1 December 2019 News/Editorial
The best possible wishes to everyone who has taken the trouble to read this weekly vanity project in 2019, thank you. Analytics tell us there were some 10,000 of you, different readers of these pages, in 2019, which is a considerable number.
Having done it for many years now, there are times when stopping has undeniable attractions, if only because I become older and crankier, and more remote from RTC central, as the years go by. It has always been my hope that somebody at RTC central, with close fishing knowledge and daily contact with what is going on on the river, will somehow take it on as part of the RTC’s improved communications strategy.
What follows are by way of (1) a goodbye to, and summing up of, 2019 and (2) a thank you to all Tweed’s boatmen/ghillies.
Until we reconvene in February 2020, Happy Christmas.
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So there we have it, all done for another year. The conclusion, that despite better catches than 2018, this had nothing to do with extra fish, rather improved fishing conditions, especially in the summer. The much heralded “end of North East net fishery” dividend failed to materialise, begging the question how many fewer would the Tweed have caught in 2019 if that fishery had operated as it had in 2018?
With exception of the northern rivers (Thurso, Naver, Halladale especially) most other rivers in Scotland did poorly, albeit the Spey much better than 2018 and it may even have caught more than the Tweed (surely not !?).
The Tyne Riding Mill counter numbers collapsed after July with, by a distance, some of the lowest figures ever recorded since the published scores began in 1996. There is much talk of fish swimming around their counter in big waters (eg in August), but that argument tends to ignore that as August is the wettest month of the year, previous Augusts must have had the same issues, but when recorded numbers were nothing like so low. It may be as well we have no main stem counter here, for fear of what it would tell us; certainly the Ettrick figures are no better than half of what they used to be 10 years ago.
And finally, the trend we have become used to now, the almost total absence of fresh fish coming into the Tweed after mid October. Most would agree that they have never before seen such an empty river in November as we did this year.
Silver linings are few bar two, first, the outstanding quality of the fish in the spring and summer. If lack of food in the sea is supposed to be a reason for the decline in numbers, certainly the earlier running fish showed no sign whatever of that. And secondly, in terms of vital research, all rivers, the Missing Salmon Alliance in particular, are now focused on what has been the underlying basic issue all along, “why are so few of our smolts surviving to come back as adults?” Finding the answer(s), and what we may be able to do about it/them, are two different things.
But knowing why is a start, and we may be getting closer to that.
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At the end of another difficult season on the river, there is one band of men, strong men, that deserves our thanks and praise. Ghillies, boatmen, call them what you will, they are the sine qua non of successful fishing on the Tweed.
At it for 10 months of the year, 6 days a week, Mondays to Saturdays, they arrive every day somehow expected to match the enthusiasm of their charges for the coming day, when the visitors are on holiday and fired with excitement of a week/day/three days on the river, and when the person who will look after them is a little weary, all too well aware of the lack of fish, the water not being right, the unhelpful weather forecast, and myriad other things.
Are this formidable band, the uniquely Tweed variety, as opposed to the Spey (definitely ghillies), boatmen or ghillies? “Boatmen”, the traditional Tweed description, may be too narrow, effectively implying that all they can do is row the boat, whereas for most nothing could be further from the truth. But then “ghillies” conjures up visions of John Brown types, clad in the estate tweed and plus fours, probably also stalkers in the autumn/winter, and in a more servant/master relationship than would ever be appropriate for our Tweed boatmen; ours are more like anglers’ companions, old friends often, in a joint enterprise.
The truth is a mixture of all of these, they are both ghillie/expert fishing companion, and boatman.
When the river is big and the wind blowing, they work far harder and have to be much stronger than any of their more northerly cousins. In all weathers and waters, they have to be cheerful, as positive as possible, for they are in the business of entertaining their customers, keeping them happy, and above all, in these straitened times, trying to ensure that their valued visitors will want to come back next year.
It is far from easy, and they do it exceptionally well.
With November and the 2019 season done, they deserve our thanks and congratulations for, yet again, making the most of our Tweed salmon fishing. Not only that, but water (do you anglers wear the life jacket provided?) and casting (do you have safety glasses and how many flies are embedded in anglers’ cheeks every year?) is a dangerous business, and they have a crucial role in ensuring that their fishers not only enjoy themselves, but do so safely without any threat to personal security and safety.
They are already looking forward to 2020, it will be here soon enough, but above all to having two months, a break, away from the daily grind on the river. They totally deserve it. And despite some understandably gloomy members of the band, for the most part they are optimistic, they have to be.
Because, no matter what, they know it will always be better next year. In 2020.
PS the above with apologies to any boatwomen or female ghillies on the Tweed, if there are any, please forgive the omission, even unforgivable gender stereotyping, which should no doubt also be extended to any, and all, of the other 21 (yes 21, as per the next Scottish census in 2021) gender orientations that are apparently possible nowadays. Good Grief!
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