Sea River Hill: Lewis 2015 - Grouse and Sea Trout

In the heart of the Cairngorms sits possibly the grandest hunting lodge you could imagine. With the top of the river Dee tumbling through its grounds, surrounded by the largest Scots pine forest in the world and some of the finest mountains in Scotland, Mar Lodge is simply an unbelievable place. The previous night it had played host to Sam and Abbie’s fairy-tale wedding, and somehow I had managed to get through my part in their day – the preparation, the rings and, of course, the Best Man’s speech – watched on by over 2,000 antlers and a harem of guests. Reluctant to leave behind what had been such a good time, old pal Lester gave me the nod and we said our goodbyes. The journey started in silence, and snaking through Royal Deeside with last night’s ceilidh tunes spinning round our heads, I was gutted to be leaving what we both agreed was our favourite part of Scotland. Once we had passed through the purple moors at Tomintoul I shook the imaginary driven grouse out of my mind and replaced the Cairngorms with the wild rugged land that awaited us – we had a ferry to catch.

The boat leaving Ullapool has to be the most stunning west coast view going: An Teallach, perfectly centred by Suilven and Stac Poll to the north, Torridon in the south, and best enjoyed on deck with Rick Stein’s favourite fish and chips from the takeaway in Ullapool.

We arrived in a wet and dark Lewis and with all sense of direction completely gone. Lester took the wheel and we headed cross country. Tunes on full blast, Tenants in hand, the excitement building to tipping point as we arrived at Lewis’s second best Western – Scaliscro House, an estate lodge with its own private bar that in its hay day was one of Lewis’s premier hotels. Needless to say, as we met the troops, things got messy that evening! But there wasn’t a sore head in sight the next morning, with everyone dashing around excitedly getting prepped for a first day on the hill – Grouse over pointers. Gaiters, cartridges, lunch, water, guns – right let's go.

We were walking up to Lantgavat, with Russell’s pointers and setter working in front of us. Once we’d made up some height we had a quick safety chat, paired off and without me even realising the dogs were on point, I was called up. A seriously tense minute went by as the dogs crept forward and I tried not to think about everyone standing behind me ready to laugh at the inevitable miss! Expecting one or two birds to get up, I was shocked when a covey of six burst up in front of me. Dropping the first bird I saw perhaps wasn’t the most sporting of shots – it was incredible how close the dogs could get, and how packed in the grouse were - lesson quickly learnt, I had more time than I thought. My shooting got more relaxed and despite missing my fair share of birds, I was pleased to kill some further out ones over the course of the day.

We had been shooting over what I had thought was relatively low, boggy land for grouse, but there were plenty of birds. Russell thought that this remote ground probably hadn’t been shot for a good five years or so. Despite this we were all careful not to take more than a bird or two from each covey. Stopping for lunch at the remote loch Langavat briefly turned my thoughts to fishing, but we had the rest of the week to worry about that, and another swig of Riley’s hip flask put me back in shooting mode. The long and brisk walk home took us through some seriously big coveys, one of which produced Katie’s first grouse – cue the blooding! A fantastic day, covering some serious distance ended with 11.5 brace, a red letter start to my first visit to Lewis.

Another one in the bag!

A place that struck me as wild and untouched as anywhere I’ve ever visited. It wasn’t just the land that was wild here, as Lester discovered when he stumbled across the Laird at Scaliscro, out in the field feeding his pony whisky! A fantastic, if somewhat bizarre night followed, which began with Cree (said laird) insisting his dog (Olly Bolly Bee), joined us at the dinner table. Cree certainly earned his meal that night, playing tunes on the piano till the small hours in between arm wrestles and fishing tales. He perhaps did let the side down a bit, when, having forgotten to do the fire alarm drill earlier in the day, he set the whole thing off at 3am!

A full day on the bald headed loch was on the cards the next day. A fine loch at the top of the Grimesta system that was our best chance of a salmon or seatrout off the Scaliscro estate. After we had worked through a handful of small brownies, Lester and I opted to ditch the bath tub like boat and covered the likely sandy bay from the bank. I was straight away into a better trout of about a pound and a half before Lester bagged himself a sea trout that hit his top muddler like a train! A very hard fight and Lester was rewarded with a nice 2lb fish… Not a bad first day’s fishing on Lewis. Back to the ranch in time for the bar to open and the vitamin T to flow whilst exchanging stories with the others who had done some exploring of their own.

The following day went a similar way, this time we fished the lochs closer to home and, although nothing big, we had a steady stream of hard fighting little brownies and an unexpected finnock for Smudge - his first on the fly. Back to the house to watch Scotland beat Japan and then a brisk walk nearby to see if Phillip’s wee dug couldn’t raise a snipe or too. Snipe two, Roxburgh nil. But thankfully Arkell managed one for the bag before we called it a day and headed back to the bar! We all managed to resist Cree’s request to play a quick 9 holes of the Scaliscro golf course at 2am, apart from Arkell – who reported back a little worse for wear the next morning – “if you hear a splash you’ve won”…

Our penultimate full day was a wet wild and windy one and we were back after the grouse, but this time we really were on the hill. Russell met us at the lodge and we headed straight up the hill behind the lodge. We were soon into some birds but it was different this time, there were definitely fewer birds, the dogs were having to work harder in the wind and we were on much rougher and steeper ground for most of the day. The birds were hopping to rock edges and diving off them, catching the wind and curling with the terrain, it was unreal and very different to the classic flat ground grouse we had shot earlier in the week. You really had to get on these birds quick and shoot them with a snap shot… and I was out-played by some epic birds on a number of occasions!

My poor shooting didn’t matter much though as the surroundings really were breath-taking with rainbows appearing between rain showers that were filling up the many fishy-looking lochs that dotted their way round the hill. Shooting or not, I could watch the dogs work all day. With the wind blowing from behind they would work a large arc far out back into the wind towards us picking up scent perfectly, when there was not much happening the setter would work even further out – returning to Russell once she had found a bird to point. It really was incredible, and the style of shooting makes for a very social day, with all other guns watching on as the anticipation builds – where are the grouse coming from? How many will there be? Which way will they go? And, the inevitable question, will Lester finally manage to drop one!?

On point while a nervous Lester looks on.

Once back at sea level we had a good half mile walk lined out looking for a snipe, again Herbie managed to lift one in-front of me, which unlike any other birds that day, I actually managed to hit. My first snipe – Cue Blooding, followed by a dash back to the lodge to pipe in the other guns. The bag was at four and a half brace, but numbers didn’t matter much and we all agreed we had preferred our day in the wind and rain on the hill to the somewhat tamer lowland day with the bigger bag.

It was an early start for Lester and I, as we had booked a day on a local estate’s loch. With last night’s rain, we hoped this might be our chance to strike silver. We were fishing Loch Cragach, which sits on the hill above the famous Salmon and Sea Trout system – Morsgail. The streams were all running full, their peaty colour with extra foam adding a good tinge to the loch. On top of this there was a decent breeze on the go – conditions were perfect, and between rain showers both Lester and I were getting stuck into the fish. Even a small finnock would hit the fly hard, but when the bigger sea-trout took you really knew about it. We ended up over a dozen finnock, and six sea trout between us, before the action died down, the clouds parted and the bright sun made our decision to call it a day an easy one. It was another stunning spot, looking out towards the hills of Harris and down to the famous loch Voshmid, with its famous craggy overhanging cliffs. We had both started with a different setup, but somehow, and without meaning to, we both ended the day with the same flies – the orange muddler taking the most fish for us both, with Lester having the lion’s share of the better fish.

Walking back down the hill, I was a broken man after a week of early starts; late nights and too much booze. Despite being in one of the most stunning spots in the country, I was ready for the next days ferry. It seems a strange thing to say now, as I sit here in the office longing to be back on another adventure. I don’t think at that moment in time I’d realised just what an amazing place Lewis is, and how good that days fishing had actually been! Chatting to the keeper at Morsgail he told us that it had been a bad year for the salmon, and that the wee loch we had just fished had been known to produce half a dozen odd salmon in one day! Amazing to think the journey these fish are willing to make up tiny streams.