52 THE TROUT ARE RISING 
Duke himself, “frae this verra bridge, hookit a 
big saumon, and, what is more, he catch’t um!” 
The spot where the gillie climbed down to gaff 
the fish was pointed out. 
My journey took me next day from Langholm 
to Canonbie. From Canonbie you can fish both 
the Border Esk and the Liddle on payment, and 
sport can be had with salmon, sea-trout, and the 
herling, if the water is right; though that’s the 
rub with all big rivers. Brown trout there are 
also, but it is the sea-trout which is chiefly sought, 
Canonbie way. You see or meet the enthusiast 
principally at the darkening, which, in the summer, 
seems longer delayed the farther north you go. 
Very acute are sea-trout; so are these Scottish 
anglers. If they don’t get any, then nobody else 
stands much chance. From youth up they have 
known the river, an asset of inestimable value, 
and they have closely studied the habits of the 
fish. They are well aware that the sea-trout is 
unsettled when a storm is coming. After rain 
the fishers shrewdly make for the neck of the 
pool. Adept both with clear water worm and fly, 
they fish hard. They are out not so much to 
admire the scenery as to catch sea-trout. It is 
an eerie business, this sea-trout fishing at night, 
peering into the darkness, and casting, casting, in 
hope. But you carry on cheerily. Sometimes 
you are the recipient of a whispered, comradely 
greeting. If you rise a sea-trout, and get him 
attached, one of the bull-dog type with a touch 
of greyhound for speed, you will pronounce it 
