The Backbone of Scottish Salmon Fishing

The gillie is the backbone of Scottish salmon fishing. Men who invariably spend their whole life fishing a single stream. Men whose knowledge of their river is second to none. For visiting anglers, the gillie is the key to salmon fishing success and the vast majority of Scottish gillies work hard to ensure that their guests have the best possible chance of sport.

Nevertheless, gillies are often undervalued and in some cases even insulted by rods who employ them. Aggressiveness seems to be in the nature of some of the salmon fishers who now venture north of Mr Hadrian's Wall in search of sport; over-dressed, over-loud and over here; intolerant and rarely prepared to take advice proffered; dismissive of the gillie’s experience, until something goes wrong.

Like not catching fish. Then it is the fault of the gillie. He has put the angler in the wrong place at the wrong time, recommended the wrong pattern of fly, the wrong type of line. Failure to catch fish has nothing whatsoever to do with the guest’s general lack of angling ability, it is entirely the fault of his gillie: ‘Damn man had me fishing with a floating line. Didn’t touch a fish. Didn’t even see a fish.”

I remember, less than happily, being in the Lochmaddy Hotel in North Uist one evening and listening to a group of visitors complaining about the local gillie. Apparently, he had been less than accommodating with information when they tackled him about fishing locations at the bar prior to dinner. "Typical!" complained one, "That's the sort of man who gives fishing a bad name."

I went over and spoke to them. "Do you mind me asking what you do for a living?" I said. "I'm in investment, in the City" he replied. "And you?" I said to his companion. "I'm a lawyer, why?"  "Would either of you give advice and information to total strangers, completely free of charge?" I inquired. "Of course not!" they laughed. "Well, in future, think about that the next time you expect a free ride from a gillie. He is as much deserving of a fee for his knowledge as you are."

Nothing is more certain in angling than the uncertainty of salmon fishing, particularly given the sad state of Scotland’s salmon stocks; fewer fish than before, ever increasing numbers of anglers trying to catch them. Which makes it all the more important to listen to the advice of your gillie. More than anyone, he is most able to direct your effort to best effect. Ignore his advice and you might as well stay at home.

 I remember one Tweed gillie telling me of a typical incident: “The river was high, but we had four salmon. At the end of the day, he turned to me, in a conspiratorial sort of way, and said: ‘You see that yellow tree on the far bank? Well, Wallace, the next time the river is in this condition, take your guest there. That’s where the fish lie.' I had been seeing the tree for damn near 30 years, but I just smiled and thanked him for his advice."

The finest anglers I know are gillies; not only because of their superb fishing technique or knowledge of their river, but also because of their love of and commit­ment to the environment and the flora and fauna it supports. Show me a gillie and I will show you a conservationist.

Willie Matheson is one such man, the fourth generation of Matheson's to have worked on the River Beauly in Inverness-shire. I met Willie a few years back and, after half an hour, asked him if he would fish down the pool while I watched. His casting technique was a miracle of perfection, controlled, seemingly effortless, a work of art. Worth every inch of the 100-mile journey I had made to the river, just to witness it.

The late Gordon Dagger, erstwhile Fishery Manager on the little River Forss in Caithness, was another. Gordon could place a fly, millimetre-perfect, yard by yard down Falls Pool, by every stone, under every over­hanging branch, faultlessly. Johnny Hardy, on the Helmsdale in Sutherland, is a superb angler and wonderful fishing companion. Johnny Hardy can make fishing in the midst of a nail-biting March snow-storm as pleasurable and exciting as fishing on the mildest May day.

Colin Leslie, on the River Tay at Cargill, combined an amazing casting ability with an encyclopaedic mind of tales of ones that got away and a few that didn’t. Endless stories about those who try to catch them, including an account of the tip he received from the financier, J D Rockefeller 10/6d (.52p); and the day General Francis De Guingand, Montgomery’s Chief of Staff in North Africa during World War Two, took a severe ducking in the river just up from the Cargill fishing hut.

My favourite story, however, is about the tip that never was. A London angler was fishing in the Highlands many years ago, and, at the end of the week, told his gillie he was not going to give him a tip. Instead, the guest said: “Give me whatever savings you can afford and I will invest them for you, along with a similar amount of my own. Each year, when I come fishing, we will do the same."

The financier made a great friend and fishing companion. From time to time, the gillie would visit London to “inspect” his investment. He was always greeted with the greatest possible courtesy and hurried to the chairman’s office. After 30 years, the gillie retired with a more than substantial investment fund, financially secure and easily able to afford to build himself a new house by the river. Our gillies are our finest angling asset and deserve our fullest respect.

Bruce Sandison is a writer and journalist and author of nine books, including the definite anglers' guide, 'The Rivers and Lochs of Scotland' which is being revised and updated prior to republishing.

He contributed to 'Trout & Salmon' for 25 years and was angling correspondent for 'The Scotsman' for 20 years. Sandison writes for the magazine 'Fly Fishing and Fly Tying' and provides a weekly angling column in the 'Aberdeen Press & Journal'.

His work, on angling, Scottish history and environmental subjects, has appeared in most UK national papers, including 'The Sunday Times', 'The Telegraph', 'The Daily Mail', 'The Herald', 'Private Eye', 'The Field' and in a number of USA publications.

Sandison has worked extensively on BBC Radio. His series 'Tales of the Loch' ran for 5 years on Radio Scotland and was also broadcast on BBC Radio 4 and on BBC World Service. His series, 'The Sporting Gentleman's Gentleman' and his programme 'The River of a Thousand Tears', about Strathnaver, established his reputation as a broadcaster.

Sandison has had extensive coverage on television. He wrote and presented two series for the BBC TV Landward programme and has given a number of interviews over the years on factory-forestry, peat extraction, wild fish conservation and fish farming.

Sandison is founding chairman of 'The Salmon Farm Protest Group', an organisation that campaigns for the removal of fish farms from Scottish coastal and freshwater lochs where disease and pollution from these farms is driving wild salmonid populations to extinction.

Bruce  won 'Feature Writer of the Year' in the Highlands and Islands Press Awards in 2000 and in 2002, and was highly commended in 2005. Bruce lives near Tongue in Sutherland with his wife Ann.