Fishing about for answers

When Inka and I go walking it’s rare for us to meet another soul. As a lifelong countryman, I’m used to the social distancing the entire country is experiencing just now. But what happens after this and what other outdoor activities might keep me socially distanced in these turbulent times?

The answer could be fishing. How better to isolate myself from the rest of the world than sitting in a boat on a loch on my own, rod in hand, my mind emptied of the barrage of instructions, directions, guidance, recommendations, rules and information currently pouring out of our TVs and the radio.

Fishermen suffer from a condition that has no known remedy. When fish fever strikes, you’ve got it for life. Each year, soon after they’ve recovered from their Hogmanay festivities, fishermen retreat into their sheddies and lovingly take down their fishing wands that were carefully stored away at the end of the last fishing season.

Reels are checked, and flies too for possible moth damage. Landing nets, essential for proving that the big one didn’t get away, are inspected for holes – and waders for leaks.

You’ll find fishermen up to their oxters in fast-flowing rivers, others sitting in boats on lochs impervious to howling gales and torrential rain. On the rare occasions when the weather takes pity on them and the sun shines, they hardly notice. Fishing takes over their lives to the exclusion of all else.

With misplaced optimism they thrash the water from dawn to dusk in the belief that they will make the perfect cast and catch the perfect fish. They’re beyond help and it’s hard to know who to have most sympathy for: the fishermen or their fishing widows.

Pioneer spirit

The Doyenne had found herself temporarily confused on some minor roads in the hinterland of south Kincardineshire. So, in best pathfinding spirit, we decided to explore them. It was one of those clear, sunny mornings that lift the spirits – what better for our expedition.

Taking the road to the Clatterin’ Brig at the foot of Cairn o’ Mount, we crossed the burn called the Slack Water. On then through little Strath Finella with stories of Finella, wife of a lord of the Mearns who was involved,

Lady Macbeth-style, in the murder of King Kenneth II in revenge for his part in the murder of her only son.

Leaving Drumtochty Glen we turned inland, avoiding Auchenblae, and headed past Glenfarquhar on the high road that runs along the shoulder of the hills to Fetteresso.

Dellavaird was new country so there was nothing for it but to turn right and follow the finger post that brought us down to Glenbervie. Turning left at the parish church and heading inland once more, we drove along the edge of Fetteresso Forest until we found a spot with views to stop for our picnic.

I stopped to look at a dead badger lying on the verge. There was no visible injury but, being a nocturnal animal, I guess it had been dazzled and confused by oncoming headlights and, stepping on to the road, received a fatal blow.

At the next junction we rejoined the road to Stonehaven that we had turned off to look at Dellavaird. Still in the spirit of pathfinding, we turned left at the finger post to Rickarton, which took us along a winding, wooded road, with passing places, which joins the A957 Stonehaven/Banchory road known as The Slug.

Turning back to Stonehaven, we crossed the A90 to reach the A92 coast road south. I have a fascination with the sea and the fishing villages that grew up beside it. It was near high tide and a swell was breaking in white horses along the rocky Mearns shoreline.

Through St Cyrus and we turned for home over the Wide Open, or Wee Dappen, linking the A92 with the Marykirk/Laurencekirk road and crossing the spine of hills separating the Howe of the Mearns from the coastal plain. It’s well named for in wintry weather it’s wide open to all the elements.

It was the last leg home and a welcome cup of tea. We’d intended taking Inka a woodland walk but all the Forestry Commission car parks were full with the cars of other walkers with the same ideas as ourselves. With social distancing in mind, I took him one of the familiar walks from home.

“They’re beyond help and it’s hard to know who to have most sympathy for: the fishermen or their fishing widows