ALMOST 30-years ago, I began a love affair, and have recently been re-acquainted with the object of my affections. And what a pleasure it was to go back to the area where the affair had burgeoned.

As a young actor, I had heard on the grapevine that BBC Scotland planned to make a six-part series based on the novel ''Sunset Song'', written by Lewis Grassic Gibbon, the pen-name of local author James Leslie Mitchell. I knew that if I was to be cast in the series, I would have to know about the book and the characters in it. It took me a long time to get into the distinctive style of Gibbon's writing, but when I did - what a wealth of description of character and country swam before my eyes.

I felt immediate empathy with the people and the land of the Howe of the Mearns and pestered the producer and director to include me in their plans. Eventually, I was lucky enough to be cast in the part of Will Guthrie, the brother of the main character Chris Guthrie, played by Vivien Heilbron. And Vivien was the catalyst that took me back to Stonehaven last week.

Grampian Television make an excellent programme called ''Walking Back to Happiness'' where guests are invited to return to places dear to them. Vivien chose the Howe and the making of Sunset Song and invited me to be one of her guests. We were to reminisce about the filming and the fact that, 30 years on, we are still friends, albeit brought together in a work situation, but actually both lovers of the story and the area.

One incident springs to mind. I was scheduled to have a day off. The film unit and cast were staying in The Commodore Motel in Stonehaven and Stewart Spence looked after us well. After dinner that night, having taken my fishing gear with me (just in case), and having found that the Cowie Burn had a decent run of sea trout, I decided that the morrow would be spent on the water. Problem? A wee river - tree lined, therefore not a fly water, so bait was needed. Worms sprang to mind and so, with torch in hand, the lawn of the Commodore beckoned. I was asked what I was up to by Vivien, and others, and explained. The dew after dusk brings big, fat lobworms to the surface and with the torch, they can be lifted easily and put into the container equipped with moss and grass, thereby to be in perfect condition for the next day's foray. ''Show me,'' said Vivien, and the challenge was on.

So, there we were. Chris and Will Guthrie, Vivien and Paul, torch in hand, lifting lovely lobworms from the lawn. Twenty minutes were sufficient and after a clean-up, we had a night-cap. Vivien had thoroughly enjoyed her nocturnal sojourn, so much, in fact, that a deal was struck. If I got a fish on my day off with some of the worms that she had helped to collect, that fish was communal property and had to be shared. That was fine by me.

Next day, permit in grubby mitt, I met the challenge of the Cowie. I hacked my way up-river looking for likely spots and took a couple of finnock, dutifully returned. Then, manna from heaven, a small fall with a deep pool below and just the place where a sea trout might lie. A couple of worms - one of mine and one of Vivien's? - a lob into the white water under the fall and nothing. Surely a fish might be lying there, so another try. This time there was a hard knock and the fish was on, and it was a good one. Landed, it weighed over four pounds, an excellent sea trout and I make no apology for taking it on the worm.

Back to the Commodore and it was prepared by the chef for that evening's dinner. When the film unit got back from a hard day's work, there it was on the menu. ''Fresh Poached Cowie Burn Sea Trout''. (Poached refers to the method of cooking, not catching!). There was just enough for everyone to have a taste as a starter and delicious it was.

So, how pleasant it was to be up in the Howe of the Mearns again, re-living those days with Vivien. Sunset Song was a seminal time for many of us involved in the production.

So pleasant, indeed, that Vivien remembered it these 28-years later and asked me back to recount the story. I met Jean Adams from the Crown at Inverbervie, had lunch at the Creel Inn at Catterline and was even picked up by Mr McKelvie of Dermists Taxis - Gettit? - but I did not have time to fish the Cowie Burn that day.

Perhaps it might be best never to fish that water again and just remember the fun of that fine sea trout and how it, and the bait required to catch it, has cemented a friendship of almost 30 years. Yet the angler in me wants to go back. Who knows, there might be a five-pounder in the falls pool, just waiting to take a couple of worms.