch above.

So, with this as a background, the catch shown in the photograph becomes less of a novelty, at least in those days. But it still serves to illustrate the momentous loss Lomond is to the angling community, locally and further afield. The fish shown are all in prime condition, fresh in and near or over double figures in weight. The sea trout in particular are typical of the fish regularly caught in the 1980s. Run-of- the-mill sea trout were the three to five pounders and anything smaller was classed as a “neb” and not really counted. They were different days then. Reputations rested on fish caught AND clearly displayed as proof. They were regarded as a food source and proudly distributed to family and friends, or local hospitals. They were almost never returned unless gravid and near to spawning. It was a badge of honour to be able to hold up a Lomond salmon, a clear demonstration of skill and perseverance and local knowhow. And for decades before and after the two great wars the number of fish taken by anglers, however prodigious, never made one bit of difference to the following years numbers. The serious industrial pollution in the River Leven killed many more fish every year than fair angling ever did and still they poured in all through the season. And not only on Lomond, but on Tay, Spey, Tweed, Earn, Teith, etc., the runs were stupendous, biblical, never ending. No matter the catches or the number of fish killed and counted in the beat catch returns, there were always more the following year, and the year after that.  Until gradually, sometimes after the UDN outbreak, there weren’t!!

So, although I’m sure there are those shaking their heads and decrying the fact that there’s dead fish being shown here in a photograph, I for one couldn’t give a toss what others think. Salmon anglers are not the cause of the salmon decline we see today. And it therefore stands to reason that they are never going to be the species saviours by returning all their fish as the sole means of recovery. This Compulsory Catch and Release (CCR) nonsense, cos’ that’s what it is, started to rear it’s head in the early 2000s, and has quickly increased its grip every year since, to absolutely no avail. Now, every salmon is returned by law, and what difference has it made, anywhere. Not a bit is the answer, and I challenge any angler, scientist, politician or other naysayer to provide evidence of anywhere CCR has worked, even minimally. So not only have anglers lost their rights to fish for salmon properly, and by that, I mean to catch, kill and eat, they have now lost the Atlantic salmon as a species as it’s rapidly becoming almost extinct in every river I know.

The individuals personal view of the contents of the old photograph will no doubt vary depending on the age, experience and outlook of the viewer. Those of the old school, of the age of plenty and seemingly perpetual runs, of the ability to fish unhindered by any  imposed restrictions on method, number of fish taken or of embarrassment caused by being an angler of reputation and ability will see only a great day enjoyed by exceptional anglers. Anyone who has only known the lean years of CCR and the compulsory prohibition on any kind of hatchery based enhancement may indeed conform to the view that the killing of any game fish is tantamount to self-harm and should be forcefully and resoundingly condemned. 

If by chance or selection you’re one of the latter school then in my opinion you are more of the problem than the cure. At what point do you, or any other adherent of any cause wake up and realise that if something’s been religiously undertaken for twenty years with no, absolutely no, benefit, it’s never going to work. Castigating those who had the ability, skill, luck and opportunity to record catches like the one shown doesn’t change anything. Adopting a superior attitude about C&R as if it was actually working is a common and ever more sanctimonious attitude. The LLAIA Committee suffer from this common affliction that basically lets them pretend their hands are tied preventing any other policy. That’s not the case, however, and it’s more a question of a refusal to admit they’ve wasted two decades backing the wrong horse, while I’ve spent two decades forcefully and regularly reminding them of exactly that.

It’s too late now for the Lomond system. It’s membership squandered the only chance they had by allowing a succession of complete idiots into a position of decision making they were obviously unsuited for. The disaster that’s unfolded was principally caused by Malcolm McCormick, Eddie Edmonston, Jim Raeburn, and Gareth Bourhill, all of  whom were in the position to have made a difference had they listened to seasoned advice and not to the crazy ideas that lived in their own heads, and also by every one of those who served on their respective committees and who allowed themselves to be intimidated into acquiescence and did nothing to stop their incompetence and inaction.

After I’d drafted the above I’d asked Euan to pass his eye over it and to check dates, etc. He kindly provided the paragraphs below, which he agreed I could reproduce here, which adds to the event and the historic accuracy.

**********

Had a couple of bits of information for the article which I added, but since you were interested in the photo I looked back my records and got the following.

The catch was made on Tuesday 16th August 1983. Wind from South West and day overcast but dry.

2 salmon were taken on tobies, one at Black Rocks and the second at the farm house on the ‘Fad.

I played both fish on the troll. But the rest were taken on the fly, mostly round Darroch and the top of the ‘Fad, one off Ireland and one off the Geggles. My contribution to the bag was hee haw. My dad was on fire that day but at least I got to practice using the landing net.

The bag was 5 salmon and 4 sea trout. The sea trout were 5, 8, 8 and 11lbs. The large sea trout is being held by my dad. The salmon weighed 9, 10, 11, 14 and 15lbs. The 2 larger salmon are held by me. The biggest one was on the troll, but can’t remember which of the other salmon was on the troll. I’ve no record of the flies we caught the fish on, but my dad loved Mallard and Yellow so suspect that would have been on the cast, Turkey and Silver probably on the tail and one of many possibilities on the middle. My dad had previously been out on the Monday,  landed a salmon and rose several others, so he knew there was a good head of fish in the area which is no doubt why he wanted to fly fish rather than troll. 

Very few people in Balmaha knew about the catch as my dad didn’t want to advertise the numbers of salmon round the islands but if someone had asked, he would have told them. 

E

Well, thank our Christmas stars that the LLAIA Bully Boy Anti-Poaching Vigilantes are still alive and throwing their weight around providing all that first line fishery protection we need to prevent those hardened incorrigible poachers from accidentally catching on Loch Long (and returning unharmed) one piddling sea trout. A right good job they are doing too, and I’m certain it puts the fear of dying from laughter into any real poacher who right now will be safely up the Endrick or Fruin looking for ripe hens to make “putty”. As I’ve said many times previously there’s a massive difference between the persons the present LLAIA Committee target as poachers, and the real poachers that the LLAIA Committee would pee their incontinence pads for if they actually ever confronted them by accident.

Their latest easy target, Nicolas Valentin, is so obviously not a poacher that it’s not surprising that the big butch LLAIA Secretary has decided to make an example of him. Bullying of the easy target using the full legal and financial resources of the LLAIA as his own has become the standard playbook tactic of Gareth Bourhill, LLAIA Secretary for Life and the LLAIAs very own Hulk Hogan. Mr Valentin has countless YouTube videos that make clear his credentials as an out-and-out kayak fishing enthusiast, an honest angler who clearly is animated by the need to share his clear passion with others. So much unlike Mr Bourhills own introverted, suspicious and jealous character that its like a red rag to a bull. Bourhills pretends it’s the committee who decide these things but really it’s not. It’s him and Raeburn exclusively who run the show and the rest of the committee are as much victims as anyone of the bullying culture the LLAIAs been under since Mike Brady was removed. 

But Nicolas unwisely came to the LLAIA Secretarys attention by publicising a real poachers net he’d found in the Luss water mouth, and by openly calling into question the anti-poaching activities personally administered by guess who. Big black mark. Blotted copybook big time and name down in the Bourhill shit list to be dealt with severely at the first opportunity. And that’s the real reason Nicolas won’t be allowed to escape without the severest sanction and probably a lifetime ban to rival mine.

I mistakenly thought the committee might have learned their lesson after the reputational damage they suffered when they tried the same shit with me a few years ago. It’s been all quiet on the committee persecution front since then, while they licked their wounds and hoped everyone would forget. What seemed like a slam dunk with me representing myself at Stirling Court, the LLAIA represented by the then Procurator Fiscal eventually turned out to be their own worst nightmare. Not expecting me to actually turn up, and if I did expecting me to plead guilty to avoid a courtroom embarrassment resulted in the committee witnesses for the prosecution being woefully unprepared. One of their star prosecution witnesses turned queen’s evidence actually on the stand and became a witness for the defense. The rest of them stammered, shuffled and lied their way through a full day of their rehearsed parts and only succeeded in embarrassing the PF who quickly realised she’d only been briefed with the bits of the story that suited Bourhills dummies. 

I’d be surprised if the very nice lady PF has anything to do with any more of Bourhill and Raeburns private persecution schemes under the guise of LLAIA fishery protection. I’d expect she’ll be much more wary and unlikely to be ensnared into any future personal Raeburn/Bourhills personal vendettas. 

Nicolas Valentin isn’t the kind of easy target the LLAIA is going to gain much by pursuing. Inveterate poacher he is not. But he has been influential in advertising both the loch and the sea lochs as areas worth fishing, and by doing so has been instrumental in selling many LLAIA permits. He works at the Glasgow Angling Centre, and I’m told that as an expression of solidarity and as a punishment that GAC now will no longer act as permit agents for the LLAIA. Talk about shooting yourself in the LLAIA foot!! This prime pair of LLAIA thugs made a career out of doubtful and dubious decisions always prosecuted to the limit of credulity. They think of the LLAIA is their personal fiefdom, a plaything to be used as they decide, and surround themselves with plasticine nobodies who they terrorise and overbear until the idea of communal responsibility is a sick joke.

But now that the first legal steps are in the public domain and have caused so much anti-committee feeling the last thing that Bourhill and Raeburn will ever contemplate is to admit they’ve made a “James Hunt” of things. They won’t now countenance any backing down. No sensible retreat in the face of overwhelming opinion will ever be allowed to enter their minds. Sadly for Nicolas this will now go the full road, regardless of evidence, or right, or logic. Bourhill Modus Operandi is to threaten you with financial ruin if you try to contest in court. He’ll threaten to use the LLAIA funds to full capacity to underwrite any prosecution and look to recover all costs if they win. The risk of loosing will ruin any normal punter while he just sits and laughs and tells you to take your best shot. Real nasty piece of work, unmoved by any consideration of fairness or honesty. Devoid of any normal feeling of compassion.

Any thoughts that Bourhill could ever accept he’d been wrong can be dispelled right now. Have a look at what occurred in a similar situation at my court case three years ago. Bourhill and Raeburn would trash the LLAIA and scorch the earth behind them rather than admit they ever got anything wrong. They’ve gone for years like this and improved nothing and meanwhile they’ve banned anyone who expresses any opinions against them. They will threaten, bully, intimidate, bribe and otherwise destroy anyone who catches their eye as being in any way calling into question their own positions. So, I wish Nicolas the best of luck, but if there has already been an admission of blame from him and the PF is involved, Bourhill’s Bullies will take this to the end regardless of public opinion, fairness or any other humane consideration. 

Bourhill is beyond compassion, beyond admission of failure and beyond any consideration of fallibility. He’ll pursue this to the end just to say he was right and damn the consequences, political. financial or reputational. The only way to stop him is to get rid of him. But the AGM is in Pokrovsk in the Ukraine next March I hear, all members welcome, so why not go and meet the committee and try to use the Constitution to vote them out again. Best of luck with that remedy.!!

Sent from Outlook for Android

Every single MSP pretending to be there in the spirit of public service  and proud to be representing their electors, the so called “Scottish people”, need to be sat down, chained to the seat, and have this short film played to them on a loop until they know it backwards. Then they should be taken out the back and birched until they “greet” for letting this scandal get so far down the line without doing something about it themselves. There will be no shortage of volunteers to be doing the birching I’d reckon. Oversubscribed by a factor of about a thousand probably, but I’ll happily take my shot in the long line of punisher hopefuls.

Probably start with the grand high priestess, the most recently departed ex-first minister under who’s direction the worst salmon farming excesses have been perpetrated, Mizz Sturgeon himself/herself. But then authority passed seemlessly on to Honest John, the Swind-ler, her understudy and now heir, who’s been there beside her, man and boy. Then swiftly onto the last dozen or so “Ministers in Charge” who have allowed the MOWIs of this world to trash, unopposed,  Scotland’s West Coast and enclosed sea lochs for the last 50 years. A week or more of solid birching there already, full 7 hr days, and we haven’t even started to touch the myriad underlings, the pliable sops who do the ministers bidding, unquestioned, unthinking and uncaring as long as they get to keep the party whip and be in line for any future promotions or honours going.

The results of continuing farm salmon escapes from supposedly secure and well maintained open cage systems again is again brought to everyone’s attention. Even though it’s a pointless exercise because noone ever listens, or does anything about it. Least of all those who are causing it, or at the very least turning a blind eye.

Don’t worry say the politicians, the farmed salmon owners will do everything they can to recapture every last one of their “great escape” and return them to captivity, or maybe let anglers, who can’t now expect to catch actual wild salmon the chance to catch a few mutant abominations just to feel again what a fish on the end really feels like.

Deaf ears will be turned again, no action will be taken by the regulatory bodies and in a week no-one will remember as it’ll have been overtaken by the next escape. And it’s not even really winter yet, with the real expectations of multiple future bed weather stories, the effects of which no salmon cage is truly built to resist. Why would they bother to spend money on security and maintenance when every failure is treated as an unfortunate event for which no-one is to blame and which requires no punishment. Rinse and repeat ad infinitum and the regulator meekly stands aside when instructed by government, otherwise they’ll not be the well paid regulator for much longer.

Events like these are why wild salmon are already finished as a species. When our own SNP government, supposedly nationalist and pro Scotland, can’t be bothered to act when environmental disasters like this occur, and worse are complicit in handing regulation of the industry over to toothless wonders incapable of, and unwilling to, take any action.

Anyway, loch Linnhe is the place for a salmon this week. Fill yer boots and watch out for your mercury levels if you decide to smoke one for Christmas. But please don’t feed any to your poor innocent dog as a Christmas treat!!!

It’s been a while since I posted anything new on Bitter&Twisted. There are a few reasons for this, all of which are now either sorted, alleviated or have been negated by the passage of time. But, rest assured B&T still has plenty to say.

Euan McGrandles article outlining what is wrong with C&R as the sole recovery strategy of most salmon fishing systems was so aligned with my own thoughts already expressed in a previous article that I deemed it necessary that it was read by the largest audience possible. That wouldn’t have happened it had been buried a week later by another post, however important or humourous. So #740 – The Guest Ticket, has been up for 3 months or so and has attracted now thousands of views. So, it’s time to post something new.

The posting of #740 coincided also with the necessity of dealing as executor with the estate of my father who died on 18 February 25 at the age of 89 and three quarters. Because he lived in Aviemore, a good 4hr car journey away from me, and had a large house full of the lifetime collections of a golfer, salmon fisher, sailer, curler, and motor bike enthusiast,  the house clearance itself was a marathon involving a series of daily time travels through his life, expressed in the individual articles uncovered and the memories they brought back.

Shortly before he died he sold seven of his eight vintage motor bike collection, including a BMW tourer with a 1000cc engine, for which I was extremely grateful, as I knew nothing about their worth or of their provenance. It still, however, left us with countless piles of biker magazines, bike workshop manuals and indiscriminate spare parts none of which was easily researched. And his last bike, a brand new Royal Enfield with 153 miles on the clock, bought when he was 86 was still there, as was his car, four pedal bikes of varying types and a collection of crash helmets, safety helmets, leathers, biker boots and bike stands.

There were three ride-on lawn mowers, two hand push mowers and one motorised hand mower, strimmers, scarrifier, and multiple hand garden tools. This collection was dwarfed by his electric tools. Countless cordless and corded drills, routers, saws, planers, sanders, saws, polishers, screwdrivers, chargers and power leads were scattered everywhere. And thousands of assorted spanners, sockets, hammers, trowels, levels, tyre levers, wrecking bars, wheel ramps, tool boxes, tins and plastic tubs filled with nuts, bolts, screws, nails, hinges, etc.

Tins of paint by the hundred, (he was originally a painter and sign writer to trade), multiple brushes, paperhangers’ scissors, white painters overalls and pasting tables. There were eight individual unopened 2 gallon tubs of fence stain in various shades of brown (all the fences around his property were green). (He was colour blind) Ladders and steps from 6 feet to three section full roof ladders you could reach three stories with.

Golf clubs by the dozen, possibly hundreds, hickory to carbon shafted, bags, trollies, motorised trolly batteries, golf balls in thousands in poly bags and plastic tubs. 

His fishing gear would have filled a room, had it been all collected together and not scattered in various cupboards, boxes, tins and on rafters. He was selective about his gear and much of it was of the best quality, Hardy was much in evidence. as was Abu and old Milbro gear, probably only recognised by Scottish anglers, as they went out of business forty years ago. I’ve had to be ruthless in what I’ve kept, and generous in what has gone to his friends and other family. But it’s still left me with the problem of storing more equipment than I’ll ever be able to use in the time left to me. 

But it’s done now, and the house, the second one he largely built himself, is now sold. This ends a sixty year family association with Aviemore, Speyside and the River Spey. We fished the Spey in the 70s and 80s when it was magical. Stuffed with salmon sand sea trout and a paradise for two anglers used to the hard fished River Clyde where we’d cut our novice night fishing teeth.

But the Spey has collapsed like all the other once “blue riband” Scottish salmon rivers, and in a nostalgic hour spent walking the banks of once favourite pools I saw not one fish move. In the 80s there would have been constant fish jumping and crashing about. 

So, the parting wasn’t as painful as it would have been had I been leaving a thriving river. It’s finished really, a shadow of its former productivity, gone in half a generation. And soon, even to the locals, the former fishing will be a distant memory, lost while they watched, disbelieving of the extent of the calamity.

I won’t be back. I’ll never fish the Spey again. Not unless there’s a population explosion miracle which defies logic and all expectations. I’ll leave the Spey to the fishery scientists to experiment on, the birdwatchers and their mergansers, the beaver introducers and their crackpot schemes to rewater and rewild, the government ministers and their deliberate policy of support for salmon farming at the expense of wild fish despite the damage to environment and salmon genetics.

My last act was to fix a commemorative plate to a picnic bench on the bank of my father’s favourite pool. It was one hundred yards from the front door of the first house he built there in the 80s. Any anglers relaxing and having a quick bite there in future years can contemplate the mess mankind has made of nature despite all warnings, despite clear indications of collapse and despite alternative proposals being available.

Bitter&Twisted will now resume normal service.

Sent from Outlook for Android