The companions of those times are scattered, and live
under strange stars and in converse seasons, by troutless waters. It is
no longer the height of pleasure to be half-drowned in Tweed, or lost on
the hills with no luncheon in the basket. But, except for scarcity of
fish, the scene is very little altered, and one is a boy again, in heart,
beneath the elms of Yair, or by the Gullets at Ashiesteil. However bad
the sport, it keeps you young, or makes you young again, and you need not
follow Ponce de Leon to the western wilderness, when, in any river you
knew of yore, you can find the Fountain of Youth.
LOCH AWE
THE BOATMAN'S YARNS
Good trout-fishing in Scotland, south of the Pentland Firth, is almost
impossible to procure. There are better fish, and more of them, in the
Wandle, within twenty minutes of Victoria Station, than in any equal
stretch of any Scotch river with which I am acquainted. But the pleasure
of angling, luckily, does not consist merely of the catching of fish. The
Wandle is rather too suburban for some tastes, which prefer smaller
trout, better air, and wilder scenery. To such spirits, Loch Awe may,
with certain distinct cautions, be recommended. There is more chance for
anglers, now, in Scotch lochs than in most Scotch rivers. The lochs
cannot so easily be netted, lined, polluted, and otherwise made empty and
ugly, like the Border streams.
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