The storm raged outside the bothy, hurling sheets of rain against the wooden walls, and rattling the cowl on the stove pipe. Inside, however, the bothy was warm and dry, filled with a frowsy heat thrown off by the blazing pot-bellied stove, glowing red in the dim light of the hurricane lamps. Sandy Geddes, the skipper of the summer crew, had long since concluded that there would be no more fishing done that night, however, the crew were compelled to stay on shift, and though they would have all preferred to be at home in their beds, there are worse things in the world than getting paid for sitting around in a warm bothy doing nothing.
Sandy poured himself a little dram of the Cragganmore that he kept for medical emergencies then looked round the bothy. Jake was catching up with some much-needed sleep on the pile of nets at the back of the bothy. Black Alec was trying to fix a broken transistor radio he’d found in a bin in Mosstodloch and Robbie, the first mate, had just finished a long, rambling tale about his cousin from Auchterless who’d eaten a tin of catfood for a bet. The younger members of the crew were sitting in the battered old armchairs which lined the bothy, stunned by the heat of the potbellied stove. Read the rest of this entry »

Sandy Geddes, skipper of the summer crew, and Robbie, his first mate, were examining the Bridge pool at the end of a long, hard day’s work for the salmon fishers. It had rained heavily in the Cairngorms for the last two days and though the Spey wasn’t exactly in spate, it was well up, and the black water, rippling like the flank of a prize bull in the main ring at the Keith Show, swept under the old railway viaduct, pinning a raft of broken branches and reeds to the upstream side of the dressed stone piers.
“It’ll be gey hard work again the morn,” said Robbie, with some relish, looking over at the rest of the summer crew who were lying shattered on the grass by the bothy. Read the rest of this entry »