168 SUMMER-TIDE IN A HIGHLAND FOKEST 



still the Tweed angler holds in high repute Maxwheel, an 

 excellent salmon cast just below Kelso bridge. 



We have heard a good deal of late about the cruelty of 

 field-sports in general and of fishing in particular: the 

 charge is made by people entitled to respect, and is alto- 

 gether too serious to be disregarded. It is well to have a 

 clear understanding on the ethics of the contemplative 

 man's recreation. Fish, if they are to be taken at all, and 

 not left to devour one another, must be captured either 

 by nets or by hook and line, and I am prepared to defend 

 the opinion that no more actual suffering to tht> fish is in- 

 volved by Che one method than by the other. It has been 

 observed above that it is the fear of man, not the pain of 

 the hook, that makes a fish fight for freedom. I can 

 testify that the pain of a large salmon-hook fixed in the 

 human lip, far more sensitive than a fish's, is very trifling, 

 even though it was necessary to strip off the dressing 

 and bring the hook out the reverse way. But, the spate 

 in the forest having run down, I was witness of a scene 

 which convinced me that capture by the net is not one 

 whit more merciful than by rod and line. Besides the 

 Amhuin Aoidh and the Guseran, there is a third river 

 in Knoydart forest, flowing through a glen so remote 

 and so difficult of access, and subsiding so rapidly after 

 a flood, that it is very seldom fished by any angler. Once 

 a year, therefore, the owner causes a net to be drawn 

 through a couple of pools in it, which is made the 

 occasion of a little festival, for it is fine fun in hot 

 weather, and the spoils are greatly appreciated by the 

 crofters and villagers among whom they are shared. It 

 was a glorious morning when the yacht left her moorings 

 and steamed ten miles up the loch to the mouth of the 



