Lower Makerstoun: beat profile

“These are the loveliest parts of the river, with a splendid variety of pools, suitable both for wading and boating…” This was legendary salmon angler John Ashley-Cooper, describing the middle Tweed. The middle Tweed stretches from the entrance of the Ettrick at Boleside, down to the famous Junction beat at Kelso, where the main river is joined by the Teviot. This variety is thanks to a consistent fall of 220 feet, creating delightful fly water, as the river meanders around dramatic cliffs and through large, secluded estates.

In the whole of this stretch there is perhaps no more varied beat than Lower Makerstoun. From the sedate wade of Blakeman, to the prolific Elshie, and culminating in the feverishly fast and intricate Trowes, it is a beat that offers the salmon angler truly engaging fishing.

Fishing with the ghillie

“If there is a fish here, you’re likely to get it,” said Colin Pringle, who has ghillied at Makerstoun for over 20 years. I was waist deep, leaning against a huge mid-stream boulder. Water rushed through a number of small gaps, funnelled by striations of bedrock. Flowing fast enough to be mostly white water, there were a few little pockets scattered about: exactly where a salmon might momentarily rest after battling the whirlpool-like pool below, known as the Goat’s Mouth. “Fishing the Trowes isn’t for everyone, as the wading can be tough. But I once watched author Mikael Frodin perch on that very rock and land four salmon, one after another.”

It was a bright day, far from ideal for fishing. I’d had a pull just upstream at Red Stane, while the shadow still blocked the sun, but I felt this fast water was going to be my best chance until much later in the evening. Having thought about the seams and currents, and how I might best present my fly, I made my first short cast. As I pulled another yard of line from my reel, a salmon jumped – all chrome and muscle – about 20 feet away, just a little beyond my rod tip.

“Here we go,” beamed Colin, oozing confidence. I found myself shaking with expectant excitement, as I rolled out my Sunray again, and lifted the rod tip, letting the plastic tube skitter across the surface and through the bubbles of water. Nothing. I made one more cast, before switching to a finely dressed Silver Stoat. Nothing.

Then, still shaking, a little Pot-Bellied Pig brass tube. My offering was still met with silence.

The fish must have continued upstream rather than rested as we’d hoped it might. For all the world, the Trowes looked as sure a spot as any to connect with an elusive Atlantic salmon. But even without a compliant fish, with its rushing water, strange geology and ultimate variety, Lower Makerstoun is surely one of the ‘loveliest parts’ on the whole of the Tweed.