Angus and his stalker Stephen

Inverbroom Lodge, Ullapool

I got one on the Broom.....incredible luck as it was only about my 15th cast of the morning. It took 12 minutes to land and weighed approx 8lbs..... and best of all, I had to put it back!!!!!!!

William Prideaux gets his first stag

Yet another dream Lodge

After a final night at Jolyon and James when we met his neighbour who'd spied us through the net curtains.....she came in for a light supper in Jolyon's half built kitchen.... I set off to join Sally and William on our epic journey north. Not just to Edinburgh, but way way beyond up into the highlands.

As we set off I had to admit that I had misunderstood our host, Mark Lorimer, and mistaken our arrival date. We were not expected on the Saturday night but rather the Sunday....in Scotland rentals go from Sunday to Sunday...... So where to stay? Jonny Beardsall had kindly offered us the use of his house near Darlington, just under halfway. It would have been great but Johnny and his wife Janey were with their daughters at that moment in Cowdry Park in Sussex covering the polo for the Telegraph. Moreover, as I had never even been to their house, I was a little uncomfortable about arriving, letting ourselves in, drinking his whiskey, making dinner and then leaving the place looking like it hadn't been pillaged before carrying on further north.... I hadn't even been in the county since I'd met Jonny at our potential officer training club at Catterick in 1978 (incidentley the same month and year that my Bentley was being built and put on the road). It was typicaly generous of Jonny to offer his house blind like that.

Nicholas Biddulph was another possible place to stop and impose ourselves. He has a beautiful house called Makerstoun, on the banks of the Tweed on the next beat to the Duke of Roxborough and Floors Castle (the house Fergie and Andrew got engaged in.....can you imagine a more exciting, fairytale and romantic thought). The trouble was that Nick was in northern France with his two sons and wouldnt be back until after our return to England.

By now we were on the M1.....then a moment of inspiration. Jamie Howell at Allerwash near Hexham has been a friend of 30 years standing and has a lovely house that a quick ready-reckoning glance at the map showed is exactly 302 miles from London and 303 miles from Inverbroom Lodge. Thanks to the cellphone and Jamie's generous nature, within 3 minutes of the idea we had a place to stop and rest and feed.

The journey along the length of England in high summer was a pure delight. Hardly any harvest had been started and the sight of field after field of crops, mighty oaks, hedgerows and forrests was simply gorgeous... England looked like Constable painted it....fluffy white clouds. The England of Lutyens, Elgar and those Satanic Mills.

Soon the very fabric of the landscape changes. We went at a leisurely pace so the journey took a slow 7 hours rather than 4. Our arrival couldn't have been greated more warmly or thoughtfully. Jamie, true to style, had prepared gazpacho - superbly - and roast lamb followed by delicious cheese. I had forgotten what a superb cook he is.

Before dinner we walked down to the confluence of the north and the south Tyne rivers. They looked exciting and full of promise for our week ahead. On the far bank were some hlf naked tatooed yobbies from Newcastle who were showing off their overfed bodies and spare tyres as they prepared camp.

After a brief walk in the morning we decided to press on up to our destination, only too aware that we were still only halfway. What an amazing pitstop though; bathed, fed and beautifully rested.

Hadrians Wall and the borders made for a spectacular backdrop to our drive onwards and upwards. All the time I was looking at an article about grouse shooting in the Telegraph, written by Jonny. It made me feel like we were on the inside track....here was my friend and potentional host for a night, writing about what we are doing in a national newspaper..... It felt right and reassuring.

The lovely weather changed and we drove through rain and mist before finally arriving at Inverbroom Lodge and what was to be our home for the next week. There was a lot of coming and going and no sign of our host. It was not unlike the opening scene from Gosford Park.

Sally, who had done most of the driving, stopped for tea whilst William and I drove into Ullapool, 8 miles further up the Loch. It was fun to suudenly immerge ourselves in the bustle of this 18th fishing port. As we passed the rolling mountains and followed the path of the river Broom William, aged 15, waved his arm expansively and declared...."This is terrific, all of it...I am so excited that my toes are tingling".

I don't know whetehr I was more pleased for him or by him. There is something rather magnificant about the first night in a Victorian Sporting Lodge, all the excitement of people arriving by car and taxi from train stations or the airport....the cook in the kitchen and a beautifully prepared bedroom and lashings of hot water and whiskey.

It was not unlike the opening of the "Mousetrap". Sitting in the drawing room, chatting and reading the papers when all of a sudden a new character enters the stage with a pronouncement or declaration:

"Hello everyone....you can relax now, Murrays here and you can now all have cocktails....whos drinking what eh?...." booms the voice of Mark's brother in law.

There was a large collection of very well behaved dogs getting to know each other a little more discreetly than their owners. When I announced that there were signs at the bottom of each staircase declaring 'Absolutely NO dogs upstairs' the unanimous response was ...."well, my dogs can't read"....

Of the 16 or so house guests there wasn't one that looked like they lacked character . everyone was going about busily preparing themselves for the week of serious sport ahead of them....stalking the older stags, fishing for salmon and seatrout and in 3 days time, the excitement of actually being on the hill for the grouse on the 12th!

The army officer, 50 and always gracious - whether pouring drinks or stalking on the hill - announced during the first dinner that he had never married (so far) and that he'd just worked out "that my last girlfriend was two years yonger than my favourite pair courdroys"...

He had more luck on the hill and the river that week than on the dancefloor