Paul Murton is enjoying a rather nice glass of French rosé wine in the Meikleour Arms.
It’s the eve of the launch of salmon fishing season on the River Tay, and Paul, having been invited to perform the opening ceremony, is staying here overnight.
The last time I saw the TV presenter – in the flesh – he was wading through mud and splashing around in the chilly waters of Loch Baa on Rannoch Moor, desperately swatting at bloodthirsty midges.
He was making an episode of his Grand Tours of Scotland series, and even as he doggy-paddled out beyond the shallows, his iconic Tilley hat stayed put.
The garment rarely parts company with his head – and it’s the one thing that convinces people of his identity.
Tonight, however, Paul, 66, is hat-free. Understandably so – we’re inside a fine establishment.
Why is Paul’s hat so iconic?
“I have a stash of Tilley hats I rotate,” he tells me. “But they’re getting slightly threadbare.
“They don’t manufacture that particular type of hat anymore. It’s made of hemp. I think too many people were trying to smoke it.”
What will he do when his surviving hats become too threadbare to sport, I ask?
Paul grins: “I’ll just have to change my persona; become a different sort of person. If I take my hat off, suddenly I’m anonymous.”
This is Paul to a tee – affable, humorous, modest and self-deprecating.
He’s keen to tell me about his travels – to the Scottish islands and Highlands, and abroad (he adores Greece) – and reveals he’s a massive fan of sailing.
Sailing is a major passion
“I’ve got a share in a boat up at Plockton,” he reveals. “I use it whenever I can.
“I usually go for a couple of weeks over to Ireland, to Donegal.
“Last time I saw a humpback whale breaching as we were going round Ardnamurchan Point. I thought it was a torpedo.”
Another hobby Paul – who has a degree in philosophy from Aberdeen University – enjoys is baking sourdough.
Sourdough ‘anxiety’
“My sourdough starter is nine years old,” says the dad-of-five. “It’s like having a child. It needs to be nurtured.
“I get very worried if I go away for more than two weeks. I have to get people to come and feed it. I get sourdough starter anxiety.
“I wake up in the night and hear it crying for food. The first bit of yeast that started it died a long time ago, but its offspring are still alive.”
So what about fishing?
But of course the reason Paul and I are at Meikleour, in the new, tastefully decorated dining room, is to discuss salmon fishing.
With the launch of the 2025 season upon us, how does he feel about the sport?
“I’m not a great fisherman,” he admits. “I started fishing in Argyll when I was about nine.
“My friend and I had a wee fishing rod – I don’t think it even had a fly. I think it just had a hook.
“I tried casting that and caught the seat of my pants. It didn’t get off to a great start!”
Another mishap involved being hooked in the head when he was attempting to fish in Stirlingshire.
“The ghillie seemed to be making encouraging noises until the fly didn’t fly in the right direction and ended up hooking into my scalp,” Paul winces.
“I asked him to pull it out. The blood drained from his face. He couldn’t stand the sight of blood.
“He phoned his wife who was a nurse, and she brought out a pair of pliers and nicked it out. That didn’t put me off.
“But I was a bit more careful. I kept a hat on. It’s a good idea if you’re a very poor caster like me.”
Fishing – not about the catch
But surely, having been asked to launch salmon fishing season – and make the first cast – Paul must be pretty good?
He shakes his head. “I’ve never really learned to fly fish. I’m constantly having lessons.
“I’ve had some with Claire (Mercer Nairne, who owns Meikleour Fishings), and the legendary Tom Brown (from Dunfermline).
“But I’ve been lucky enough to make 18 documentaries about some of Scotland’s greatest rivers.
“So I’ve fished quite a few of them from the Naver up in Sutherland and the Oykel, to the Ythan in Aberdeenshire, the Dee, the Tweed, and the Tay of course.”
What appeals to Paul about fishing? It’s not about the catch, he insists.
“It’s a different way of being in nature,” he reflects. “It’s also about the myths and legends around it.
“The fish that get away are more important than the ones you actually land.”
Almost arrested for poaching
While Paul laments never having caught a salmon on a line, he admits he did once catch one with his “bare hands”.
He was almost arrested for poaching in the process.
It was early in his TV career and he was making a wildlife documentary in South Uist.
Paul takes up the story. “I was standing on this bridge over a burn flowing across white sand, with the turquoise sea on the horizon.
“I heard this commotion and saw this huge salmon making its way slowly upstream in shallow water.
“I was a vegetarian at the time. This light went off in my head, saying ‘kill, kill’. I was possessed by the hunter-gatherer instinct.
“I jumped into the river and grabbed the fish, struggled with it and dropped it. I did that about three times until it lay motionless at my feet.
The killer instinct
“I was wondering what to do – the killer instinct had left me – when I noticed a man standing on the bank.
“He said: ‘I’m the local water bailiff. I was watching athletics on television but the sport outside was far more entertaining’.
“I tried to explain I was assisting the fish upstream and I’d dropped it.
“He gave me a kind of ‘aye, right’ look, picked up the fish, put it into the boot of his car and drove off.”
Near-poaching incidents aside, Paul loves sea fishing, a hobby that began in his childhood in Argyll and proved lucrative.
“My parents ran a small hotel at Ardentinny, on the shores of Loch Long,” he elaborates.
“My brother and I used to catch huge quantities of mackerel and then sell them back to my mother for the hotel. They went straight into the deep freeze.
“She gave us a little bit of cash, as an incentive to keep us busy, but she’d sell the mackerel in the bar.”
Paul also fished with his father when he lived in Norway.
“We’d spend the summer sailing round the west coast of Norway catching crabs, mackerel and saithe,” he recalls.
What’s the plan for 2025?
So what’s granddad-of-five Paul got planned for 2025, I ask? More fishing? More sailing? Perhaps the purchase of a new hat?
Or maybe he just fancies relaxing at home in Aberfoyle, where he’s lived for almost 30 years?
Paul, who has directed several TV dramas, including The Bill, Casualty and River City, before getting stuck into Grand Tours, reveals there’s “something” coming up, but he can’t give away details.
“You’ll probably find out at the end of the year,” he teases. “It’s a TV thing, in Scotland, especially on the West Coast.”
He’s hoping to do more exploring on his motorbike, too. Riding it has become a passion, since his son bought him lessons for a Christmas present.
“I wrestled with the idea of having a motorbike because I never wanted one, but then I had lessons, got a licence and bought a motorbike,” he says. “I’m on my third now.”
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