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My camera poised for topside action

No sooner had I returned home at dusk for a cup of tea in front of the fire on the Wednesday, however, than I had received a call from researcher Jo. 'Lindz,' she said. 'I've spoken to the ghillie and the salmon are showing really well. If there's a small chance of getting anything tomorrow evening when you arrive up there it would be great.'

Having never seen salmon spawning on what sounded like a massive scale, I was desperate to get in amongst it. After a brief look at the weather forecast for the following few days, I had the Landy packed and ready to go... my cuppa still steaming on the mantelpiece.

It wasn't until midnight that I arrived. A reasonably easy six-hour drive listening to trance, techno and house music (Packham would be disappointed!) and the Highlands were looking stunning. A half moon, a sky full of white specks & the roadside glistening with frost were just ideal conditions for salmon to be spawning in. The morning couldn't come soon enough!

Lionel, my ghillie, arrived at 8am on the dot in his full Kinveachy Tweed, putting my waders and bobble hat to shame. First stop was a small bridge where it was clear there were a lot of very active fish.

'Yer ain't seen nothing yet 'me wee boy,' he told me in his incredible Scottish accent. 'Fallow me.' Only a few hundred yards downstream across a private field I encountered one of the most amazing wildlife spectacles I've ever seen in Britain.

My Highland 'hide'

Before even switching off the engine could I see the dorsal fins, tails and backs of so many salmon thrashing around in the water. Whichever direction I looked there were fish, all of them in the reasonably large 8-12lb bracket, with the odd giant creating a bow wave as it ripped upstream. I was amazed, but according to Lionel, it was nothing on the day before.

'Th' water was white. They waur jist coverin' th' river fightin' fur th' hens!' he told me. With a Land Rover rammed with filming 'toys' I was itching to get going, so Lional left me to it.

'I'll gang and gie th' wee jimmies and be back. Guid luck.' I couldn't stop smiling as I set up my polecam, hands shaking with excitement, all the time hearing huge splashes behind me.

It was clear from looking at the river bed that fish had been spawning here at for what looked like a couple of weeks. Small patches of clean gravel covering the rocky floor was a clear indication of cut redds, the 'nest' the female digs out with her tail in which she lays her eggs.

Kneeling in the water at the very edge, I dipped my polecam into river, only for it to be shunted back out the water by a couple of male (cock) fish chasing each other! Wherever I put the camera, the only thing on these salmons minds was fertilising the females (hens) eggs. Every now and then, despite being out the way, I'd get hit in the thigh by cock fish escaping the jaws of a larger competitor. I was in heaven!

It took a while to suss the fish out from a filming point of view, but to get a proper bit of behaviour (for example, the hens cutting their redds) I needed to find a female. There were clearly a lot more cock fish around as they were easy to see thrashing the water chasing each other away.

The females tended to be a little more solitary, being very loyal to their patch of the river bed where they're cut their redd. Getting shunted away by careless males occasionally, they'd always return to the same area. Once I'd worked that out, getting the camera in certain positions started to pay off. Although, preventing feisty cock fish barging into my pole proved to be a little issue.

The hens chose their patch on the river bed to cut a redd on their own. It's only once they're dug in that they're ready to lay their eggs and grab the aid of a male to fertilise them. This, I guess, is why they're cruising around, waiting for and trying to find a female that's ready to lay.

It's at this point the males become even more aggressive as they fight over who gets the fertilising rights. Once the male has 'wowed' his female with his shivering display, the female lays the eggs. Then the male releases his milt on top of them, fertilising them before they get eaten or washed away in the flow.

'Hoo ye daein' Lindsay?' shouted a voice from the bank. Turning around to reply, I saw four 'tweed-smart' ghillies, all with cameras, watching and laughing. I think they knew how I was 'daein'!

The day continued to amaze me. Filming the topside action, the lens continually got covered in water from splashing fish. Putting my head at almost water's level, it became obvious how many fins there actually were sticking out the surface. Dippers and were feasting on fish eggs, and the wildlife all around me was something I'd expect in North America, not Britain. The only thing I was missing were a few bears.

It's a difficult spectacle to portray on telly from above the surface, but I can't describe how amazing it is to watch. Thinking about the amount of energy each fish puts into: A, getting up the river; B, spawning; and C, to just to stay alive to reach that age; blows me away. That 95 per cent of them then die and disappear makes me feel quite emotional.

The following morning, with a minuscule amount of rain overnight, the state of the river had barely altered. Yet the conditions had changed enough that seeing a fish, let alone any spawning, became rare, proving how sensitive this magnificent species of fish is... and how lucky the Autumnwatch team were to film it!