252 A Sportsman at Large 



ing to the surface, there to be skilfully gaffed by my sailor- 

 cobbler. A cod of eighteen pounds. 



This sort of thing went on pleasantly, if monotonously. 

 No sooner was the bait down than it was seized by one of the 

 goggle-eyed, gaping-mouthed monsters, until the whole of the 

 deck was covered with their corpses the biggest twenty-two 

 and a half pounds, the smallest eleven pounds. But as soon 

 as the tide slackened the fish went dead off the feed. 



Then we came in nearer the mouth of the bay, where the 

 currents still ran strongly, and set ourselves to the capture of 

 the common haddock of commerce. These were very fine 

 specimens, and whilst on the take, could be hauled up two 

 at a time, as long as conditions favoured. 



Naturally I began to wonder what we should do with such a 

 miraculous draught of fishes ; so asked Gunn how much they 

 would fetch in the Kirkwall fish-market, and was told that 

 the whole caboodle (there was quite a quarter of a ton of good 

 fish-food) would command about two shillings spot cash ! " 



What about crimped cod at two-and-six per pound in Bond 

 Street ? 



We ate of them (with oyster sauce) at Graeme's Hall until 

 the very name of cod or haddock caused a certain nausea to 

 overcome us. Some we salted, and the rest we gave away 

 to anyone who would deign to take them off our hands. 



At times we did a bit of whiffing for mackerel, and one day, 

 after many abortive attempts, I got among a shoal of very fine 

 fish, with my fly rod. When, using the flamingo and silver 

 eel fly, as recommended foi the sea-trout, I had some excellent 

 fun. I took nearly a score of the gorgeously bedizened fish, 

 each one of which, on my light tackle, put up a real good fight. 



But mackerel we could not give away. The hardy Norsemen 

 (most of the dwellers in the Orkneys are of Scandinavian 

 descent) simply would not look at them, much less taste of 

 their flesh. They declared that, when one of their ilk had 

 the misfortune to meet a watery end, these decorative fish 

 would tear the poor corpse to shreds, leaving nothing but bones 

 to find a final sanctuary in Davy Jones's locker. A fact which, 

 in their simple opinion, renders mackerel " unclean," and unfit 

 for human consumption. For my own part I never dwell upon 



