362 THE SALMON RIVERS OF SCOTLAND 



An excellent system of granting tickets on easy terms to workers in 

 the Vale of Leven has had a wholesome effect of securing many pro- 

 tectors ; 338 of these were taken out in 1907, and 294 in 1908. 



The nets at the mouth of the Leven and in the Clyde just below 

 are, I understand, worked three days a week, in order to recoup the 

 Association in their expenses. From 500 to 1000 salmon and grilse 

 and 2000 to 5000 sea- trout are taken. This seems a fairly heavy 

 tax on a rather depleted stock of fish, and the rod fishing in Loch 

 Lomond does not appear to mend as it might, but I am in no way 

 familiar with the financial necessities of the Association. One point 

 which is of interest, however, is that clean fish are now being got as 

 early as April. I have no doubt that with a revival of stock an 

 excellent spring run that most valuable asset might be obtained, 

 and sport secured not only in the upper Leven but also in Loch 

 Lomond. I recollect that Colonel Thornton, in his Tour in the 

 North, written about one hundred years ago, describes how he caught 

 8 salmon one morning before breakfast in the Leven. 



LOCH LOMOND. 



The change from the polluted Leven to beautiful Loch Lomond is 

 like a step from a sordid slum to fairyland. The richly-wooded 

 islands of the broad southern end, the varied shores, the long vista 

 of water towards the head of the loch framed in the steep slopes of 

 the mountains, the dominating peaks of Ben Lomond and Ben 

 Vorlich, all combine to give one of the most charming loch scenes 

 in Scotland. 



In winter when the bracken is red, when the hill- tops have a 

 powdering of snow, when the light is brilliant, and a nip of frost 

 sharpens the air, the loch looks its finest. I have seen the loch, too, 

 in one of its wildest winter moods, when terrific squalls struck down 

 from the hills, sending spindrift flying 40 feet high, through which 

 rainbows played for a moment as the sun flashed out and vanished. I 

 recollect helping a friend to take temperatures and lose thermometers 

 in the 90 fathom deeps of the loch on such a day. As the storm 

 increased we worked down to Inchtavanach Channel, below Luss, 

 where I broke first one oar and then another, and got blown on to 

 the island on each occasion. We were soaked to the skin with the 

 spindrift and breathless with the struggle, but by borrowing an oar 

 from a boat on the island we just managed to reach Luss in a lull. 



In summer the hills are perhaps a trifle too green, for the bracken 



