February 11, 1893] 
THE FISHING GAZETTE 
91 
sport. In the case of the Spey, unless under 
conditions exceptionally favourable to their push¬ 
ing forward quickly, but very few of the fish that 
run in the close season get farther inland than 
the many nailes of netting belonging to the duke 
before tbe season opens, and the netters are upon 
them sweeping them out wholesale. If, with re¬ 
gard to such an unjust state of matters, the 
Scotch Fishery Board will not move, what use, 
pray, is there for such a body ? Wherever rivers 
have been put to rights the hand of the board has 
not been seen. On the contrary, all reformation 
has, in every case, been by private or local enter¬ 
prise. _ 
One or two tenants of salmon angling on the 
liver Ythan, Aberdeenshire, are looking out for 
parties to rent their trouting. This is evidence 
of their having an eye to business. Nowhere on 
the Ythan is salmon angling of any account before 
September. 
THE LOWER THAMES TROUT 
PRESERVATION SOCIETY. 
In last week’s Fishing Gazette, Feb. 4, I wrote 
a letter on the Lower Thames as a Trout River, 
in which I stated I hoped very shortly to form a 
society for the improvement of the trout fishing. 
I now have much pleasure to submit to you a 
circular pointing out that the Thames is capable 
of being greatly improved as a trout river, and 
sincerely hope that all trout fishermen will assist 
me by responding to this appeal:— 
THE LOWER THAMES TROUT PRESERVATION 
SOCIETY. 
(Below Bell Weie, Egham—Staines.) 
It is proposed to start a society for the improvement 
of the trout fishing in the Lower Thames, and herewith 
I will proceed to show you that the Thames is capable of 
being greatly improved as a trout river ;— 
1st. There are taken every year a number of fine 
trout in the Thames, which proves that the river is 
suitable for trout, also that they grow very fast. 
2nd. The carnivorous fish, such as jack and perch, 
have, of late years, greatly decreased in the Thames, so 
there is not much to fear from them in destroying the 
young trout. 
3rd. The Thames has, of late years, greatly improved 
in its purity, and, I might say, it would be difficult to 
find so fine a river so free from pollution ; therefore, 
there is nothing to fear from the trout being destroyed 
by pollution. 
4th. There is always plenty of water in the river, 
thus rendering the river always more or less in fishing 
order. 
.Ith. As the coarse fishing closes on the 15thof March, 
and opens on the 15th of June, there is practically no 
fi^hing, only for trout, during the best three months of 
the year, when the river is less disturbed by the 
pleasure traffic. 
6th. There is plenty of food for the trout, such as 
bleak minnows, &c., and any quantity of food in the 
shape of flies, &c. 
7th. The river also affords fishing for those who 
choose either bank fishing or fishing from boats. 
Stb. There are also no netting rights to destroy the 
trout, with the exception of the nets below Kew Bridge. 
The object of the society is to improve the trout 
fishing in the Lower Thames without in any way de¬ 
teriorating the coarse fishing. To turn in trout suitable 
for the river, also such strains of fish as are known to be 
good risers to the fly. 
The funds for same to be raised by public subscriptions 
and such other sources as the committee may think 
desirable. 
It is earnestly hoped that all those interested in the 
welfare of the Thames trout fishing will respond to this 
appeal. 
P.S.—As no doubt many fishermen will be glad 
to know how the society is progressing, the 
K'iitor of the Fishing Gazette has kindly con¬ 
sented to allow me to make use of his paper to 
announce subscriptions, also for any general news 
of the society. 
It is proposed to turn a number of yearling 
trout in the Thames this year, and as fish cannot 
be moved well after March, it is hoped that 
enough money will be forthcoming by then to 
enable tbe society to do so. 
The Editor of the Fishing Gazette has very 
liberally responded to my appeal with a handsome 
donation of ten guineas, which I am sure all 
anglers will be pleased to hear. 
All communications and subscriptions to be 
sent (pro tern.) to 
Penton Hook, Hon. Secretary, 
Lower Thames Trout Preservation Sooietv, 
care of Fishing Gazette, St. Dunstan’s House, 
Fetter Lane, London. 
WINDERMERE AND ITS 
SURROUNDINGS. 
By Gilnockie. 
Fleet-STREET, once upon a time, possessed a 
nameless fascination for two celebrated men of 
letters of widely different character, to wit, the 
burly, rugged, and obstreperous Doctor Samuel 
Johnson, and Charles Lamb, the gentle “Elia,” 
the charming essayist. “Let us take a walk 
down Fleet-street,” was Johnson’s remark on a 
certain occasion to Jimmy Boswell, of Auchenlick, 
about the time when those two worthies were in 
the habit of drinking red-hot whisky toddy, and 
warming their shins by the roaring peat fire, 
which in those days blazed up the “ lum ” of Ye 
Mitre Hotel, opposite Fetter-lane, now dis¬ 
tinguished by the Scottish appellation of “ The 
Clachan.” Some times 1 own I catch the Fleet- 
street contagion badly, and find myself wandering 
aimlessly in and out of its stuffy courts in search of 
the ghosts of bygone celebrities. But, hang Fleet- 
street ! I am off to Windermere, bonnie Winder- 
mere, directly the whirligig of time abolishes the 
winter, and the birds begin to chant sweet music 
from the tree tops. ’Cause why? Because the 
queen of the English lakes will shortly become a 
great fishing resort. That’s why. ’Aint it 
enough, eh ? 
“It is asserted here,” says a visitor to Amble- 
side, “ that if the efforts now being made to 
improve the fishing are kept up for a few years, 
Windermere, and the adjacent lakes and tarns, 
will rival the Scottish lochs in their fish-support¬ 
ing capacity.” “ Ma conscience,” that’s a big 
order, but it will come to pass a? sure as eggs is 
eggs. Coniston Water, too, is vieing with 
Windermere, and will probably be in “ fishin’ 
fettle ” before the larger lake, under the auspices 
of the English Lake District Angling Associa¬ 
tion, is in full swing. But what a country! 
Stand at the foot of Lake Windermere, which is 
vi.sible from end to end. Cast a glance over its 
calm and clear waters, and the visitor realises 
the fact that he has fairly entered the charmed 
circle of Lakeland. Scott’s lines on Loch Katrine 
will fit in here :— 
“In all her length far-winding lay, 
With promontory, creek and bay. 
And islands that empurpled bright. 
Floated amid the livelier light; 
And mountains that like giants stand 
To sentinel enchanted land.” 
This is Lake Windermere! Then take the 
surroundings, commencing with the mighty 
Skiddaw. Listen to Charles Lamb, the gentle 
“ Elia,”—“ Fleet-street and the Strand,” remarks 
Lamb, “ are better places to live in for good and 
all than amidst Skiddaw. After all I could not 
live in Skiddaw.” 
This was after Lamb’s visit to Coleridge in 
1802, Coleridge had then become one of the 
“ Lake Poets,” and dwelt upon a small hill by the 
side of Keswick, in a house enveloped on all sides 
by a net of mountains, “ great floundering bears 
and monsters they seemed,” says “Elia,” “all 
couchant and asleep. We travelled from Pen¬ 
rith in a post-chaise, iu the midst of a gorgeous 
sunshine, which transmuted all the mountains 
into colours—purple, &c., &c. We thought we had 
got into fairyland (while we stayed we had no 
more fine sunsets), and we entered Coleridge’s 
comfortable study just in the dusk when the 
mountains were all dark with clouds upon their 
heads. Such an impression I never received from 
objects of sight before, nor do I suppose I ever 
can again. Glorious creatures, fine old fellows; 
Skiddaw, &c., I shall never forget ye, how ye lay 
about that night, like an entrenchment gone to 
bed, as it seemed, for the night, but promising 
that ye were to be seen in the morning. Coleridge 
had got a blazing fire in the study, which is a 
large, ill-shaped antique room, with an old- 
fashioned organ, never played upon, big enough 
for a church, shelves of scattered folios, an 
JEolian harp, and an old sofa—half bed, &c,, and all 
looking out upon the last fading view of Skiddaw 
and his broad-breasted brethren. What a 
night! So we have seen Keswick. Grasmere, 
Ambleside, Ullswater, and travelled over the 
middle of Helvellyn. We have clambered up to 
the top of Skiddaw and I have waded up the 
bed of the Lodore. In fine, I have satisfied 
myself that there is such a thing as that which 
tourists call romantic, which I very much sus¬ 
pected before. Then we came to a cold rill half¬ 
way up Skiddaw (than which nothing can be 
imagined more cold, running over cold stones), 
and with the reinforcement of a draught of cold 
water we surmounted it most manfully. Oh! 
it’s fine black head, and the bleak air atop of it, 
with a prospect of mountains all about and about, 
making you giddy; and then Scotland afar off, 
and the Border counties so famous in song and 
ballad. It was a day that will stand out like a 
mountain, I am sure, in my life. Skiddaw is a 
fine creature.” So wrote the eccentric recluse of 
Leadenhall-street to his friend, Thomas Manning, 
on Sept. 24, 1802. If the Lake Country im¬ 
pressed “ Elia ” in that fashion, how much must 
bonnie Windermere and its satellites strike the 
enthusiastic lover of nature in all the glory of 
her lovely magnificence ? Come, let me borrow 
from, and paraphrase, and pillage Sir Walter, the 
great unknown, the mighty wizard of the north. 
“ Bat northward far, with purer blaze, 
On Skiddaw’s mountain fell the rays, 
And as each heathy top they kissed 
It gfloamed a purple amethyst. 
Yonder the heights of Silver How, 
Here Orrest Head and Miller Brow ; 
And broad beneath them rolled 
The splendid lake the eye might note, 
Whose islands on its bosom float 
Like emeralds chased in gold.” 
“ Each angler’s heart feels closely pent. 
As if to give his spirits vent 
One cheer is to the mountains lent 
By the enraptured band ; 
Another cheer now rends the air. 
Oh, where’s the angler that would not care 
To visit such a laud ? ” 
Reverting to Charles Lamb again, in a letter to 
Wordsworth, written in September, 180-5, he says : 
“We have been two tiny excursions this summer, 
to a place near Harrow, and to Egham, where 
Cooper’s Hill is. Alas ! how poor a round com¬ 
pered to Skiddaw and Helvellyn and Borrowdale, 
and the magnificent sesquipedalia of the year 
1802.” But then there are another class of 
enthusiasts who assert that the Westmorland and 
Cumberland lakes and hills, the vales and rising 
uplands, are seen at their best in winter when the 
roads are iron bound, the expanses of water 
covered with ice, and the hills and vales are 
enveloped in a mantle of snow. For my part I 
totally disagree with any such notions ; I sup¬ 
pose it is because I am ageing a wee bit, and the 
electric fluid is fast becoming as thin as second-rate 
claret. Ah me! spiteful folks may say and think 
what they please; but give me the charming 
scenes that delight the eye and enchant the 
senses when boating is in full blast iu the 
glorious month of June, on Lakes Windermere or 
Ullswater, Derwent Water or Bassenthwaite. 
Yet those who have seen the Queen of the Lakes 
in the relentless grip of the Ice King persist in 
saying that Windermere looks loveliest in moon¬ 
light, when the sides of the sloping hills are covered 
in snow and the lake one glistening sheet of 
sparkling ice. It is perhaps true enough that, 
including the immense panorama which the sur¬ 
rounding mountains supply, the scene in winter 
may impress the mind more vividly and more 
permanently than the glorious delights which the 
summer reveals. Admitting that winter possesses 
a stern kind of beauty of its own, where, oh where 
is the song of the birds? Why even the noisy and 
impudent rook ceases to caw-caw. A dead silence 
reigns in the fields, while all nature is just the 
opposite of being gay and festive. 
“ When biting Boreas, fell and doure. 
Sharp shivers thro’ the leafless bow’r ; 
When Phoebus gives a short-liv’d glow'r 
Far south the lift. 
Dim darkning thro’ the flaky show’r 
Or whirling drift. 
Ilk happing bird ! wee, helpless thing 1 
That in the merry months o’ spring 
Delighted me to hear thee sing. 
What comes o’ thee ? 
Where wilt thou cow’r thy chittering wing 
And close thy ee?” 
Thus wrote the immortal bard of Caledonia. 
Yes! Summer is the time when the varied 
enchantments of the Lake Country are profusely 
spread before those who are fortunate enough 
