CHAPTER XVII. 



SALMON OF THE AWE. 



JHE River Awe, in Argyllshire, presents, to my mind, the 

 perfection of angling water. A fine brawling stream, a 

 constant succession of pools, some easy to fish, some only 

 fishable by past masters, lovely, deep, roach-backed salmon 

 trout — all these are bad to beat, and when one adds the 

 fact that the run of the heavy fish takes place in June 

 and July, after the Orchy fish have run through, the two 

 months of all others, perhaps, when salmon fishing is 

 enjoyable, I do not think any further arguments need 

 be urged, to enforce my point. 

 Were I a rich man — which I am not — I should feel inclined to 

 do my best to secure the fishing rights on that merry little river in 

 preference to many others of high repute. It is now many years since 

 I first wetted a line on the Awe. My old gillie, Black Peter, or the 

 "Otter," as he was frequently called, has, I fear, gaffed his last salmon 

 and drunk his last glass of whisky, and (save the mark !) he was mighty 

 good at both. I can see him now, in his somewhat tattered kilt, hanging 

 on to the porch of the Clachan, trying to steady himself, to give me a 

 right cordial welcome when I arrived. No more will he swim the Awe 

 when in spate to land a fish for the "Colonel" that had jumped itself 

 on the rocks on the opposite side of the river, some mile or two above 

 the bridge — a foolhardy feat in such water; but he was always full of 

 sport, and not infrequently, alas, equally full of whisky. 



The head of water in this bonnie little river is always maintained 



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