Then there was that giant fish lost near Dryburgh by Colonel Haig of Bemersyde, "perhaps the greatest salmon ever hooked in Tweed," as Sir Herbert Maxwell remarks in his _Story of the Tweed_. Lost fish are proverbially the largest fish, but in this instance it was not the fisher who boasted of the weight. Late one evening, fishing in the Haly Weil, the Colonel got fast in something heavy which, resistless as fate, bored steadily down the river a full half mile to the Tod Holes in Dryburgh Water. Here, heavy and sullen, and never showing himself, he ploughed slowly about, and Colonel Haig, already overdue at home, became impatient, believing that he must have foul-hooked a moderate-sized fish. Darkness was fast coming on, and at last the Colonel told his attendant to wade in and try to net the fish. "He's that muckle I cannot get him in, sir," cried the lad after a time. But the Colonel could not wait. "Nonsense," he said. "Get his head in. I can't stop here all night." Then came the not uncommon result of trying to net a big fish in an uncertain light; the rim of the net fouled the gut cast, and away went the fish. It would spoil the story not to tell the rest of it in Sir Herbert Maxwell's own words. "The Colonel did not realise the magnitude of his disaster until two or three weeks later, when he happened to be waiting for a train at St. Boswells Station. The porter came to him and said: "'Hae ye ony mind, Colonel, o' yon big fush ye slippit in the Tod Holes yon nicht?' "'Oh, I mind him well,' replied the Colonel; 'a good lump of a fish he was, I believe, but I never saw him rightly.' "'Ay,' said the other dryly; 'yon wad be the biggest sawmon that ever cam oot o' the water o' Tweed, I'm thinking.' "'Why, what do you know about him?' asked the Colonel. "'Oh, I ken fine aboot the ae half o' him, ony way,' replied the porter. 'Ye see, there was twa lads clappit amang the trees below the Wallace statue forenenst ye, waiting till it was dark to set a cairn net, ye ken. Weel, didna they see you coming doun the water taigled wi' a fish? And when ye cam to the Tod Holes, they saw ye loss him, and they got a visee o' the water he made coming into the east bank, ye ken. There's a wee bit cairn there, ye ken, wi' a piece lound water ahint it, where they jaloused the fish wad rest himsel a wee. Weel, they waited till it was mirk night, and then they jist whuppit the net round him, and they sune had him oot. He was that big he wadna gang into the bag they had wi' them; so they cuttit him in twa halves; and the tae half they brocht to the station here to gang by rail to Embro'. Weel, if the tither half was as big, yon fish bud to be seeventy pund weight; for the half o' him I weighed mysel, and it was better nor thirty-five pund. Ay, a gran' kipper!'"