Small Lochs
Six rods are dapping for sea trout
On Loch Baddagyle. Their blowlines each make
A bosomy downwind curve. Six bushy flies
Ballet dance on sunstruck water.

— See that boulder? In it’s toupee of heather
There’s a wild cat watching me. Two topazes with ears.
…I tilt up and pan along my trail of mountains
From Ben More Coigach all the way down to Quinaig.

An old ewe brings me down to earth
She stamps her forefoot on. I look at her implacable
Whisky and soda eyes. She knows all a sheep
Needs to know: she’s a black-stockinged bluestocking.

And a spinnaker line has straightened. The water
Explodes and shoots a sea trout into the air,
While five bushy flies still dance on the moving glitter,
like water nymphs in their dangerous tutus.

Norman McCaig

some days I feel like going fishing, this is one of them