78 ANGLING & ART IN SCOTLAND 



the air as he rapidly drops. But no — we will not 

 accept such an explanation ! It is the hollow 

 laugh of a mocking spirit, a friend to the fishes, 

 that has taken the shape of a snipe, and flies high 

 in the heavens by river and lake, seeking the 

 angler whose sport he may spoil. The bird is not 

 seen, but the weird sound of his laughter is ever 

 around. It comes faint from afar, then nearer, 

 and yet nearer, then dies away in the distance, 

 continually varying its direction. Certainly " it 

 is the lonesomest sound in the whole world," as 

 Huckleberry Finn says, "and makes a body wish 

 that he was dead." 



As we pushed our craft that morning from 

 out the primitive boathouse at the head of the 

 loch, we were greeted by this uncanny laughter, 

 land a gloom fell o'er the occupants of the boat. 



After drifting for a few minutes along the edge 

 of a reed bed, my companion raised an enormous 

 trout, but he never touched the hook, nor could 

 he be persuaded into rising a second time. This 

 was disappointing, but worse was to follow. 



Half the length of the loch was fished without 

 further sign, when, as we approached the shallower 

 end, I observed a fine trout to turn over, some 



