CHAPTER XII 



THE HELMSDALE, OR KILDONAN 



Is one of the best, if not the very best, of the early angling rivers, 

 so much so that in the beginning of the nineteenth century it is 

 recorded that on the day before Christmas Day sixty clean salmon 

 were taken from the Manse Pool at one haul of the net. Rising from 

 several streams which drain the lochs lying around the foot of Ben 

 Griam More, the two main ones unite near Kinbrace to form the 

 Helm, which then flows for twenty miles, without obstructions or 

 pollution, through Kildonan strath, and falls into the sea at Helms- 

 dale. Below Kinbrace it is joined by an important tributary, which 

 drains a chain of lochs of some 2500 acres in extent, of which Loch- 

 na-Moin, the lowest, is counted as a " beat " on the river ; and 

 during its course the Helm, which remains in good order for several 

 days after a flood, offers the angler every variety of casting, and will 

 test his skill to the utmost. 



The angling, which goes with the six shooting lodges on the banks, 

 is entirely private and not let from the Sutherland Estate office. 

 At times, however, when some of the shooting tenants cannot get 

 north for the spring fishing, they let their rods to friends. At the 

 present moment these shootings are held as follows : — 



Auchintoul Lodge, or the " Burn Field," on the left bank, is 

 rented by Mr. F. G. Nutting ; next, some ten mUes below it on the 

 same bank, comes Suisgill, or " Roaring Burn," a lodge originally 

 buUt by Colonel Hunt, afterwards rented for some seasons by my old 

 friend Colonel John Hargreaves, and now occupied by Mr. Leopold 

 Hirsch. Five miles lower down, and still on the same bank, is Kil- 

 donan Lodge (Donan's Cell, an ancient Culdee saint), for many years 

 in the possession of another old friend, the late Mr. Hamilton Bruce, 

 and subsequently rented by Mr. T. Gardiner Muir, and at present 

 vacant, owing to the sudden death of Mr. H. E. M. Davies. 



While waiting on Kildonan Bridge in June 1899, I met Andrew 

 Ross, the keeper there, and in the course of a chat with him he asked 

 me if I could suggest any explanation of a curious thing he had seen 

 on the hill a few days before when watching a herd of deer. Not 

 wishing to disturb them he had hidden, and while concealed, a 

 hen grouse flew by, and settling near him, commenced to peck 

 viciously at something. Anxious to see what it was, Ross rose 

 suddenly and frightened her away, and on going to where she had 

 risen from, there he found a newly-laid grouse egg partially destroyed. 



