This estate has an interesting contemporary story concerning a young man from Ardgay who after university returned to the glen and became a malicious poacher. Killing deer in the gardens of the stalkers and leaving cryptic messages on the rocks all over the estate. He was heavily pursued by the stalkers and police but always managed to escape in his Cortina - blaring American country music as it went. After one close shave where he was brought to court but got off, he went to the head of the river carron and poured cymac into it. Cymac suffocates the fish and they leap onto the river bank, good if you're a poacher, rather spoils things if you want a sporting opponent. This killed all the fish in the system, hugely damaging the whole community much of whose livelihood is dependant on the toff fishermen. The head stalker told me how his staff and he walked the lentgh of the river picking up dead and dying fish weeping as they went, several thousand fish lost their lives that night. After this incident the poacher left many bizarre messages painted in white paint on rocks and trees. Despite the culprit being widley known he was never aprehended.

I had intended to be at the loch side at midnight on the 11th - a new moon. The story of the fish and the planning of the expedition has particular resonance for me in that it recalls my journeys from Devon to Scotland that I made as a child. These trips - to visit my father - were always filled with an excitement, travelling overnight to the wild romantic highlands, carrying lots of special equipment, mainly to do with fishing.

My brother and I always used to go through London where we would be rushed around town by what seemed to be an impossibly glamorous older sister, in an open topped sports car. These interludes in the journey would always take in visits to all the trendy places that you could (or could not) get a child into, which usually meant a hugely embarrassing fight between my sister and the door man of 'Oh Calcutta' or whatever. My sister couldn't understand why - if she chose too - she could nt bring her 10 year old brother to whatever she wanted. To my extreme embarrassment we did get into various desperate groovy things of the day. I remember a Russ Meyer film and thinking that the rather mucky, grubby feel the film had, that must be degeneracy, equally I recall a similar reaction to the Rocky Horror Show. These experiences were useful in understanding oral sex and other oddities, all of which proved to be invaluable in understanding the far deeper degeneracy of my father's life in Scotland.

Throughout these adventures (and mentally in fact throughout the year) I would determinedly hold onto my fishing rods thinking of the expeditions my father and I would be undertaking in Scotland. During the year Dad would write to me about lochs with romantic names, high in the hills, filled with unique fish of extraordinary size and colouration.

The relationship all this has to the intended pilgrimage is straightforward. It has become even more analogous by the fact that the Golden trout expedition has fallen through. The estate got cold feet about allowing in the public though the 'Broadcast' project. Similarly the planned expeditions with my father never happened.

That sounds very poor little rich boy, which it is, I still spent my summers fishing for brown trout in a beautiful loch by the side of the ramshackle castle my father lived in. When the Golden Trout adventure fell through I was surprised at how depressed I felt about it and how much it brought back all that waiting. My embarrassed reminders to my father that perhaps it might be the day tomorrow - or later in the week if that was better - to make the fishing expedition. I was always timid in my demands because I didn't belong in Scotland at his house.

In the disappointment of the aborted trip, I decided that this fishing trip should be utterly achievable, failsafe, I have opted to fish Walthamstow reservoir. The reservoir is run by the water authority and is regularly stocked with farm bred rainbow trout to avoid any disappointment. The fish are usually a bit sad in themselves having had all their extremities nibbled off by their peers. The fee for fishing Walthamstow reservoir is £15.00 and you can keep 2 fish.

I lived for 15 years in London and almost every day drove past Walthamstow reservoir. I have never fished there before.

As my pilgrims tale I had intended to tell this story from the loch of the Golden Trout.

Johnny Sayles 'King of the screamers'
JS started his singing career in gospel where he established his name and style as a 'church wrecker'. His early career was as one of two singers pretending to be Little Johnny Taylor, a seminal soul singer who had a bit hit with 'Part time Love' but was laughed off stage when he tried to perform it due to his extreme ugliness. His story is also interesting, his early experiences made him rather paranoid and lacking in self- esteem. He re-emerged in the 70's with a string of down-home hits many of which hinted at some of his difficulties, including the self-deprecatory 'Little Johnny Taylor, ha ha ha'. He again disappeared from view after refusing to leave hotel rooms for performances and ultimately recording sessions. But again re emerged in the 80's in red leather with an LP called 'Ugly Man'. Johnny Sayles recorded two singles under his own name in 1963 which are widely regarded as the most impassioned, vocally histrionic records ever made. Both records were quite successful and he was offered a 3 month residency in Anchorage Alaska with the then emergent Lou Rawls as headliner. Lou quickly returned to Chicago to become one of the most successful soft soul acts of the 60's. Johnny stayed on, on double fee to entertain the black oil workers in the black club in Anchorage. To relax between sessions he and his band would go to the county and western club across the street where minor country singers played to the red neck oil workers. On one occasion as a joke the rednecks put a Stetson on Johnny and put him up on stage. They didn't know that inside Johnny Sayles was a finely honed cabaret singer who, in the soul world had no opportunity to make the work he really loved. Country and western music was deep in his bones having been brought up in the deep south before his move to Chicago. That night he blew them away and was taken on as the country and western residency to add to his double booking across the street.