It's a late May Sunday evening. Chuck the tackle in the back of the car and scoot across to Bleachfield Corner. Tackle up and tie on a grouse and orange. Not one I use often. Off to the river ah. General's beat. Lower Pavilion. Know it the. Lies and runs like the back of me hand. It's a dull. Humid evening. Ideal for fishing. After about ten minutes. Shallow streamy water. A suicidal fish. Attaches itself to my grouse and orange. This was BIG. I thought it might be a sea-trout but they jump and tug and usually break your line. I thought it might be a grilse. One-sea-winter salmon. But they're also. Quite lively. And usually break your line. This went to the bottom and sulked. Classic brown trout behaviour. Applied pressure. It moved and gradually came in probably taking about five minutes to beach in the shallows where I was standing. It was a brown trout. Bigger than any I'd caught previously. About 60 cm long. I reckoned ah. Conservatively it weighed about. Four pounds. This is a good fish for middle Tweed. The second this fish took I determined I wasn't going to kill it. It un-hooked easily and I held it in streamy water for a while. Allowing it to recover from the struggle. It flicked its great spade of a tail and swam away to. Do its bit for another year in. Maintaining the trout population. As is often the case. When you get a big one you get bugger-all else on the same occasion and so it proved. Glad I let it go. And I haven't killed a fish since.