Summer long ago

It’s a long time since I was sixteen, but one thing is still so vivid in my memory. My older brother was travelling, post uni, and my parents had taken me on a holiday to the west coast of Scotland, where they intended to tour from a base in a lonely, rented farmhouse right on the coast. Given the choice, I had elected to go fishing rather than suffer all that mileage in the back seat of the car every day.

Plenty of small but obliging brown trout kept me fully occupied in the tiny pools and riffles of the burn as it cascaded down toward the sea. My supply of flies began to dwindle, but they were all scrounged from adults anyway, I still had plenty in hand for fishing the whole length of tumbling burn until I reached the first of four tidal pools down on the rocky shore, where I hoped I might encounter a sea-trout for the first time.

By the third day, there I was, carefully casting my way along the first of those pools, when a soft, lilting Scottish voice nearly made me jump out of my skin; “Caught anything?“ inquired the beautiful girl sitting upon a flat rock on the opposite side. “Not yet” I managed to stammer in reply. I couldn’t look directly at her because I was already out of my comfort zone, and more importantly, she was only wearing a swimsuit. Desperate, I plucked up enough courage to say “Been swimming? I bet its too cold to go in for long?”. She replied “Not for me, but afterwards I do like to lie in the sun, it’s lovely today”. You’re lovely I thought, far too shy to say it, while frantically wondering what to say next. She said “I’m here for just seven days”, to which I replied “Me too”. “Then I’ll see you here tomorrow” she said and was suddenly gone. I felt strange, somehow unsettled yet excited by our meeting. I can’t remember anything else about that day, except I couldn’t sleep that night.

Next day my parents had a late, leisurely breakfast before setting out. Once I was sure the car was gone I hastened down to that pool. Alone, I began to fish mechanically, before nearly jumping in fright again when she spoke from close behind me, “What’s that you’re using?” came that softest voice, and I tried to explain wet fly fishing as if I knew what I was talking about. “Try this one, over there” she said, indicating a particular fly and the deeper end of the pool. I knotted the fly onto my line, it was something silvery blue, and the second cast saw the line tighten and I was thrilled by the power and shear fizz of the small sea trout. Once I had despatched it, to be dinner for my parents, she said “There’ll be another, waiting”, sure enough, there was.

“How do you know about fishing?” I asked. She replied “Oh, I fish every day except these seven, when I won’t”. There was a chill breeze just then, but she didn’t seem to mind, despite still wearing only the swimsuit. While I was busy fighting a third peal, I suddenly found myself alone again

I couldn’t wait for the next day, nor the next, and so on. She always managed to surprise me, appearing suddenly, beautiful, lithe, her hair and skin glowing in the sunshine, wearing just the swimsuit. My head kept swimming and swirling with thoughts and feelings completely new to me, at once lifting but alarming. The days blurred. She always smiled, always speaking in that soft, musical voice. She would tell me which fly to choose and where to cast it. We caught sea trout in the tidal pools, plus wrasse, bass, and pollack in the rocky inlets. I couldn’t believe my luck: the company of a beautiful girl and loads of fish! I hated the thought that the holiday would soon be over.

I plucked up some courage “Do you come here every year?” I asked. “Every seventh year” she replied. “Where do you live?” I asked. “Over there on that isle” she said pointing to a speck of an island out to sea. Now it was my turn to be questioned: ”How old are you?”, I hesitantly answered “Sixteen”. That serene smile turned into a frown “Can you be married?” she asked. I had no idea about the legal standing, this was something completely unconsidered before, but I knew well what my parents would say, so I replied “No, I don’t think so”.

At that her soft hand reached out to touch my cheek, I could feel the crimson blush on my skin burning hot, “Pity” is all she said, and was gone before I regained any control over my swirling, spinning senses.

The next day, forlorn and homeward bound in the back of the car, I asked my dad “Do you know who lives on that island you can see straight out from the cottage?”. He replied “It’s completely uninhabited, apart from a colony of seals”.

It was only in recent years that I found the reference to a ‘selkie’. I will never forget that summer.