However, for the first time in a couple of years, I’ve done a good batch of fly tying, so I’ll be ready when any fly of any size decides to hatch. Deer hair emergers, snoeshoe emergers and a few other scruffy odds and sods. More than ever, I’m planning to keep things simple this year.

Reconnect from Mike Tamanawis on Vimeo.

Less than a month until it’s time to reconnect with the flow…

Beautiful and fishless from Mike Tamanawis on Vimeo.

 
Note that the Vimeo compression is pretty severe, so click the video link to watch it on Vimeo in HD (a bit better but still nothing like what I see at home).

Removing the large items from around the box I found a fine layer of various detritus and dust on the bottom. And there in one corner was an upwing spinner, decayed as far as to leave just a paper-thin body shell. Heaven knows during which season it came to find itself there. It might have been an olive upright, but I wasn’t sure. Feeling that warm and slightly intangible connection to the river one still feels when not actually there, I dug out the camera and photographed. I then picked it up, examined it closely, and gave it a gentle tap. It disintigrated into tiny pieces, joining the rest of the dust and detritus in the bottom of the box. I wondered how it had managed to stay in one piece for so long, hidden away from all the random junk that lives in there.

I couldn’t help consider how long it would take for the rest of the box’s contents to reach a similar state of decay, poised between form and dust. Let’s hope at least the shiny aluminium reel has a few years left.

Watch the short piece here.

A few months ago someone from the Media Trust contacted me via my thrilling Vimeo channel to ask if they could use some of my incredible, mind bending time lapse footage for the title sequence of an awesome new TV show thing. Having signed my videos and kidneys away I forgot all about it, until this evening the kind lady got in touch to ask for my kidney.

I also discovered that one of my sequences made it into the final edit. If that wasn’t exciting enough, the real kicker is that it’s separated in time from the appearance of The Wogan’s face by barely 5 seconds! Tamanawis and The Wogan, bonded like brothers and teaming up to promote, and I’m quoting now, “…the most inspiring stories from your communities … across the UK.” Seriously, check out the first 20 seconds of the latest episode, conveniently embedded below. Apparently these episodes go out on the Community Channel, but my lack of a TV makes verifying this a bit tricky.

Playing back the title sequence a few dozen times and in slow motion (I encourage you to do the same) I can even notice the distinctive camera wobble between some of the frames. Ah what fond memories of sitting there on the side of the Pentlands in a howling gale, desperately trying to give meaning to my life and hold the tripod steady. It was certainly worth it as I feel The Wogan and I will change lives with this. Look, the latest episode already has 134 views.

At this stage I can’t reveal whether The Wogan and Tamanawis will be again joining forces for any future charity work. However, I can confirm that my agent is pursuing several other possible projects involving celebrated TV personalities such as Michael Parkinson, The Hoff and wee Pat Nevin. I am open to other approaches, but must stress a preference for working with personalities whose names involve a The.

Well, and I do love the true randomness of this, I was contacted the other day by someone who’s blog I linked to in that post. She kindly took the time to inform me, and I’m now passing this on, that the Cube can be purchased again online. Find it here. It’s a neat thing actually, although truth be told I’ve since migrated my storage solution to new pastures. May all your Cubes dominate.

On the way down we spotted a large herd of deer, perhaps already getting psyched for autumn’s shennanigans. Trying to get close enough for a photo we dropped behind a bluff, then poking our heads above the ridge line the deer were nowhere to be seen. It’s amazing how they melt away.

Down at the river and things weren’t looking too promising. We came up to it at a series of impassable rapids, and opted to walk upstream. Some bushwacking later and we came across an ancient ruined dwelling perched on the steep hillside just above the river. Almost completely hidden by bracken and hill grass, it was enough to make one pause and consider the remoteness of a life lived in such a spot. It really was just about as properly remote as things get in the UK. Getting through winter must have been an interesting challenge. The mind boggles.

Further bushwacking and we came to a wide, shallow pool. Off with the boots and we were soon across and getting a bit of lunch on the go. It was such an enticing pool that I decided it was worth the faff of setting up a rod, and within seconds trout were rising to the little deer hair sedge.

Half a dozen pretty little trout later and we packed up and struck off towards our goal. The first job was to find the path we’d seen from high on the ridge. It had looked promisingly clear and solid from far, but we soon discovered it to be exceptionally bog-like and disliking of leaky footwear. Much bog-trotting followed.

After that we did more bog-trotting. I think there was a dry section of path at one point, but I might be making that up. Things were damp.

After a bit more boggy wading we found ourselves at the head of the big loch and ready to turn and head up to the hidden lochan that was our final destination. Unsurprisingly the off-road section required for this goal was boggy and very wet, so the bog trotting didn’t stop. I’m not sure if I forgot to mention, but it was very damp.

At long last we came up and over the final rise, and there before us lay a rather magical scene. A Lost Loch snaking away between the steep sides of a remote glen. And sure enough, the spreading rings of rising trout pepperd over the surface close to the near shore.

It was 4.30pm. It had taken a bit longer to get here than planned (ahem). I quickly scouted around for a suitable tent pitching spot, but was rewarded with nothing but extremely boggy ground anywhere close to the loch shore. Even the attractive sandy beach that should have allowed for some extreme Scottish sunbathing was completely under water.

Beginning to feel just a touch uncomfotable at the prospect of the night to come I climbed part way back up the hillside and searched hard for a flattish spot. There were one or two, and you’ll never guess, they were boggy as hell. So a decision had to be made between pitching on lovely dry, bare rock at angles ranging from 30-90 degrees to the horizontal, or on profoundly boggy ground. Time to test that ground sheet waterproofing.

So at last to the fishing. There were some issues. The aforementioned flooded beach was the main culpret. It created a barrier of 6″ deep water about 10 metres wide between the solid(ish) shore and the slightly deeper water where fish were rising. I tried casting over it and succeeded in spooking all fish within a 30m radius. I had to get closer, and the only way was to strip off and wet wade up to the thighs. Swimming in highland lochs is one thing, can be very fun in fact, but standing still and casting for a couple of hours in the same water is somewhat more invigorating on the legs.

Luckily the fish liked the look of the little dry shipman’s buzzer I offered them. One after another they supped it down for the next couple of hours. Quite a wonderful thing to catch trout in such a wild place, truly surrounded by mountains and up to the knackers in baltic water. So much fun in fact that we got rather carried away and neglected to take any photos. You’ll have to trust me when I say that the trout were very pretty and all that, but they really were. The only thing which rivalled their shining forms was the incredible sunset which accompanied our dinner shortly afterwards. As pots of noodles simmered gently the western sky blazed the most intense pink I’ve ever seen, sending rays bouncing off the loch below.

It was soon quite profoundly dark, enhanced by the thick cloud that rolled over, blocking out all star and moonlight. Sleep was fitfull, dampened by the pounding rain that hammered off the tent canvas for most of the night.

I’ll spare details of the following day’s walk out, except to say that it was long, involved ticks in all sorts of places, and provided endless views of spectacular mountain scenery. Despite the grumbling over bogginess, we were actually remarkably lucky with the weather as it only properly rained during the nights. It was a really wonderful chance to spend a slightly more extended period of time away in the hills than I usually manage. Having the Lost Loch as a destination was in some ways unimportant. What mattered was that it was a long way away and required a bit of graft to reach. It’s just a shame it wasn’t boggier.

Read Part I of ‘The Lost Loch’ here.