1. |
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Our story begins, one hour before sunrise, on the banks of the River at a point midway between Deucharty Hill and the Hermitage.
It had rained heavily for 3 days and the full moon had been shrouded by the thick clouds that filled the glen from Birnam to Pitlochry.
From the hills, the perpetual rumbling of heavy lorries on the A9 hung in the air, long after they had passed.
It was dark, wet, cold and plain miserable, and as far as most of us are concerned, a poor herald for the weather prospects in June.
Miserable, that is if you're sane.
Perfect if you are a fisherman!!
The rain had filled the river with water and oxygen.
Replenished its occupants with a fierce appetite and an abundance of food.
The inhabitants of the river were therefore active, full of life and that is always good for those who hunt its teeming waters.
The first of our fishers was stirred from its tree-top nest by the distant groaning of an Articulated lorry travelling South on the road.
The Heron turned its head North towards the drone of the diesel engine, listened to its approach and searched for the glow of its lights through the cloudy night.
Then it looked East, searching for the first hint of sunrise.
The rain had stopped and as the cloud was beginning to lift, the outlines of the surrounding hills were now visible.
The lorry changed gear as it cleared the hill and bend at Dowally and began its smooth descent towards Dunkeld.
The Heron looked back towards the approaching sound.
Still no sign of its light, the Bird turned again to the East.
A faint, but warm red glow was now visible in the sky and the Bird stretched its great wings in preparation for flight, then stood for a moment and looked down river toward its breakfast perch.
Shafts of light shot through the mist, as the lorry crossed the bridge over the river at Balnaguard.
The Heron leapt into the darkness and flew downriver
It landed, just as the lorry passed and its drone changed pitch.
The light was changing every second now and the surface of the water shimmered, as the rising sun announced its arrival.
Great shafts of red light were arcing up from behind the hills and into the sky and an eerie mist clung to the surface of the water.
The sound of the fading lorry changed pitch again, as another vehicle added its own sound to the awakening Glen.
The Heron now focussed its attention on the water at its feet and waited patiently for it to disclose its secret world.
As the merest hint of blue crept into the fleeing night sky and the rumble of the Inverness train joined the chorus of travelling lorries on the road, the Heron froze.
The mirrored surface of the water began to dissolve and hundreds of tiny shadows darted at the bird's feet.
Then, in one swift and sudden movement the Heron's beak pierced the water and a second later it withdrew its head, its mouth full of tiny trout.
The bird shook the water from its head and swallowed its first food of the day.
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2. |
Stanley the Ghillie
02:09
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Another fisher watched the bird from a spot, a hundred yards upstream, at the foot of a giant oak tree.
He smiled at the scene before him.
The Heron was lit up by the advancing light, its silhouette magnified by the sparkling water.
The sun had arrived and Stanley the Ghillie dusted himself down, stood up and silently moved to his boat. He was the grand old man of the beat. He
This last twenty years, he had come back to this particular beat, purely because of its beauty. Without doubt it was one of the bonniest of all beats on the River Tay.
Rich Anglers travelled from all over the world and paid small fortunes for a few days Salmon fishing on the Tay and Stanley had it in his careful charge all year round !. It was not, however, the most productive. In fact, the last season had yielded only 71 fish and so far this season, there had only been 17 salmon taken.
Everyone was worried.
Guests were returning from their days on the river empty-handed, and regardless of the reasons, it was bad for business.
Stanley, however, was fishing for himself this morning.
He had bided his time, quietly on the bank, watching the Heron arrive with the dawn and listening to th
In the darkness he had heard his quarry splash loudly.
He knew by the volume of the splash that it was a big fish.
He also knew, that now the rain had gone, the salmon would probably become a resident of the pool until night came with more rain.
The conditions were perfect and coupled with the warmth that the dawn had filled him with, he was confident he would connect with the fish.
He climbed into the boat, started its engine and prepared to fish the Rock Pool.
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3. |
The Rockpool
05:23
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Stanley steered the boat into the middle of the river.
He had worked out his own system for using the craft so he could cover parts of the pool he couldn't dream of touching from the bank.
He congratulated himself on this unconventional method.
Then he switched the outboard off and the boat hung suspended at the top of the pool, in a smooth glide and secured by a rope and hook fixed to the opposite bank.
He then sat in the middle of the boat and unpacked his take bag.
A mist hung over the pool below him. He looked downstream to the Heron and beyond to the growing sunrise.
A feeling of pure contentment rushed through his veins.
The world around him was waking up and all around him life flourished.
Birdsong filled the air echoing and dancing with the lapping of the water.
A swallow appeared.
Its acrobatic flight captured his attention and he revelled in its grace and control in the air.
Stanley took its arrival as an omen of his good fortune, like most true anglers, and in spite of his beliefs, he was prone to superstition.
The swallow dived and leaped and climbed in the air above the river.
It circled over slow water above the large outcrop of rock (that gave the pool its name).
The first brush of the sun had lifted the temperature and the dawn hatch of flies were leaving their river womb.
The Swallow plucked them from the air as they rose from the water in their millions.
His rod secured, he lifted his flask from a pocket on his bag and toasted the sun, whispered a Hail Mary, then swallowed a large Malt.
Yes,
The warmth of the whisky rushed through his body. He put the flask in his pocket, lifted the fly rod and began to cast.
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4. |
The Fight
04:24
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5. |
Coda Part 1
01:32
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6. |
Heaven
02:54
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7. |
Ova
05:26
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8. |
Parr
05:52
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9. |
Smolt
05:44
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10. |
The North Sea
02:40
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11. |
The North Atlantic
04:35
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12. |
The Run Home
03:02
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13. |
Drift Nets
02:07
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14. |
The Tay Estuary
02:39
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15. |
Friarton Net
01:28
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16. |
Perth to Dunkeld
01:18
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17. |
Rockpool
04:34
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18. |
Kevin Murray Dundee, UK
Composer, Musician, Songwriter - Tunesmith is shorter!
lives with a cat in a Glen in Scotland where the local wildlife tolerates and encourages students of Music.
Visit the website for more info.
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