Each month we will be featuring a guest writer and this month is Tom McMahon from Tucson, Arizona He said about this story. The following was written as part of a series of trip reports posted on the AOL Scotland Travel Board. I have now divided them into each of the four days we were in Shetland. Tom and his wife Liz visited Eshaness Lighthouse last week.

Part One here Part Two here Part Three here

Part Four here Part Five here Part Six here

There's no need for an alarm to wake me up today. This is the day I have longed for from the moment I first stepped onto Scottish soil back in 1995. It's "Fishing Day!" And it's bound to be glorious!

I steal from the bed, dash the step or two to the window, and pull up the corner of the curtain to peer out...

Uh-oh.

It is a dim, grey, overcast morning that is alternately being washed by showers and blown dry by an insistent wind. Well...so what. We're going fishing! This is going to be a great adventure!

Young John, I am happy to note, is full of smiles and good humor this morning as we sit down to enjoy our breakfast in the Library Room. This is a really nice young fellow.

Jim Ivens, our ghillie for the day, joins us as we are finishing up. His demeanor and comments suggest that it is brisk outside and that we will want to dress warmly for the outing.

While we return to our room to don our silk longjohns, sweatshirts, and so on, John MacRae packages up a nice little lunch for the three of us to take along.

In reality, it is not brisk outside. No, it is way beyond that. It is snappy. It is chilly. It is nippy. It is gusty. It is frigid. It is blustery. It is rainy. It is windy. It is just this side of wintry. But brisk it is not. And as we pile into Jim's cherry red and white Land Rover, we haven't an inkling that what we are experiencing at the moment is balmy compared to what's in store for us today.

Jim is unabashedly in love with his Land Rover. Classic boxy profile. Classic 4-wheel drive. Classic jostle-the-passengers ride. This is his pride and joy and it shows in every shift of the gears, pump of the clutch, and turn of the wheel. This is man and machine...for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health...

Liz "rides shotgun" up front. There is no back seat, so I sit on one of the rear wheel wells and bounce along with the fishing rods and tackle boxes. The "wap-wap" of the windshield wipers sort of set the rhythm for the journey.

On our first day in Shetland, we explored the southern part of Mainland. Yesterday, we headed north. Today, Jim takes us west on our search for the fabled... the legendary... the celebrated Shetland Brown Trout! Did I mention "elusive?" The elusive Shetland Brown Trout? I think it would behoove me to mention "elusive" here.

Our first stop is at Kergord Burn, a picturesque little stream that rushes beneath a narrow bridge and past what was once a thriving mill that now houses an art gallery, a shop and the Shetland Textile Working Museum.

Jim gets out his home-grown worms and sets us up with our poles. We are directly across the burn from the mill. The banks of the stream and the mill offer us a bit of protection from the wind, but the chill in the air will not be denied.

There is churning in the water on the other side of the stream. Trout! Jim's fishing rods are considerably longer than the ones we are used to in Arizona, and it takes a while to get the hang of casting with them. Besides, we are wearing gloves! But eventually we are plopping those tasty, tender worm morsels right into the fishes' living room.

Zero. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Ain't nothin' happenin', baby.

Liz wanders downstream a bit where a smart aleck trout taps her line a few times, but refuses to get on board. Meanwhile, I delude myself into thinking that at any minute a whole school of these critters is going to commit mass suicide by impaling themselves on my tiny wee hook. "There'll be a big ol' fish fry at The Palm Shack tonight, you bet," I tell myself.

Zero. Zip. Zilch. Nada..

Jim has been bobbing back and forth between Liz and me offering pointers and words of encouragement, but it is becoming pretty apparent that tonight's dinner is not going to come from here. He suggests we pack it up and move upstream behind a dam.

We stop briefly at the Land Rover for a sip of hot coffee before scrambling over a fence and trudging over soggy ground to the bank of the wee loch created by the dam. The water is weedy here and Jim hooks us up with what I find to be a most unusual bobber to keep our hooks off the bottom. It is a plastic globe that he fills halfway with water by submerging it in the water. "That's really gotta be cold," I think to myself as I tug the gloves up even further on my hands.

"Splash!" "Splash!" Our lines hit the water. Nothing to do now, but wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Nada, etc.

Well, Jim has another place for us to try. Sort of his secret fishing spot. So, it's back to the Land Rover and we're on the road again.

Actually, Jim takes us on a couple of short detours. First, we continue up the tiny road to Kergord. Here Jim points out the impressive house where John MacRae used to live and which was, for awhile, the headquarters of the fabled "Shetland Bus" of World War II. Here, too, is "Shetland's forest," the Kergord Tree Plantation. It is an eight-or-so-acre stand of trees that was planted between 1909 and 1921. It is a remarkable feature on the otherwise treeless landscape of Mainland.

Jim turns the Land Rover around and we head back to the main roadway. The fishing may not be good so far, but Jim's stories certainly are. And he serves up a feast of them for us as we roll along.

The more time we spend with Jim Ivens, the more I like him. Physically, there is something about him that reminds me of Lachy MacRae in the "Hamish MacBeth" British television series, but I can't quite put my finger on what it is. Perhaps it's the beard or the hat or both. He has not been going through the easiest of times lately, but Jim's disposition would never reveal that. His attitude is positive. His sense of humor is terrific. He is genuinely open and friendly. I just enjoy being around him.

Jim asks us if we would like to go up Weisdale Hill where the television tower that John (Kate's John) looks after is located. The views are "tremendous up there." Well, that's what Jim tells us, but I think his real purpose in taking us up the steep, rocky, rutted dirt road is to show off the 4-wheel drive capabilities of his Land Rover.

The wheels dig into the earth and the vehicle crawls its way up to the top. We clamber out into the frosty air. The weather partially obscures the panorama, but Liz and I can tell that on a clear day the view from up here would truly be phenomenal. As we stand here high on the hill, braced against the wind, Shetland presents us with yet another surprise: Snow! Tiny flakes of it start to fall, swirling and tumbling as they're carried along on the wind. We jam our hands deep into our coat pockets and laugh. Ah, it is Springtime in The Shetland Islands!

We get back on the road again. Our destination is the Upper Loch of Brouster and once again it is a wee road that takes us there.

When we arrive at the loch there are a couple of people fishing at Jim's favorite spot. We decide to have lunch while waiting to see if they finish for the day or move on to another spot. Jim opens the back of the Land Rover and we dig into the lunch from The Westings. Liz and I have cheese and pickle sandwiches on brown bread. Lunch also includes potato crisps and a candy bar, along with Jim's coffee. We stand outside, backs to the wind, munching our goodies and concentrating very hard on not visibly shivering.

One of the reasons Jim likes this loch so much is that there is a fish farm here. It sits out toward the middle of the loch and is defined by floating rectangles under which sit bins chock-full of fish. It seems to be a completely automated plant and from time to time, we can hear the machinery as it distributes food to the occupants. And that is the "draw" of Upper Brouster to fishermen. The food cannot be contained in the bins. It drifts out into the loch and is gobbled up by the hungry...and elusive...wild trout. They become well fed, fat and feisty trophy fish.

The two men at the shore have moved on, so we grab our gear and trudge in our wellies down to the water's edge. At first the wind is blowing directly across the loch toward us, making casting that much more of a challenge. But we manage to get our lines and floats out there...and then watch the wind hustle them back to shore. We give this spot a good shot, but no luck. We move down the shore.

The wind now seems to change direction and pick up force. And suddenly a new element is added to the picture - rain! It is not heavy, but the wind hurls it past us horizontally. It sounds like static as it peppers our hoods and coats. It stings when it hits our faces. Mixed with the rain, the wind is cutting. I look over at Jim. I think he, even more than Liz and me, wants us to haul in a monster trout, wants us to be successful on this much-looked-forward-to fishing excursion.

We cast the lines out a few more times, but the celebrated Shetland Brown Trout remains elusive. I am feeling very cold. Liz is looking very cold. Jim is trying his best not to look very cold. But this is crazy. I turn to him and say, "Jim, I think it's time we went back to The Palm Shack for a nice warm dram of malt whisky." He assures us that if we want to stay here longer, that's fine. But all I can think of is getting into the Land Rover and out of the wind.

[An important digression: Wellies, it should be noted, are perfectly swell for keeping your feet dry, but do nothing - absolutely nothing - about keeping your feet warm. End digression]

To Be Continued

The author can be reached by email.

More guest writers can be found here.