JHE LAND OF THE HILLS
AND THE GLENS

FOR THE PEOPLE

FOR EDVCATION

FOR SCIENCE

LIBRARY

OF

THE AMERICAN MUSEUM

OF

NATURAL HISTORY

THE LAND OF THE HILLS AND
THE GLENS

BY THE SAME AUTHOR
THE

CHARM
OF THE
HILLS

New Edition, with
64 Full-page Illus-
trations direct from
Nature

A RAZORBILL GREETING THE MORNING SUN.

The Land of the Hills
and the Glens

Wild Life in lona and the

Inner Hebrides S.o^-^i^^

By

Seton Gordon, f.z.s.

With 57 Illustrations from Photographs
by the Author

GASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD

London, New York, Toronto and Melbourne

First published July 1920
Reprinted December 1920

DEDICATED TO

MY GREATEST COMPANION
AND FRIEND

PREFACE

In the following pages I have attempted to portray some ot
the charm and the varying moods of the Hebridean coasts.

In the chapters the reader will find something about the
wild life of that country, and I have also endeavoured to
describe a little of the people and their traditions.

For the first two years of the war I was stationed on the
Island of Mull, and in my duties of coast-watching there and
on the surrounding islands had exceptional opportunities of
seeing the country and of getting to know its inhabitants, for
my work took me constantly to the most out-of-the-way places.

I can honestly say that I have never met with people
possessing more charm and hospitality than those dwellers
of the Inner Hebrides.

The Highland crofter or fisherman is almost always one of
Nature's gentlemen, and is full of an altogether exceptional
consideration and kindliness towards the stranger. In many
of the coast-watchers I found firm and loyal friends, and
consider that I was very fortunate in having such people to
work with.

Since the war I have revisited the Hebridean Islands,
studying and photographing the birds and renewing old
friendships.

Certain of the chapters of the book, as "The Mail-Boat,"
"Ardnamurchan," "The Big Glen," "Skerryvore," and
others, describe some of my experiences as Admiralty Patrol

vii

Preface

Officer, though I have thought it better to avoid the mention-
ing of any matters in them which pertained to the war.

During the later years of the war, when stationed in
Ireland, I had opportunities of comparing the dwellers on
the western shores of that island with the West Highlander,
and in the two Celtic types found much that is common.
This was especially noticeable on and around the Aran Islands
— a small group of islands lying west of Galway. It is here,
too, that the two languages — or shall I say dialects? — High-
land Gaelic and Irish Gaelic, most nearly approach one
another.

There is an old saying that "the west's alive." Certain
it is that the western seaboard and islands, both of Scotland
and Ireland, have a charm that is ever present in the mind
of him who knows them well, a charm which will always draw
him back to the country known to Gaelic-speaking High-
landers as "Tir nam Beann, s'nan Gleann, s'nan Gaisgeach "
("The Land of the Hills and the Glens and the Heroes ").

Seton Gordon,
Late Lieutenant,

Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve.

Ahoyne,
June, 1920.

viu

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

1. Sunset and Sunrise on Ben Nevis .

2. The Eagles of the Mountain Birch

3. The Coming of Spring to the Mist Islands

4. At the Breeding Grounds of the Grey Seal

5. Ardnamurchan

6. The Arctic Skua and its Nesting .

7. The Big Glen

8. The Life of a Ptarmigan

9. loNA and its Sound ....

10. The Sea Pool

11. Memories of Highland Stalkers

12. An Lochan Uaine ....

13. The Glen of the Herons

14. The Queen of the Islands

15. Ben More Mull ....

16. The Lochan of the Red-throated Diver

17. The Tribe of the Sea Swallows

18. Rudha na h'uamha ....

19. The Mail-Boat

20. Skerryvore

21. Loch nan Ceall ....

22. The Fighting of the Blackcock

ix

I
6
10
16
21
25
32
38

44
52
59
67
71
77
82
90

94
100

105
III

115
122

Contents

23. The Tribe of the Wild Swans . . . 125

24. The Ptarmigan of the Waves .... 133

25. The Ross of Mull 139

26. The Hill Buzzard 146

27. The Lochan of the White-fronted Geese . 149

28. The Nesting of the Red-necked Phalarope . 153

29. The Land of Tiree 158

30. Winter Birds on the Shores of the Minch . 168

31. The Kelp Industry in the Highlands . . 174

32. Spring in the Western Highlands . . . 184

33. Summer in the Western Highlands . . 193

34. Autumn in the Western Highlands . . 201

35. Winter in the Western Highlands . . 210
Index -217

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

A Razorbill Greeting the Morning Sun . Frontispiece

FACING PAGE

Early Morning Mists from the Top of Ben Nevis

The Mists rolling up the Glen of Allt A'Mhuilinn

Looking West from the Top of Ben Nevis

On Ben Nevis : the Sun dispelling the Mist from the

Neighbouring Tops

Young Golden Eagle Defiant ....
Another Study : Feathers of the Head raised in Anger
Golden Eagle : " Ready for the Worst " .
Grey Seal about Two Weeks Old taking Refuge in a

Stagnant Pool

Young Grey Seal

Young Grey Seal, perhaps Two Weeks Old

Grey Seals about Six Weeks Old : showing the

Variation in Colouring .....

A Colony of Guillemots

Arctic Skua approaching her Eggs

Arctic Skua on her Nest

Arctic Skua on the Nest calling to its Mate
March Snows in the Forest ....

Stags in the Big Glen at Evening

A Fine Hill Stag

In the Heart of the Hill Country
Looking Westward across the Forest
Early Morning in the Ptarmigan Country
Ptarmigan Chick about a Week Old .

" The High Tops " in June

Stalking : Examining the Hill for a likely Stag
Stalking : a Doubtful Glance at the Skies

xi

i6

17
20

20
21
28
28
29
32
33
36
37
37
42
42

43
64
65

List of I llustratio7ts

FACING fAGE

The Sea Pool

An Lochan Uaine .

Looking into the Sunset

The Herons' Glen.

The Herons' Tree.

Ben More Mull

Oyster Catcher's Nest .

Nest of the Red-Throated Diver

Nest of Peregrine on a Hebridean Island

Lesser Tern about to Brood on her Newly-hatched

Chick and Egg

Lesser Tern and her Chick

A KiTTIWAKE WITH HER YoUNG ....

Blackcock Fighting at Daybreak on the Shore of
Hebridean Sea Loch

The Birthplace of a Hill Burn ....

Bewick Swans at their Winter Quarters .

A Solitary Bewick Swan

Red-necked Phalarope at its Summer Quarters .

Red-necked Phalarope — Throwing a Dainty Ripple
it Swims

Nest of the Buzzard

Young Buzzards ....

A West Highland Crofter's Dwelling

Its Inmates

A TiREE Woman Spinning

Guillemots Brooding their Eggs .

Guillemots and Young in late July

Young Golden Eagle in the Eyrie

Young Fully-fledged Golden Eagle

Razorbill approaching her Egg .

Razorbill Brooding

Curlew approaching her Nest

Curlew Brooding ....

AS

68
68
69
74
75
86

87
92

93

98
98
99

122
123
128
128
129

129
148
149
160
160
161
176
177
186
187
192

193
200
201

xn

THE LAND OF THE HILLS AND
THE GLENS

CHAPTER I

SUNSET AND SUNRISE ON BEN NEVIS

At one period Ben Muich Dhui was held to be the highest
hill in these Islands, but with the advent of more scien-
tific methods in the determining of altitude it was forced
to yield pride of place to Ben Nevis, the summit of
which, dominating the Atlantic seaboard of Scotland, stands
just over four thousand four hundred feet above sea level.
In reality, Ben Nevis has a great superiority in height
over the first-mentioned hill, for at its base it is not more
than one hundred feet above the waters of the Atlantic,
whereas Ben Muich Dhui rises from the high ground of
Mar at an elevation of quite one thousand eight hundred feet.
It was early one afternoon in late July when I left Glen
Nevis with the object of spending the night on the summit of
the Ben. After a long spell of cold and misty conditions,
an Atlantic anti-cyclone, which had for some time been
struggling to dominate the weather of the Western High-
lands, at length gained the upper hand over a series of
small depressions, and a succession of magnificent days
was the result. The walk up the lower slopes of Ben Nevis
is comparatively uninteresting, though I noted that up to
the one thousand five hundred feet level straggling birches
clothed the hillside, and it was interesting to compare the
limit of their growth here with that attained by them on the

B I

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

Cairngorm Hills. As I gained the upper reaches of the
hill the starry saxifrage (Saxifraga stellaris) and Saxifraga
hypyioides were common, and an occasional plant of the
parsley fern {Allosurus crispus) protruded its delicate foli-
age from between the rocks. For the last one thousand
feet of the climb, however, vegetation was quite absent,
hundreds of acres of volcanic "scree " covering the hill
as far as the eye could reach. At an altitude of four
thousand feet I watched for some time a number of ravens,
apparently a brood of the year, accompanied by the parent
birds. They were feeding on a spur of the hill, and as
they rose gave an exhibition of soaring powers little
inferior to those of the eagle himself.

It was near sunset as the summit cairn was reached.
Even with the summer half gone, the winter's snow still
covered the plateau, in places to a depth of quite four feet,
and cornices of snow projected over the giant precipices.
Though the sun had already set in the glens below, the
plateau was still bathed in its soft rays, the snowfields
in its glow taking on a faint pinkish tinge, Arctic in its
effect. Lower and lower sank the sun in the north-western
sky ; passing just above the tops of the Coolin Hills in
the Isle of Skye, and throwing out their peaks in strong
relief, it ultimately sank behind the horizon across the hills
of Knoidart at exactly four minutes to nine (G.M.T.). For
a full three-quarters of an hour after this time its rays
still shot high into the northern sky, and at no period of
the night did the dull red after-glow disappear entirely
from the horizon. A short time previously I had seen
the light of the sun reflected on the waters of the far
Atlantic, and now the hills on the Island of Rhum — the
home of heavy stags — stood out sharply. Near by it was
possible to make out a strip of the less mountainous Island of
Eigg, and the hills of the Outer Hebrides, with their conical
peaks — prominent among which was Hekla — were distinct
on the horizon. To the east all was haze, save where a

2

Sunset and Sunrise on Ben Nevis

waning moon struggled, just above the horizon, to pierce
the mist with her silvery rays.

By dawn the entire face of the landscape had changed.
During the brief hours of darkness a pall of white mist,
whose place of origin was the cold waters of the North
Sea, had crept silently and rapidly over the hundreds of
miles of country dominated by the hilltop. From this
vd'st sea of mist the tops of the highest hills stood clear
and sharp in the morning air. Such a sight as I was
privileged to look down upon is one which is extremely rare
in this country, and during extensive and varied wanderings
on the Cairngorms at every season of the year, I had never
once experienced like conditions, during which, more than at
any other time, the lover of the grand and lofty in Nature
has instilled into him the charm of the hills in its most
inspiring form. Prior to the rising of the sun the mist
was of a cold grey tinge. Then, gradually, almost im-
perceptibly, a rosy hue was imparted to the clouds beneath,
and soon after sunrise the shadow of the Ben was pro-
jected on the mists for many miles to the south-west.

Scarcely a breath of wind stirred on the summit of
the hill, but far below me the clouds were being guided
westwards, and during their gentle progress assumed in
places the forms of gigantic billows, rising above the
average level as they slipped over some less prominent hill
which barred their way. By ten o'clock the sea of cloud
was as yet unbroken, and now reflected the rays of the
sun with dazzling brilliance. High above the mist to the
eastward the Cairngorm Hills were visible. Cairn Toul
(4,241 feet) being specially prominent across the fifty miles
of intervening country. Its contour was clearly seen —
even the corrie of Clais an-t-sabhail, and, farther north, the
slopes of Braeriach, with the large snowfield in the Horse-
man's Corrie. Across the valley of the Dee, Ben Muich Dhui
was made out, the cairn on its summit being distinctly
visible. To the south'ard of that hill Lochnagar held its

3

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

top above the clouds, and just appearing above the summit
of Ben Alder one could distinguish the outline of Beinn a'
Ghlo or the "Mountain of the Mist," so named because
its summit is often shrouded in cloud when the surround-
ing hills are clear. But the most prominent of the peaks
projecting from the sea of mist was that of Schiehallion,
whose tapering cone stood out with true Alpine effect.
Westwards the twin tops of Cruachan were just visible
above the clouds, but here the mist enveloped all but the
extreme summits of the highest hills.

In the corrie of Allt a' Mhuilinn, far beneath one, the
mist ebbed slowly backward and forward, seemingly en-
deavouring to press upwards to the higher ground, but
making little, if any, headway. Sgor a' Mhaim, a few
miles to the south-west, was prominent, its crater-shaped
corrie being flooded in bright sunshine, and as I scanned
this corrie through the glass a couple of stags were seen
to gain the ridge and to look down into the white sea
below.

An intense silence was everywhere; one missed the low
croaking of the ptarmigan and the dark form of the eagle
as he soared high above the plateau.

As compared with the summits of the Cairngorm
Mountains, the absence of plant life on Ben Nevis is striking,
for on the Cairngorms even the highest grounds are at this
season tinged with red from the many plants of the cushion
pink (Silene acaulis) in full blossom. Although the summit
of Ben Nevis is quite devoid of vegetation, I came across a
number of plants of the starry saxifrage at an elevation
of quite four thousand three hundred feet, and a species
of Carex was seen even above this height.

Among the precipitous rocks on the north-east face of
the hillside a considerable amount of snow still remained,
and, indeed, one of these snowfields has never been known
to disappear entirely even during the hottest summer. The
hill carrying the most extensive snowfields, as seen from my

4

THE MISTS ROLLING UP THE GLEN OF ALLT

A' MHUILINN.

Taken from the Summit of Ben Nevis.

Sttnset and S7mrise on Ben Nevis

position, was undoubtedly Bidean nam Hian in the Glen Coe
district, which, although not much over three thousand five
hundred feet in height, must often, one imagines, retain tiie
remnants of the winter snows in its north-facing corries
throughout the summer.

It was to the east that the mist first showed signs of
clearing, and soon rifts appeared in the sea of cloud, the
green glens and hill lochs coming gradually into view.
Of the sea lochs visible the Linnhe Loch was most pro-
mment, and through the glass one could see the swift
current flowing through the narrows connecting that loch
with Loch Eil. Though a breeze had sprung up, the sky
was unclouded, and as a result of the heat the edge of the
field of snow near the Observatory had retreated a good
six inches during the morning. On this field of snow a
meadow pipit was for some time observed running actively
around and picking minute insects from off the frozen
surface of the snow, and about the same time a ring ouzel
was noted to fly across the hilltop. Of the snow bunting
I saw no trace, though doubtless he was not far off.

By afternoon the mists had gone, and hill and glen now
stood out in the strong light; but the charm of the morning
scene — when the world beneath was shut out in that silent
mantle of cloud — had vanished, though in the memory it will
be for ever retained as a rare and priceless gift of the Spirit
of the High Hills.

CHAPTER II

THE EAGLES OF THE MOUNTAIN BIRCH

In a small glen, which lies, remote and secluded, in the
keeping of the great hills, a pair of eagles have their home.
Not during the whole year does the glen know them ; it
is only in the season of their nesting that they descend
from the snow-filled corries and wind-swept plateaux that
lie to the west of the glen.

Much time passes by during the nesting of the hill
eagle. With smaller members of the bird tribe the eggs
are laid, and the family become fully matured within the
space of a month, but with the eagle the case is different.
For six weeks she must needs cover her eggs before her
young see the light of day, and even then, when the first
part of her duties is over, her eaglets must be tended for
more than two months before they are sufficiently strong
to take their first flight from the eyrie.

Veteran, storm-scarred birches clothe the small glen.
It is late indeed before these trees feel the impulse of life.
When spring has already come to the plains, and the trees
of the low country have put forth their leaves of filmy green,
these birches still stand in their nakedness as they did in
the first month of the year. In the oldest of these birches
the eagles have their home.

On May 5 of a certain year I made my way through the
glen. The hills held many a snow wreath in their corries,
and the mountain loch was ruffled by a strong wind out of
the south-west. The parent eagle was brooding on her great
eyrie ; so close, indeed, did she sit, that it was not until I
was directly under the tree that she moved off", soaring
out over the glen, and rising, as she circled, to a great

6

> ^

33

^ 3

The Eagles of the Mountat7t Birch

height. Almost at once her mate joined her, and together
they made their way to the snow-clad ground to the west.

There were two eggs in the nest — eggs remarkable
for the beauty and clearness of their markings — and they
reposed on a lining of fresh green pine branches and
flowering shoots of the cranberry.

It was late in July when I revisited the glen. The birches
were dark green, and many plants of Saxifraga asoides were
opening their yellow petals. Across the hill a herd of stags
moved anxiously, and a pair of kestrels soared gracefully
near a rocky gorge where was their nesting site. Through
the glass I could see one of the eaglets perched on a branch
immediately above the eyrie. He was engaged in preen-
ing his feathers, unaware of the proximity of danger ; but
as I approached he showed uneasiness, and at length
jumped down into the nest. For a time he watched me,
his anxiety momentarily increasing, until the impulse to
escape mastered feelings of caution, and he threw himself
from the home that had sheltered him from the early days
of May. A fresh breeze blowing down the glen troubled
him somewhat, but he succeeded in reaching a point well
up on the hill face opposite, where he made an ungraceful
landing. Until now I was not aware that the eyrie con-
tained a second bird, but as I reached the immediate vicinity
of the tree the second eaglet began to crane her neck out of
the nest, evidently debating whether she, too, could risk a
voyage into space.* She was not so fully matured as the bird
I first noticed, nor did her flight, when at length she left the
eyrie, show the same power. She, too, crossed the burn and
came to rest on some rocky ground on the far side.

I noticed a somewhat interesting fact as she sailed through
the air below me — that her wings bore noticeably more pro-
nounced markings of white than those of the first bird. An
excited willow warbler flew restlessly among the branches

* Note. — When two eaglets are reared, I have always found one to be a
cock and the other a hen bird.

The La?id of the Hills and the Glens

of the birch tree, incessantly uttering its soft musical alarm
note. It evidently was the possessor of a brood somewhere
in the neighbourhood, and I wondered whether it was the
same individual that had sung so energetically on the
occasion when I was at the eyrie in the first days of May.

In the eagles' nest I found the fresh remains of a grouse,
a couple of rabbits, and the feet of a mountain hare. A
single branch of green heather, freshly pulled, had been
carried there by one of the parent birds with the object
of adorning the nest, which had certainly deteriorated from
its fresh and clean condition, and gave off a variety of
perfumes of a none too pleasant kind.

While I was at the eyrie the parent eagle moved rest-
lessly across the hill-face opposite, and at last alighted
on a raised piece of ground near the skyline, ruffling her
feathers as she felt the full force of the strong and cool
breeze, and peering anxiously around until, too restless to
remain inactive, she again took wing and crossed the
glen. I moved across to where the second eaglet was stand-
ing and almost stupidly surveying her new surroundings.
A wheatear was expressing its strongest disapproval at the
presence of the formidable intruder, and this disapproval
was shared by a mountain blackbird and a diminutive wren,
but the eaglet seemed quite unaware of the presence of those
whose fury she had aroused, nor did she mark the rabbits
of all sizes which scurried to their holes. As I approached,
the yoiing eagle walked up the hillside in a slanting direc-
tion, holding outspread one of her splendid wings in order
the better to preserve her balance. I had ample oppor-
tunity of admiring the beauty of her plumage. On the
neck the feathers, of a rich red-brown, were scarcely fully
matured, and in her anger the eaglet repeatedly raised these
feathers till they stood out sharply, showing the white of
the down underlying them. The plumage of the back and
wings was of a dark grey-brown, each wing showing two
conspicuous patches of white, the central portions of the tail

8

Young Golden Eagle Defiant.

Feathers of the Head Raised in Anger.
ANOTHER STUDY.

The Eagles of the Mountain Birch

feathers being strongly marked with white also. The
powerful legs were encased in snow-white stockings,
with dark feathers covering the thighs. By manoeuvring
I succeeded in driving the eaglet towards her companion, and
then approached the bird which had first left the eyrie. I
was considerably surprised to see him sail out on a second
flight as I neared him, and, as he was too strong on the
wing to approach, I left him where he had alighted, and
returned to his more helpless relation. I was anxious to
observe whether this bird would be reluctant to cross the
burn, and at length, by diplomacy, brought her to the edge
of the stream. A sandpiper with a family near showed the
most intense anxiety as we approached, fluttering up into
the air and repeatedly uttering her shrill whistling note
of distress.

For a short time the eaglet seemed to be suspicious of
the murmuring water, but quite of her own accord she at
length waded into and across the burn without hesitation.
I left her there, with head almost touching the ground, in
an attitude of grave thoughtfulness.

The sun had already gone from the little glen. Dark
thunder-clouds rolled up from the big hill to the west.
There was no sound now in the glen, save the rush of the
burn and the cry of a ring ouzel, full of the responsibility
of family cares.

For a time the eaglets are tended by their parents, but
when they reach the fullness of their strength, and taste
of the power of that incomparable flight of theirs, they are
ruthlessly driven from the home of their youth by these
same parents which formerly bestowed such care and affec-
tion upon them.

And with the coming of each spring the eagles will return
to the small glen.

CHAPTER III

THE COMING OF SPRING TO THE MIST ISLANDS

Lonely and in the keeping of the great Atlantic is the
island of which I write. During the wild gales of the
winter season the spray from the swift-moving rollers reaches
almost to the summit of the little hill — ^^it is only three
hundred feet high — which catches the low mist clouds that
sweep in from the sou '-westward.

It was on a day of soft drifting showers, and that thick
mist which brings the clouds so low that they seem even
to touch the surface of the water, that I first visited the
island.

For weeks, months even, during the season of winter
the island is inaccessible, owing to the swell that breaks
against its rock-girt sides even during fine, quiet days. But
a spell of winds from the north had calmed the waters, so
that it was possible to land this day of early January on
the lee shore.

A curiously quiet and peaceful atmosphere brooded on this
day of mists over the island. One seemed to be in the abode
of the cloud-spirit, with only the boom of the surf and the sigh
of the wind to break the great silence.

As I landed, a solitary oyster catcher flew out from
the shore, uttering no cry. Above the hilltop there soared
a buzzard and his mate. On the grassy plateau many
barnacle geese stood, their feeding interrupted, and watched
me inquiringly. Through the glass I could clearly make out
their handsome plumage of black and white, with their bills
of a black colour.

Soon they rose into the air, flying slowly and power-
fully into the wind. Many cries were then borne across to

lO

The Coming of Spring to the Mist Islands

tlie ear; curious, sharp, though plaintive sounds, as the
geese spread into Hne. Then, marshalled into order, thev
made their way towards the west for a time, but were un-
willing to leave their island, and turned about, crossing
over me at greatly increased speed, their many cries
sounding as a confused, though musical, murmur. Back-
ward and forward they flew for a while. At one time they
were accompanied by a raven, the dark bird of wisdom
moving with the flock only a short distance before he
turned off and hung, looking for all the world like a
peregrine, in the teeth of the wind.

Sometimes the mist curtain lifted somewhat, and then
the hills of the mainland showed themselves.

Snow rarely visits the island, and even in January the
grass was green and the great clumps of sea thrift were show-
ing vigorous growth.

In the mild mist-laden wind one imagined there was
borne the breath of the coming spring. The raven, at
least, must have felt the impulse of life, for he, the very
first of all birds to nest, must shortly repair his home
on the precipitous cliff. Before February is out his mate
will be brooding her speckled eggs, with the salt spray in
her face and with the storms of wind and rain beating on
her strong plumage.

But not for many months will the island throb with
its great bird population. Every spring does the isle
give itself over to countless feathered travellers, who leave
the seas, where they have spent the winter months, and
rear their young in its recesses. The puffin, after its long-
sea journey from beyond the Straits of Gibraltar, reaches
the island during the first days of May, and almost at
once sets about examining the burrow in which it reared
its solitary child last summer. The black guillemot breeds
on the rocks, and the storm petrel broods on its one white
^gg in the twilight that is present among the crevices of the

great boulders.

*i

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

The geese, too, remain on the island till after some
of the bird people have already commenced family cares;
and then rise calling, in a body, to make their way swiftly
to the great uninhabited regions beyond the Arctic
Circle.

It was on the second day since the coming of the New
Year that the Spirit of Spring was unmistakably abroad,
when I again crossed to the island group. Not a breath
of wind stirred the waters of the Atlantic this February
morning, and for almost the first time since summer no
swell rolled shorewards. As I passed the ledge of rock
where the raven has his nest, the cock sailed out over
the face of the cliff, rising and falling on his powerful
wings, and at times somersaulting in the air after the
manner of a green plover. On the surface of the quiet
waters black guillemots, many of them paired, were to
be seen. Nearing the two small islands which lie
most closely to the mainland, many barnacle geese again
rose up from their feeding. Few birds that I know have
a history as interesting as that of the barnacle geese.
From very early times an extraordinary birth has been
accredited to them — so extraordinary, indeed, that its origin
must be, I think, a mystery. The belief prevalent was
that this goose commenced its career, not as an ^%g^ but
as a barnacle. These barnacles, fixing themselves to float-
ing planks in the ocean, were tossed around until, in due
season, a minute gosling hung suspended head downward
in the water. Although so minute, this embryo was fully
possessed of the image of its race, and leaving its prison,
rapidly gained the use of its wings and made its appear-
ance as a true goose. So firmly has this belief been held
that even to-day it exists, I believe, in some parts of
Ireland. It is possible that the tradition may have had
its origin in the fact that, until recently, the nesting site
of the barnacle goose was wrapped in mystery — lying as
it does in the inaccessible districts of the High North —

12

The Coming of Sprmg to the Mist Islands

and it was probably because no eggs laid by the bird
had ever been seen that the quaint superstition arose.

In the Gaelic the barnacle goose is known as "Cadhan,"
and a certain man from Mull, Galium by name, was wont
to tell the story how that he swam for a week in the Indian
Ocean (where the water is very warm) and that the most
beautiful music he ever heard was that made by barnacle
geese as they emerged from the barnacles which had
attached themselves to Gallum's feet during the swim !

As we passed slowly — the tide was contrary — through
the maze of small islands, the sun shone clearly, and bird
life responded to the warmth and quiet. Oyster catchers
in their handsome plumage of black and white stood on
the rocks enjoying a sun bath. On the summit of a cliff
a buzzard stood motionless. Gompanies of turnstones flitted
restlessly about. Above one of the islands I noted a snipe
flying in such a characteristic manner that it seemed to
me he must be "drumming," though we were too far dis-
tant to hear the sound. A pair of ravens appeared for a
time, and grey-plumaged hoodies took wing at our
approach.

On a small rocky island before us numbers of grey
seals were lying on the flat rocks just above the water's
surface. One after another they dragged themselves awk-
wardly to the water-side and dived quietly in. For the
space of a little less than a minute they were hidden, then
in quick succession heads were thrust up out of the water,
and the boat closely scrutinized, though with little fear,
by the seal population, some of whom, more inquiring
than the rest, followed in the wake of the craft.

My aim this day was the most outlying and distant
island of the group, and the sun was dipping to the
sou'-westward before it was reached. Even in this region,
noted for its storms, there was scarce a perceptible rise
and fall of the water on the rock-girt shores. Indeed, the
fishermen who were present gave it as their belief that

13

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

rarely in their experience of the finest summer weather
had they known the sea so calm here. But even to-day
one could see, at a corner of the island, the water being
driven at times through a narrow opening or "blow-hole"
among the rocks, and being thrown out on to the quiet
air in the form of finely-divided spray, which hung smoke-
like for a while before returning to its parent ocean, and
as we approached nearer the sharp sound of air and
water forcibly expelled was audible. In the centre of the
island a rounded hill rises a few hundred feet. On the
summit of this hill a peregrine and his mate were stand-
ing, sentinel-like. One bird took wing, the other re-
mained. Green cormorants, their crests raised, stood around
on the rocks, and showed a remarkable absence of fear.
One individual remained not thirty yards from where the
landing was made, yet he did not take wing, nor even move
from his position.

A faint breeze from the west was ruffling the waters
of the Atlantic as the sail w-as hoisted for the return
journey. Above circled greater black-backed gulls, uttering
hoarse querulous cries. Then, after a time, we passed through
the inner group of islands, sailing, in the failing light,
between sunken rocks and through channels so narrow that
only to a seaman with great knowledge of these waters
could the helm be entrusted with safet}^. Two miles from
land the night was still clear, the waters calm, and the
lighthouse to our north a sure guide.

And then, without warning, a squall of sleet descended
on us, coming straight from the high hills to the south. In
less time than it takes to tell, every landmark was blotted
out — even the strong glare of the lighthouse was hidden.
Quickly the wind freshened, and with anxiety the fisher-
men spoke rapidly among themselves in the Gaelic. The
jib was lowered, and we drove on through impenetrable
gloom with increasing speed. Even the outlines of my
companions in the boat were scarcely visible and one

i4

The Coming of Spring to the Mist Islands

had a feeling of utter helplessness as the squall increased
in strength and the small boat commenced to rock and
creak in the rising seas. At length, after a very anxious
time and to the great relief of all hands, a dim, hazy
outline was discerned on the starboard bow, and with the
passing of the squall we once more found our bearings,
and, a little later, drew in the skiff to the narrow harbour
among the dark rocks of the Atlantic seaboard.

'5

CHAPTER IV

AT THE BREEDING GROUNDS OF THE GREY SEAL

Standing out amongst the waters of the wide Atlantic
there lies a small rocky island where, every autumn, the grey
seals gather to rear their young. To many seamen the island
must be a familiar object, for it lies fair in the track of an
important trade route, and is a well-known and prominent
object from afar. Lying near the island are dangerous
sunken rocks, and not many years back it was proposed to
erect a beacon there, but the idea has not materialized, and
the rock is given over to the tribe of the grey seal. The seals
are absent, or almost so, during the months of spring and
summer, and it is not until September that they take up their
quarters on the island's rocks.

In ushering its young into the world in late September,
or during the early days of October, the grey seal is almost
unique among the mammals of this hemisphere. Up to a
few years ago its numbers were steadily decreasing, and
it is probable that the seals would have been exterminated
by this time were it not for the fact that an Act of Parliament,
passed a few years back, makes it illegal to shoot the seals,
young or old, from October i to November 30.

During the first week of November in the year of which
I write, fine clear weather prevailed along the Atlantic sea-
board— in marked distinction to the storms of wind and
rain experienced on the East coast — and the waters of the
ocean were untroubled by even the slightest swell.

Before the first light of dawn appeared in the east I
started out on my way for the harbour, whence commences
the long sail that lay between me and the seals' rock.

16

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The Breeding Grounds of the Grey Seal

Gradually the light increased, showing up the distant
islands bathed in a soft warm glow, until at length the
sun rose from behind a great hill away to the east, and
lit up masses of thunder-clouds lying near the western
horizon. As we pushed out from the shore only a
gentle breeze ruffled the sea, and it was not until the
boat had rounded the headland that the sail replaced
the oars. One remarked on the scarcity of bird life
as compared with the summer months. No companies of
puffins or guillemots flew restlessly past ; no sea swallows
hovered, flashing in the sunlight, as they scanned the clear
waters beneath in their search for small fry.

An occasional shag flew heavily by, low on the water's
surface, and we also passed solitary black guillemots, now
in their winter plumage of black and white. In some of
these the white colouring so predominated that from a
distance they appeared almost like gulls. This seasonal
change of the black guillemot is an interesting one, and
it is difficult to see why the bird should assume a com-
paratively white plumage during the winter months, un-
less it be to harmonize with the white breakers and spume
on the waters.

It was near mid-day before the breeding rock of the
grey seals was reached. Numbers of greater black-backed
gulls flew out on their broad wings as the boat neared
the island, and a flock of barnacle geese, but recently
arrived from their breeding grounds in the far north, rose
from the grassy terraces and flew by us at a great height,
calling softly and musically to each other.

It is seldom possible to land on the western side of
the island, even in fine weather, for here the heave from
the south-west travels right across from the American
coast, with no land to break it; but on this day the swell
was absent, and the boat could be pulled right in under
the rocks. The breeding ground of the seal is a flat, rocky
terrace, not many feet above high water mark, and on this
c 17

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

terrace several young seals were lying, showing up very
white in the clear sunlight.

The grey seal, when first born, is covered with a thick
coat of cream-coloured hair, about one and a half inches
long, but when the youngster has reached the age of a
month or so this hair is cast and replaced by a shorter
covering more or less similar to that seen on the adult
seals. Approaching the youngsters cautiously, in the hope
of having a view at close quarters of their parents, we sur-
prised several of the latter, who hurried across the rocks
at amazing speed, precipitating themselves into the sea
before it was possible to cut ofif their retreat. One big
seal had only just time to hurl herself into a pool, whence
the only egress to the open was a narrow space between
two rocks beneath the water's surface, and I stood above
these rocks, attempting to keep her in the pool. The
alarmed animal sank to the bottom, where she remained
for some time motionless; then, without a moment's warn-
ing, she half rose to the surface, and forcing herself
through the narrow and tortuous exit, swam like some
great fish out to sea, throwing a deep ripple before her
as she went.

Another seal was disturbed as she was suckling her
well-grown offspring; she was some distance away from
the sea, and her only refuge was a deep and stagnant
pool, so full of green slime that the bottom was invisible.
Into this she plunged and at once submerged. Minute
after minute went by, and still she remained deep in the
evil-smelling water, and it was not until quite seven minutes
had elapsed that her head appeared and she gazed upon the
intruders with large reproachful eyes, w'hile she drew a
succession of deep breaths before again withdrawing her-
self from view. It was interesting to obserA'e that, after
inhaling, the seal's nostrils could be entirely closed at will,
this, of course, facilitating a long period of submersion.

Even before disturbing the colony it was noted through

i8

The Breeding Groujtds of the Grey Seal

the glass that several of the baby seals had their own
particular pool of water, sometimes of small proportions
and only a foot or two deep, in which they lay and
wallowed. When approached and inspected, they dived
and lay, not without effort on account of their buoyancy,
with their heads a few inches below the surface, looking
closely at us through the water with wide-open eyes.
Their power of endurance was, naturally, much less than
that of their parents, and after a short period they would
emerge and quaintly attempt to scare one by blowing
water through their nostrils. One or two individuals, the
babies of the tribe, were un^ible to move from where
they lay, with their cast hair scattered round them. They
rolled over on their backs, staring angrily at us and
uttering moaning cries. Sometimes a couple were lying
in close proximity to each other, and in such cases it
usually happened that one of the seals turned upon the
other, imagining that its snarling was directed against
itself.

It seems to be the case that the seal, when under
water, rarely, if ever, closes its eyes, and this may account
for the fact that in the majority of the youngsters exa-
mined the eyes were watery, aind looked as though the
owner was suffering from a cold in the head. The eyes
of some were of great beauty, of a deep black colour. It
was interesting to notice how widely the young grey seals
varied in their colouring. In two individuals of the same
age one was, perhaps, of a dappled grey, while the other
was of a dappled dun.

No remains of fish were to be seen near any of the
young seals, pointing to the fact that they are nourished
entirely by their mothers for the first month or two of
their existence.

One young seal, perhaps six weeks of age, was lying
dozing in the sun near a pool of water. On being dis-
turbed, he made determinedly for the pool, nor could he

19

The Land of tlu Hills and the Glens

be induced to stop, offering fight to anyone who stood in
his path and attempted to delay his progress.

During the time I and my companions were examin-
ing the young seals their parents showed great anxiety,
constantly pushing their heads above the surface of the
water and watching the intruders with their solemn eyes.

In size the grey seal is considerably larger than the
common species. It is also relatively greater in circum-
ference, its girth being almost equal to its length, while
the brown seal is longer and thinner. In weight the
females of the grey species vary from about twenty up
to forty stone, while males of over sixty stone have been
killed.

The young do not leave the rock for at least two
months after their birth, but can stand prolonged exposure
in the water. During the early days of November, 191 1, and
again in 1918, a severe westerly gale swept a number of young
seals off the rock, and they were carried before the storm
to the shores of the mainland. In some cases the mothers
accompanied them, and presumably reared them safely
after their trying experience.

The November day is short, and even with fine weather
it is unwise to risk sailing in these exposed waters after
darkness has set in, so my visit to the rock was of neces-
sity a short one. Contrary winds delayed the homeward
progress, and it was not until the sun had dipped behind
the Atlantic and the rays of more than one lighthouse
were flashing far out to sea that the boat was brought
to her moorings in a little rocky creek, sheltered by a reef
of rocks from the Atlantic roll.

30

Young Grey Seal perhaps Two Weeks Old.
" I don't like this photographing business."

Grey Seals about Six Weeks Old, showing the Variation in Colouring.

CHAPTER V

ARDNAMURCHAN

Jutting out into the Atlantic there stands, far removed from
civiHzation, a wild headland. Many ships have passed it
by on the sea, and their crews, maybe, have looked curi-
ously at the grandeur and strength of its outline, but few
persons have ever set foot upon its rough weather-beaten
surface. On its cliffs the golden eagle has its home, and
in former times the erne or sea eagle was wont to nest
on its inaccessible ledges. On quiet dciys of early spring
ravens sail and tumble above its rocks, and one may hear
the shrill, mournful cry of the buzzard as she leaves her
eyrie. Near by is the haunt of the wild cat, now a fast
vanishing species in the Highlands, and as early as
February she has been known to produce her young in
the rocky cairns above the reach of the waves.

It is, I think, on the wildest of winter days that the
grandeur of the headland is most apparent. Is not its
very name Ardnamor-chuan — "The Point of the Ocean"?
And indeed, the sea which thunders on its rocks at tide-
level — rocks worn smooth by centuries of hammering — is
sometimes tremendous. Due westwards the long and nar-
row island of Coll does little to break the great strength
of the Atlantic rollers, while north of west, except perhaps
Barra Head, there is no land between the rocks and
America.

The tide runs fast past the point, and when the ebb of the
"springs" sets in southwards against a full gale of south-
west wind the spray of the breakers is carried far over the
highest point of the rocks, and the deep booming roar
can be heard even on the Island of Mull.

21

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

Though situated on the mainland of Scotland the pro-
montory and the district around it are, curiously enough,
inaccessible except from the Island of Mull. Twice weekly
during the years of the war the sturdy mail-boat crossed from
Tobermory to the small crofting community of Kilchoan, and
was met by a ferry-boat, manned by experts who succeed in
putting out to sea when it would seem as though no craft of
her size could live in such weather. Often of a winter's morn-
ing I have seen, from the mail-boat, the lamp of the ferry-boat
guiding the steamer to her side, at a time when even the
first streaks of dawn were not yet visible in the eastern
sky, and when the frosty air was clear and still.

It is only very gradually that the hand of spring —
always backward in these northern latitudes — asserts itself
here. On the high hills lying behind the promontory, as
late as May snow still lies, deep and unbroken, but at
sea level even at dead of winter it remains only for a few
hours on end, and by early April, on the narrow ledges of
the cliff, the grasses, brow-ned by the salt-laden gales from
off the Atlantic, have become once again tinged with
green. By then, the herons have taken up their quarters
on the bushes growing on the steep cliff, and are busily
occupied with their broods. And with the coming of the
fine weather the sea is no longer desolate as during the
winter months.

One morning of early May, when the sun is warming
the waters of the ocean from out a cloudless sky, and
when not the faintest breeze ruffles the surface of the
waters, it is seen that the ocean is peopled with
many birds. As far as the eye can reach, puffins, swimming
closely together in pairs, give life and activity to the w^ater's
surface. They have but just completed their long journey
northward from the southern waters of the Atlantic where
they have passed the winter, and have not yet gathered
at their nesting grounds. With them, but each species
keeping to themselves, are other members of the tribe of

A rdnaimirchan

the sea-divers, such as razorbills and guillemots. Thus
the sea welcomes her bird population, which makes its
home here during the fine summer months of the year.

Later, when summer has indeed come, and when day
after day of brilliant sunshine has melted the snow cap
from even the highest hills, companies of guillemots can
be seen, flying in long strings just above the water's
surface, and making their way rapidly towards the Sound
of Mull. I have often wondered what takes them on this
journey. It may be that they have their nesting cliffs on
the islands to the nor'ard; on Eigg, maybe, or on Canna,
and that they are travelling to the Lismore country to fish.
Through that narrow channel of the sea lying between
Duart Point on the Island of Mull, and Lismore Island,
the tide runs with the strength of a river in full spate,
and here is the happy fishing ground of the sea birds.
During any day in the months of summer, birds of all
kinds may be seen here, busy at their fishing. Sea swallows
in their hundreds hover like drifting snowflakes over the
tide, plunging rapidly in after the small .fry which swim
near to the surface. Manx shearwaters, perhaps the most
graceful of our sea birds, ride buoyant on the tide, and
when disturbed take wing with extreme grace of motion.
How unlike the clumsy cormorant ! They rise like feathers
from the water, and wheel and skim in rapid flight, "bank-
ing" steeply over until their long wings graze the water,
and showing to the full the poetry of flight.

Built at a height of perhaps seventy feet above the level
of the high spring tides, and standing out at the extreme
point of Ardnamurchan is the lighthouse, known to every
sailor by reason of the brilliance of its white, steady light.
On dark nights of winter, when the wind, backing to the
south-east and increasing in force with each hour, sends
drifting clouds scudding low across the sky, then it is that
even from the distant Island of Tiree the glare of the
light can be seen reflected in the stormy sky, and to the

23

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

islanders the showing of this far-distant beacon is a sure
portent of coming storm.

But however hard it may blow from the east of south,
the gale is rarely of long duration, and perhaps even before
daybreak a full westerly gale is tearing in from the sea.
And for days the storm may continue from this quarter,
so that the full force of the Atlantic hurls itself against the
lighthouse, and from the low sunken rocks to the west-
ward— known to seamen as the Cairns of Coll — vast
columns of smoke-like spray are seen to rise, and even the
biggest ships lurch past like drunken things.

Such is the restless spirit of the wild Hebridean Ocean,
and it is, I think, in winter that one feels the charm of
the sea at its height, and that, penetrating to the more
inland districts and passing that season surrounded by even
the wdldest and most beautiful hills and glens, one realizes
with curious strength how something is lacking here, and
can understand how those bred within the sound of the
Atlantic surge feel the impelling force of the mystic power
of the ocean, and so often return to their sea-girt cliffs and
islands in the autumn of their lives.

24

CHAPTER VI

THE ARCTIC SKUA AND ITS NESTING

A LONG and narrow Hebridean island. Full open to the
salt spray of the Atlantic, a few small hills and granite
rocks alone offer any shelter from the storm, and it is rare
that the boom of the surf may not be heard throughout
the length and breadth of the island. Here it was that I
first learnt to know the Arctic skua at the time of its nesting.

It is not until the very end of May, when most of the
gulls have hatched out their young, that the skuas reach
their nesting-grounds from their southern winter quarters
— for none of their tribe winters in the British Isles. In-
deed, as late as the first week in June I have seen them,
in pairs, haunting the sandy shores of an island to the
scmth'ard of the one on which they nest, evidently on their
way to the nesting-grounds, and by the 15th of that month
some of the nests are still incomplete.

It is on the north end of the island that the Arctic or
Richardson's skuas — for the species possesses two names —
make their home during the months of summer sunshine.
Their nesting-ground is a desolate stretch of boggy moor-
land. Here and there lochans lie hidden away in the hollows,
and here also is the haunt of the tribe of the speckled trout,
and of the red-throated diver.

It was a wonderful morning of mid-June that I first
visited the nesting-ground of the skua gulls. Not the
faintest of breezes blew in from the Atlantic, not a single
cloud relieved the deep blue of the sky. So quiet was the
surface of the sea that the course of every current could
clearly be seen, while away in the distance the big hills of
the Is1<? of Mull, and behind them again, of the Lochaber

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

country, were wonderfully clear. As the keeper — a keen
ornithologist — and I traversed the uneven ground of the
bog, a curlew, by her oft-repeated alarm calls, showed us
that she had a family somewhere in the neighbourhood —
an interesting discovery to us, for hitherto the curlew had
not been known to breed on the island. The heat was
intense, and many species of blood-sucking flies, some of
them resplendent in gorgeous hues, made things unpleasant.
Weeks of heat and drought had shrunken the lochans until
they had left a dark oozy rim around their shores, and over
the bogs one could to-day walk dryshod.

Herring and lesser black-backed gulls were nesting on
the rocky knolls, and on the margins of the small lochs
were colonies of graceful common gulls. At length, sail-
ing in circles with the tribe of the gulls, but rather above
them, and showing much grace and power in their flight,
a pair of skua gulls passed overhead.

And now, from the top of a knoll, one looked down
upon a level piece of boggy moorland, with a lochan in
the background on which the strong sunshine sparkled.
This was the haunt of the Arctic skua. Mingled with the
cries of the gull colonies which were nesting near, and
which we had disturbed, came call-notes far more shrill
and long-drawn, uttered by the skuas as they flew rest-
lessly round us. I think the skua gull, or "Croma rithe-
achar," as it is known in the Gaelic — is almost unique in
its habit of feigning injury in order to deceive the in-
truder while yet its eggs are freshly laid. Many birds
do this after the hatching of their young, and some
even when the eggs are hard set, but I can recall
no other bird which practises this deception so early in
its nesting. Both the cock and hen skuas w'ould circle
above their nest with apparent indifference, and then would
alight together on some knoll two or three hundred yards
away, or even farther, where they would stand beating
their wings helplessly as though wounded. Indeed, so

26

The Arctic Skua and its Nesting

wary were they that 1 did not once see a bird rise from
her eggs, and, acting on the keeper's advice, we both took
up our positions on a small hill overlooking the nesting-
ground, and waited there for the colony to return to their
eggs. I do not ever remember a hotter day, and the "cleg"
flies, which had been troublesome even while we walked,
became infinitely more so as we remained stationary. It
is one of the drawbacks of the kilt that any biting insect
finds an excellent field for its labours in the vicinity of one's
knees, and it must be confessed that the Highlander is
on such occasions at a distinct disadvantage to the
Sassenach.

Although such light sitters, the skuas soon returned to
their nests, apparently ignoring our presence, and settled
down to brood. The colony was of no very great extent,
and I should doubt if there were more than two dozen
pairs at the outside, probably fewer. Immediately we stood
up, every bird rose from her nest, but one I marked
down, and after a good deal of searching discovered her
secret. The nest, if such it could be called, was a slight
depression scraped amongst the heather and grasses, and
contained one dark ^gg^ of much the colour of the ^^^ of
the black-headed gull, only larger. During the time I was
photographing it the birds did not come near, and in order
to find a second nest we had again to retire to the hill-
top and watch once more. The second nest we found,
contained two eggs, of lighter colour than the one first dis-
covered. For a while we stayed at the nesting-ground,
watching the skuas in their fine powerful flfght as they
sailed and wheeled high overhead, their forked tails render-
ing them conspicuous from the gulls, even apart from their
cries and flight.

As we sat there, at first no craft of any kind showed
on the sea, but at length from out the shadows of Mull a
small herring drifter could be seen through the glass,
making for the island. Very slowly she neared us, and

27

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

then, from the Sound of Mull a buoyant-floating yacht
approached and passed us by.

With the coming of the evening there sprang up a
breeze from the north, so that the sun as it sank towards
the north-western horizon shed its rays on many small
sparkling waves.

And so we left the home of the skua for that day, and
made our way back to the small settlement lying at the
head of the only sea loch and anchorage which the island
possesses.

About a week later I was again on the island, and hoped
to have the opportunity of obtaining photographs of the
skua at home. The peaty ground of the nesting site made
it easy to dig out a "hide," the sides of which were con-
structed of the turf which had been removed in the excava-
tions. The roof was made of a number of sticks laid
across and resting on either side, and on these again were
placed more squares of turf to hide the wood. A hole was
left in front of the hide, and the camera was placed here in
such a way that even the lens was out of sight, whilst it
dominated the nest. In the making of the hide the keeper
was full of useful suggestions — indeed, had it not been for
his help the photographs which illustrate this chapter could
never have been taken. Our first day's work consisted in
starting the building of the hide, which we left before it had
reached too large dimensions in case the skuas should forsake
their nest. The next morning we again made our wearisome
tramp to the nesting-ground, and, having found the birds
still in possession, were not long in completing the erection.
A piece of canvas, which we rubbed with peat in order to
render it more in harmony with its surroundings, served as
a door, and on my entering the hide the keeper shut me
in and, as far as possible, hid the canvas with pieces of turf.
The inside of the hide was not really uncomfortable as such
places go, but it was extraordinarily wet, though, as the
weather was uniformlv hot and sunny, this was no hardship.

28

Arctic Skua Approaching her Eggs.

Arctic Skua on her Nest.

Tlie Arctic Skua arui its Nesting

Having, then, seen me safely concealed in my hiding-place,
the keeper retired to the knoll from where we had first
watched the birds, and with camera carefully focused on the
nest I waited anxiously the return of the skua. I had not
long to wait, for quite fearlessly the hen bird — for such I
took her to be — circled once or twice above the nesting-
ground and then alighted gracefully a short distance from
her eggs. One of the photographs illustrating this chapter
shows her as she stood immediately before settling down on
to her nest.

An extremely interesting point in birds of the skua tribe
is the fact that they have two distinct varieties of plumage.
Some birds have the neck and breast white, while in others
these parts are of a dark sooty brown. In the case of the pair
I had under observation the hen had the breast dark and the
cock had this part of his plumage white.

For perhaps an hour I remained in the hide, and secured
a number of photographs. I had anticipated a difficulty in
changing the plates, but managed to do this without
disturbing my "sitter." When I wished to leave mv
hiding-place, being unwilling to betray my presence in the
erection, I crept to the "door," and by waving a handkerchief
attracted the keeper's notice. Immediately he stood up the
skua sprang from her nest and vanished from my restricted
view.

That afternoon, in the house of the local postmaster —
who was also a keen photographer — I developed my plates,
and decided to cross over to the nesting-ground next day to
make some further efforts.

When morning broke the sky was still cloudless, but a
gale from the north swept the island. From a rocky plateau
one could see the big waves breaking in on the shore, and
the sun shone on an expanse of turbulent waters. The
nesting-ground of the skua was in comparative shelter, and
beyond causing the hide to vibrate a little, the wind did not
affect me. I was, as before, seen safely into the structure by

29

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

my friend the keeper and exposed several plates on my
"sitter." On settling down, she invariably shuffled her ^gg
well underneath her, with the characteristic motion used, I
think, by all birds when sitting. Sometimes she appeared to
be bored and would yawn, then close her eyes and indulge in
a short nap. Her mate usually circled overhead, and even
above the wind I could clearly hear his shrill, powerful cry.
Once she answered him, and I was fortunately able to "snap "
her with her mouth wide open as she called.

The same afternoon I returned to the spot without the
keeper, and crept into the hide, but although I waited in
my hiding-place a long time the skua never summoned up
sufficient courage to return to her nest, remaining, together
with her mate, standing some fifty yards away. This, I
think, proved what has often been asserted, namely that the
majority of birds cannot, or at all events, do not, count more
than one. That is, if two people walk up to the hide, and
if, after a few minutes one of them moves away it never seems
to occur to the birds that the other conspirator is inside,
whereas if only one man appears at the nesting site and he
enters the hide and does not leave it, the birds realize that
he must be inside, so do not return, however long or quietly
he may wait.

It is well on to mid July before the first of the young-
skuas are hatched. Clad in dark down, they run actively
almost from the start and do not long remain in the nest.
At this time their parents range far and wide to provide
them with food, and I have often watched them winging
their way home across the sea of an evening, and have
marvelled at the beauty and strength of their flight, and how
they make light of a breeze of a force sufficient to worry
even the most powerful of the gulls.

The skua is, indeed, the pirate of the seas, and a strong
and dashing pirate he is too. For the most part he makes
his living by robbing sea birds of their rightful prey. Indeed,
one of his Gaelic names is Fascadeir, or "Squeezer." Those

30

The Arctic Skica and its Nesting

birds he most persecutes are the tribe of the terns. A skua
will take up his station at the water's edge on, maybe, a sandy
beach from which terns and gulls are fishing. The pirate
seems to be dozing and is unheeded by the other birds, one of
which, near him, captures a fish too large for it to swallow
at once. Like a flash, the skua rises, and relentlessly pursues
his victim until the latter in terror drops its catch, which the
freebooter seizes before it has fallen to the water. Even a bird
of such command of flight as the tern very rarely indeed
succeeds in getting away from a skua, that is to say, with its
fish still in its possession.

There is an interesting tradition regarding the skua in
the Hebrides. It is said that a former Lord MacDonald
was on his way by boat to Uist, and a big storm arose.
When near his destination a great sea almost overwhelmed
his boat, and two birds, a skua and a gull, were seen to be
engaged in combat in the air above the ship. The one was
"Yellow Claws," daughter of Donald, son of Cormas, the
other was "Hump-backed Blue-eye " from Cracaig. Both
birds were celebrated witches in disguise. The former was
endeavouring to sink the boat while the latter was attempting
to save it, and was successful, for Lord MacDonald arrived
safely at his destination.

As soon as the young skuas are strong enough for the
journey south, both young and old leave their nesting
quarters, and set out for more southerly latitudes. At times
they are driven from their course by continued gales, and
large numbers may then be seen making their way south-
wards across inland districts. As a rule, however, they travel
by sea, or along the coastline.

The Arctic skua is not known as a nesting species in either
England or Ireland — though found in one or two districts
on the mainland of Scotland as well as on certain Hebridean
islands and the Orkneys and Shetlands.

31

CHAPTER VII

THE BIG GLEN

In the Island of Mull, noted for its wild hill scenery and
the beauty of its deep valleys, is the glen of which I write.
It is known as the Glen More, or " Great Glen " — for does
it not traverse the whole breadth of the island from sea-
shore to seashore ? — and during a sojourn on this western
island I learned to know it intimately, and appreciate fully
its wildness and charm.

Few people pass through the glen, even during the
long summer days, and during the winter months, when
dark mist-clouds brood constantly on the hills, the rough
road leading through it is untrodden for days on end.

During winter, too, great gales from the south-west
and west, sweeping straight from off the surface of the
broad Atlantic, sigh and moan through the glen, driving
before them stinging showers of sleet and rain, so that it
is almost impossible to walk against the storm, and the
glen is filled with gloom and stern grandeur.

The raven has his home in the glen. On still days, when
the hills are purple, and when the view is wide and clear,
one can hear him croaking huskily from afar, and can see
him, accompanied maybe by his mate, forging his way
with pow^erful wing-beats to some far-off rock where he
has his nest.

The eagle formerly bred in the glen, and even without
leaving the track one can see the small rock where, over-
looking a dark loch — Loch Airdglas — the hen bird brooded
her two speckled eggs in early spring. Now the rock is
taken over by a pair of ravens and the eagle has gone.
Buzzards there are in plenty in the glen. How closely

32

•s ^

The Big Glen

do these birds resemble the eagle ! They soar in similar
fashion, circling high above the hillsides, and they plane
rapidly against the wind. But there is one thing they
sometimes do which marks them at once from the eagle,
that is, they hover like some great kestrel above that part
of the hillside where they have seen a young rabbit, or
maybe a mouse, disappear.

During the hour after sunset, in the months of May or
June, hurried, purring notes sometimes break the quiet
of the glen. Notes quite unlike those of any other bird;
but maybe the "singer " is seen seated on some old
post, and then he can be identified as the elusive night-
jar, or goatsucker as he is often called — a bird rarely
seen during the hours of daylight, and a summer migrant
only to the glen. One of the last of the summer visitors
to arrive, it is far on in May before his calls are heard, and
then one can be assured that summer is at length come.

The wild hyacinth grows in the glen. In late May,
when the sun shines strongly and the last of the northerly
winds of spring has passed by, the glen is tinged with
blue, and the quiet air of an evening is laden with the
sweet scent of countless of these fragile flowers. Far up
the hillsides the hyacinths are to be found; they approach
even the ptarmigan country and the land of the eagle.

The glen is noted for its grazing. During a summer
that is past a magnificent growth of grass stretched through
the strath from one end to the other. Even during the
opening days of September the glen was still as green as in
midsummer, but soon a succession of winds from the north
brought great cold for the season of the year, and from
green the grasses turned to red and brown, showing up,
some of them, like flaming patches against the dark hill
faces.

Many deer are in the glen. During the summer davs,
when the sun rides high in the heavens, and when it is
good to live, I have seen the stags gathered in groups on
^ 33

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

some rocky point overlooking the glen, whither they had
gone to feel the cool sea breeze moving gently up to them.
There they have remained almost motionless for hours on
end, and not until the sun was dipping westward have
they moved down to graze on the fresh grass at the burn-
side. At the head of the glen, just on the watershed, is a
hill face with southern exposure where deer — stags and
hinds — are to be seen grazing almost every day of winter
and early spring. The hillside is a warm one, and snow
rarely covers it, so pasture may be sought there when snow
and ice are holding fast in their grip the north-facing slopes.
In the height of summer deer are rarely seen in the glen,
but during September nights, when the world is still, when
the earth has not as yet lost her summer freshness, and
when the moon is high in the heavens, I have seen the
ghostly forms of stags cross the track before me, and have
heard their roaring echoing from hill to hill.

On a clear day one sees far from the glen. There is
one point where, through a dip in the hills, Ben Cruachan,
that hill which rises so steeply above Loch Awe, arrests
the eye. Often I have watched the setting sun striking
full on its conical top, transforming the whole hillside to
gold, and lighting up the lingering beds of snow in
its glow. Frequently in hot summer weather Cruachan is
covered with dark thunder-clouds, while in the glen of
which I write the sun shines warm and clear; for thunder
rarely comes to these island hills during the summer months,
though during winter, gales from west or north-west bring
many thunderstorms in from the wild sea which breeds
them.

There are two burns in the glen. One flows towards
the east; the other — reached after the watershed has been
crossed — to the west, and to the open Atlantic. Near the
head of the glen a chain of hill lochs store the water, and
with the first spate of July many grilse and sea trout —
a few salmon among them, too — enter the burn from the

34

The Big Glen

sea and move rapidly up to these hill lochans. On a calm
day one sees many trout breaking the surface of the loch,
and a solitary cormorant may often be spied — for I feel
sure it is the same bird — perched on a stone near the
middle of the loch, digesting a heavy meal of fish.

Curlew haunt the loch during spring and summer days.
In June, when rain has fallen and refreshed the land, their
vibrating and melancholy notes carry far — and there is no
call so plaintive or so charming as that of the curlew — the
birds sailing downwards from a height, calling all the
while, till they alight at their feeding grounds at the loch's
edge.

Three miles from the mouth of the burn is a deep fall-
pool where the salmon pause awhile before pressing up the
linn above it. Here in the small hours of a midsummer
morning, when the air is altogether still and every blade
of grass saturated with dew, many fine fish are caught
by the angler who is ready to forgo his night's rest. For
a number of years now — as far back as 1886 I heard of
her nest being there — a water ouzel has built in a niche
of rock bathed by the spray of the falls, and, on a heather-
clad ledge near the tail of the pool, a pair of ring ouzels
rear their young with the murmur of the waters ever in
the ears of the mother bird as she broods her eggs.

A lonely shepherd's house stands near the linn, remote
from civilization, and often have I passed the shepherd
tramping the hill. On Sundays he may sometimes be seen
wearing the kilt — I mention this because the national dress
has so nearly disappeared from the Highlands, so that it is
always a pleasure to see it nowadays — and the glen is the
very place where one would expect to find it worn. His
district is a wide one, and he goes to the hill in all
weathers; when the rain brings down every mountain burn
in spate, and when drifting snow out of the frozen north
sweeps blindly across the high ground.

At the western end of the glen, where the land opens

35

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

out and the distant waters of the ocean can be seen spark-
Hng in the sunlight beneath, stands the dwelHng of a
stalker. In the dead of winter, when the hills are covered
in unbroken snow and frosts hold the low ground,
many deer gather, at the close of day, outside his house.
The grass is thick and fresh here — even in January I have
seen it green — and at times the stags receive a portion of
maize from the stalker's hands. At this season of the year,
deer, when hand fed, are quite fearless, and one stag used
to follow the stalker's small daughter with such persist-
ence, and his attentions became so wearying, that one day
a bucket of water thrown over him taught him, for a time
at all events, that there is a limit to the patience of even
the most kind-hearted human.

It was on a wild and stormy evening in mid-autumn that
I crossed through the glen for the last time for a season.
For many days heavy rain had fallen steadily. The burns
were big, and were rising; but as I passed, along with a
companion who also loved the glen, through the birch
wood and emerged to the open moor, the air was still.
Mist hung low on the hills, and even below the mist line
the quickly falling rain rendered their appearance blurred
and indistinct. Towards dusk, ahead of us appeared a
thick white cloud approaching from the west, and as it
reached us it brought with it a westerly wind, at first
faint, but quickly increasing till it blew with the strength
of a gale.

Even the smallest watercourses were running full to the
brim. From out the mist-cap dozens of such white streaks
of water poured down the hillsides, and the rushing sound
of the waters mingled with that of the wind. And yet,
though the spate was unusually heavy, the water of the
burns remained as clear as during the finest summer days,
for the hills here are rocky, and no peat discolours the
water even during the greatest flood. It was dark before
we reached the western end of the glen. The tide was high

36

v*^

In tJic Heart of the Hill Country,

Looking Westward across the Forest: The Mists gathering en the Distant Hill.

The Big Glen

— higher than for many months — and the sea was heavy,
so that one could see the surf breaking- on the rocks out
of the gloom and mist. The hills were invisible. Even
their outlines were hidden by the blackness, and all through
the night the rain continued to fall in fierce blasts.

And so we gave over the glen into the keeping of its
own hills and left it, the home of many pleasant memories,
with hearts that were sad at the parting.

37

CHAPTER VIII

THE LIFE OF A PTARMIGAN

Rising steeply from the Sound of Mull, and overlooking its
quiet waters, is the hill known to the Gael as "Dun da
Ghaoithe," or, translated into English, the Hill of the
Two Winds. Few birds of any kind live their lives on
its wind-scarred slopes, but around the summit cairn two or
three — I do not think so many as half a dozen — pairs of
ptarmigan have their haunt.

To a certain extent, I think, the ptarmigan of the
western coast differ in their habits from those which have
their home on the lonely plateaux of the Cairngorm Hills. In
the latter district they may be counted in their hundreds, but
within the sound of the Atlantic they are met with only as
stragglers. It is as though they were the last outposts of
the race, living in a country scarcely suited to them, and
maintaining a bare existence only. In these western hills of
the Island of Mull ptarmigan have many enemies. The
raven is often on the Hill of the Two Winds, and many
gulls of a summer's day sail backward and forward over
the high ground, on the eager look out for eggs. Then there
is the grey crow, that arch egg-stealer; and the golden eagle
and peregrine often visit the hill. But one enemy of the
ptarmigan is not present here — namely, the hill fox — for
curiously enough he is unknown on Mull at the present day,
though a couple of hundred years ago he seems to have lived
on the island.

The lot of the ptarmigan on the Hill of the Two Winds
cannot in winter be a pleasant one. The climate here is far
different from that prevailing in their home in central
Scotland. There the white grouse live in snow from

38

The Life of a Ptarmigan

November until May, while on the western seaboard the
hilltops are snowbound only at occasional intervals during
the months of winter. But day after day there sweeps in
from the sea the mist-laden wind from the west, so that for
weeks on end the hills are shrouded in cloud. The rainfall,
too, is far greater than on the Cairngorms, and considerably
exceeds one hundred inches in the course of the year.

In short, the ptarmigan of the Cairngorms exist under
conditions more nearly approaching— though indeed notice-
ably different from — a continental climate, than do their
cousins who cling to the wind-swept hills of the Atlantic.

The most striking characteristic of these ptarmigan of
the west is, I think, the silence of the cock birds during the
nesting season. Whereas on the Cairngorms these birds
almost invariably utter their snorting croak when the
intruder disturbs them in the vicinity of their nests, I never
once, on the Mull hills on which the species breed,
heard them utter any sound. Again, in the central Scottish
plateaux, a ptarmigan when brooding her eggs — and even
before incubation is far advanced — is an extraordinarily close
sitter. Often she will allow one to approach within a foot
or two of her without rising, and even when she does leave
her eggs she flutters only a short distance and watches
anxiously. But in Mull the birds whose nests I came across
rose from their eggs in the same manner as grouse do, and
vanished at top speed over the hillside, nor did I see them
again. In no case was the cock near at hand — as I had
usually found in the Cairngorms — to rise suddenly and
accompany the hen with cheering croak.

These facts are, I think, worth setting down, for they
may in part account for the ptarmigan barely holding their
own on these Atlantic-girt hills. The birds undoubtedly
have need of the greatest care on behalf of their eggs and
young, for in no part of Scotland can their winged enemies
be so numerous as in this western island. Gulls of many
species, and bands of grey crows, are searching every part

39

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

of the hill in fine weather, and a nest left unattended must
speedily lose its eggs. It is a well-known fact that in wild
stormy weather ptarmigan are restless and unapproachable,
whilst on calm days it is at times impossible to make them
take wing at all, so it would be of interest to know whether
the prevalence of wind and storm along the western seaboard
may not account for their habitual wariness there.

It is a curious experience to one who knows well the
haunts beloved of the ptarmigan to search for hours among
the corries of, say, Ben More Mull, and not to see a single
one of these birds, nor to hear their cry. I remember that
the first time I crossed that hill I saw but one bird, a cock.
He was reluctant to rise, and I felt sure that he must have
a sitting mate near, yet when he did take wing he flew off
in silence, and continued unswervingly on his way until he
had crossed over the skyline — not the usual behaviour of a
ptarmigan whose sitting mate is near by. I searched, never-
theless, every foot of the ground, spending hours in the
neighbourhood, but I saw nothing to lead me to suspect that
a hen ptarmigan had her nest near.

As regards the time of their nesting, I think this is,
perhaps, a few days earlier than on the Cairngorms, but
there is little difference. A point of interest is the fact that
on these western hills ptarmigan habitually live at a con-
siderably lower level than on the Cairngorms. There it is
worth while recording the fact if one of their nests is found
below the three thousand foot contour line, whereas in the
Island of Mull I doubt if any "tarmachan " nest at this
height — the highest hill on the island is less than 3,200 feet —
and the majority of the birds rear their broods at a height
of from 2,500 to 2,200 feet; in some cases even lower.

I have wondered whether the ptarmigan of the Island
of Mull live on the same hill from one year's end to another,
or whether they may at times cross over to some of the
nearer hills of the mainland, to Cruachan, perhaps, or to
the high tops of the Lochaber country, where their tribe is

40

The Life of a Ptarmigan

more numerous than on this island. I know that in
Aberdeenshire they have been seen to leave one hill and make
for another across the valley of the Dee, but that was when
greatly persecuted by shooters, and so I doubt whether any
one of these Mull ptarmigan has ever set foot on the main-
land.

A factor which may, perhaps, in part account for the
scarcity of ptarmigan in the west is the almost complete
absence of cranberry and blaeberry plants and of heather,
on the higher reaches of the hills. It is well known how
eagerly ptarmigan feed on the berries of these hill plants,
and I have watched them feeding with relish on the tender
shoots of the heather during winter snow in that well-known
haunt of theirs the Larig Ghruamach, that remote high-
lying pass connecting the headwaters of the Dee with the
valley of the Spey; and blaeberry stems, as well as the fruit
they love.

But when the weather is fine, and the sun shines clear
on the hillside and deep sea loch, the ptarmigan of the west
have from their lofty country a prospect of unsurpassed
grandeur, for they exist on high and exposed ground where
no other bird can face the winter storms.

It is said that the letter P in their name was inserted by
the French — for what reason I know not — and that the word
is originally derived from the Gaelic Tarmach, meaning "to
be the source of " and given, perhaps, to this hill dweller
as it was thought that from this bird originated all feathered
Fife.

I remember, one day of midsummer, seeing a ptarmigan's
nest within a few yards of the topmost cairn of the Hill of
the Two Winds, and could not but remark on the wonderful
panorama which was laid out before the sitting bird, had she
the eye to see it. Two thousand five hundred feet beneath
her, and so close that one might imagine a thrown stone
might reach thus far, lay the deep blue waters of the Sound
of Mull. No Atlantic swell disturbs these hill-girt waters,

41

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

but even in the finest of days a breeze draws down through
the Sound— usually from the north-west— ruffling the waters
and sending white-capped wavelets to break against its
shingly shores. Many ships passing through the Sound
would the ptarmigan see without rising from her eggs. So
close below her is the sea that the glint of the wings of many
terns, eager in their fishing, would be plain to her, and she
would wonder, maybe, as to what tribe they might belong.
From the grassy corrie beneath, the cry of the curlew would
sometimes come of a quiet summer's night, and the cheery
song of the wheatear, as he perched among the rocks, would
be often in her ears. The eagle she would sometimes see,
soaring in the teeth of a stiff breeze along the ridge above
the rocks, or in calm sunny weather sailing in great circles
on motionless wings above the corrie. During fine weather
also the eagle would sit for hours on the cairn, digesting his
meals, and throwing up fur and bones in pellets. At such
times, so close would be her enemy, the ptarmigan would
crouch in terror low on her nest, lest the eagle should observe
her with his keen glance. On other days the eagle would
be hunting, maybe, amongst the Morvern Hills, and his
place on the cairn would be taken by a raven of grim aspect,
preening his feathers contentedly and ultimately dozing in
the strong sunshine.

At times stags would cross the hilltop, their rapidly
growing horns massive looking by reason of their thick cover-
ing of velvet, and of an evening hinds would lead their young
calves that way.

Hill flowers would grow near her nest. In the hot sun the
blossoms of the cushion pink would throw out their sweet
scent into the still air, and there would be violets, and wild
pansies and the small white flowers of the mountain saxifrage,
growing where the rocks are damp.

In clear weather hill upon hill would stand out of the
early morning mist. South'ard, away past Duart and the
Island of Lismore, would rise the twin peaks of Cruachan,

42

Early Morning in the Ptarmigan Country.

Ptarmigan Chick about a week old.

The Life of a Ptarmigan

near four thousand feet high. And then to the east the
ptarmigan's eye would, maybe, look along the quiet waters
of Loch Linnhe to where they reached the Lochaber
country, and there, shutting out all further view, she would
see Ben Nevis, the greatest of Scottish hills. Always in
June there would be great snowfields covering the upper
reaches of that mountain, and for days on end the ptarmigan
would look upon the hill deep under a fresh coating of snow
— for it is a rare season indeed that the month of roses does
not bring to Ben Nevis at least one heavy snowfall. Then
she would see the conical hills of Glencoe — the scene of the
great and never-to-be-forgotten massacre of a Scottish clan —
and the high tops of the Black Mount forest where
ptarmigan in numbers have their home.

But the fine weather would soon end, and there would
come days when rain and mist would sweep the hilltop, and
with the lifting of the mist many burns would be seen
streaming down the hillsides of IMorvern, to where the hills
drop sheer to the waters of the Sound of Mull. And here at
such times a wonderful sight would be seen — the force of the
wind of so great strength that the burns would not be per-
mitted to fall in cascades to the sea as is their wont, but the
waters, caught upon the gale, would be hurled backwards in
clouds of spray. I have indeed seen these hills, after heavy
rain, when their waters, upward carried by the wind, had all
the appearance of the smoke of many heather fires rising, and
they have before now been mistaken for such.

And then on dark nights the ptarmigan, were she awake,
would see the lights of passing ships, and also the flashing
beacon on Eilean Glas, and the steady orange glare of the
stout lighthouse on Lismore.

And so, as she brooded her richly speckled eggs, she
would have much to occupy her. Yet I doubt if she saw any
of these things, or if indeed so, whether they were anything to
her. But one dark shape I know she recognized, and trembled
for her life as the eagle passed her by at his hunting.

43

CHAPTER IX

lONA AND ITS SOUND

Away to the westward of the Island of Mull, and separated
from the Ross by a mile of sea, there lies the small grassy
island of lona. For its size — it extends in length some three
miles and is in breadth not over a mile and a half — it is
perhaps the most famous island of Scotland ; for here it was
that Saint Columba made his landing after setting forth from
Ireland in the sixth century in order to spread abroad the
Christian faith.

For many years the saint had his home on the island,
blessing it, so that in time it was looked upon as a spot
sacred to his name and worthy of many pilgrimages.

From far lands there were brought the remains of those
whose wish it was to sleep their last sleep on this holy isle
Here lie the kings of many lands. No fewer than forty-
eight kings of Scotland — including Macbeth — are buried
here, and near them repose also kings of Ireland, Norway
and Denmark. Here, too, rest great Highland chiefs whose
names are bywords in Scottish history — MacLeods, Mac-
Donalds, MacLeans, MacKinnons, MacQuarries — men who
in olden times carried in their hands the power of life and
death in their clans.

lona's cathedral, for centuries in ruins, has now been
restored, and on a clear day can be seen from afar — from
Ulva's Isle, from Gometra, and from distant Treshnish.

Arising from the blessing given to the island by Columba,
it is said that no serpent can survive on lona, and I believe
that on the few occasions on which adders have swum the
sound they have soon perished. This immunity is also said
to be found in the district of Ormsaig, in the Ross of Mull,

44

lona and Its Sound

which is supposed also to have been blessed by the saint,
whereas on the adjoining lands on either side adders in plenty
are to be seen.

Even now one can visit a bay — Port a' churaich by name
— away at the southern end of the island where are said to
lie the remains of the boat which brought Columba from
Ireland, and see the long grass-covered mound under which
the craft was buried. Near it are many heaps of stones of
various sizes, supposed to have been gathered together by
the monks as penances, the heaps varying in size according
to the greatness of the offence committed, and built while the
monk was on his hands and knees.

Concerning the origin of the name lona, nothing certain
is known. It is said that the name, as it stood in the original
Gaelic, was I-Challum-Cille, or the Island of Saint Columba.
In the Gaelic of the present day " island " would be trans-
lated by "eilean," or " innis," but the "I " is said to be a
shortening of the word "innis."

None, I think, who have crossed the sound on a fine day of
summer will ever forget the scene, for the Sound of lona has
at all times a charm that is peculiarly its own. It may be that
there yet broods here the spirit of the saint and his followers,
or that the intangible influence of their personality and of
the many good deeds wrought here still persists.

I shall always remember vividly the first occasion on
which I crossed the sound. The season was near the shortest
day, and incessant storms had swept in day after day from
the Atlantic, so that the swell was strong on the rocks. But
as the ferry-boat pushed out from the little harbour of Fion-
phort the wind was not too fresh, and we soon covered the
mile of sea and made lona without difficulty. Toward
sunset the wind veered to south-west, increasing momentarily
in force, with a wild sky of green framed in black storm-
clouds to windward. When the boat set sail, with every reef
in, on the return passage, a gale was sweeping the waters, so
that some of those in the boat — and there were many crossing

45

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

by reason of the fact that the mail-steamer had failed to call
— were of opinion that "There was no safety in the sound."
But all trusted themselves to the fine Highlander who, often
single-handed, has sailed the passage these forty years back ;
and with many farewells from the shore the sail was filled and
the boat shot forward with the wind. Almost at once we were
in a heavy sea, and the wind blew with such force that all
idea of crossing to Fionphort was quickly abandoned, and,
sailing before the gale, the course was set for the sheltered
creek near the little fishing village of Kentra. Things looked
serious, for we were shipping the waves which broke white-
topped and menacing around us — the tide runs strong in the
sound, and when moving against the storm renders the swell
doubly dangerous — and each person had perforce to lie at the
bottom of the boat so that the ferryman might see the more
easily to avoid the overfalls of the heaviest waves. Some
feared that the mast would snap before the strain, but all went
well, and it was with much gratitude that we reached harbour,
and many a word of well-deserved praise and thanks did the
ferryman, soaked to the skin by the breaking waves, receive
from his Gaelic-speaking passengers.

But not always is the sound thus in winter. I have
crossed on days of February when scarce a breath of wind
ruffled the waters, when all the hills of Mull stood out clear
and blue, saving Ben More, whose summit was whitened
by snows which did not reach to the lesser peaks, and when
all the islands were clear and on Gometra every house dis-
tinct. Then there were days when a bitter north-easter,
sweeping up the waters of Loch Scridain, brought with it
from the snow-clad hills of the mainland the icy breath of
the frost spirit; w^hen the sky over the rocks of the Wilder-
ness was of steel, and when even the Atlantic swell was
stilled by the frost. These days would perhaps come in
early spring, scorching the young grass already showing
green on lona and numbing the early lambs with deadly
chill. But with April better weather would come to lona

46

loria and Its Sound

and to its sound, and there would come an end to the gales
from the west and south-west — gales which on one occasion
prevented the ferry-boat from crossing for a week or more,
so that no inter-communication was possible between the
island and the far side of the sound, though this is scarce
over a mile in width.

Even before March is come the ravens on Eilean nam
Ban — that island set out in the sound and breaking the force
of the tide — are repairing their nest, and with each morning
and evening may be seen crossing over to Fionphort as they
make for their feeding ground on the Ross of Mull. In
former times the red-billed chough was wont to share the
rocks with them, but he has now gone; indeed, has been
banished from the whole of the Hebridean coasts, and nowa-
days is but a fast fading memory.

And then, during fine still weather of a March month,
one would see, curling from either shore of the sound, the
blue smoke of the burning tangle seaweed, with pungent
though pleasant smell hanging over the waters; and as
April gave place to May there would be many birds amongst
the rocky islands of the sound. Here would the grey crow
— the "Feannaig" of the Gael — build her wool-lined nest
in some niche of the rock, with a deep carpet of heather
beneath to break the fall of the young should they over-
balance at the nest's edge. On the pebbly beach the oyster
catcher would scrape out her primitive nesting hollow and
deposit therein her three speckled eggs, nor would the grey
crow touch them, for it is a firm and constant law in the
bird world that no individual preying by habit on its fellows
shall disturb those birds nesting near it. Is it, I wonder,
that they have some fellow feeling for their neighbours; or
is it to secure for themselves a measure of quietness during
their nesting time ?

It is with the coming of May also that a new bird makes
his appearance at Tona's Sound — the strong-fiying solan, or
the "sulair," as he is known in the Gaelic tongue. With tire-

47

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

less wings many of these birds, always flying singly in
their hunting, patrol the sound, their cold, expressionless
eyes ever searching the clear, green-tinted water for their
prey, the silvery herring or the swift-swimming mackerel.
They hunt in silence always, do these solans, and it is only
when two birds, most intent on their fishing, all but collide
in mid-air that their harsh, grating cry is heard. But at
their nesting rock — on Ailsa Craig, maybe, or on lone Saint
Kilda — the silent solan is quiet no longer, and during every
hour of the day and night a multitude of cries arise from
thousands of birds. Harsh and grating as tn^ir voices are,
the solans have in them a certain charm, for one always
associates them with days of summer and with the full tide
of pulsating life.

The Sound of lona is famous for its flounders. They are,
so it is said, of unsurpassed flavour, and of a morning the
menfolk from the little township of Kentra may be seen
putting to sea and setting their long lines along the sandy
bottom of the sound. I doubt if the solans take the flounders
in their fishing; they would, I suspect, be a difficult mouth-
ful to dispose of, for it must be remembered that the solan
swallows his fish whole, and always bolls his catch before
rising to the surface.

The fields of lona are manured in springtime by the
fronds of the laminarian seaweed, which, if the wind be
favourable, are washed ashore on the western side of the
island in great quantities during May. In former days it was
customary, should the "barr dearg " — as the weed is known
in the Gaelic — not come ashore at the usual season, and the
crops were likely to be spoilt for want of the proper nourish-
ment, to prepare on a certain Thursday in May a great
cauldron of porridge, which was cast into the sea on the
western side of the island as an offering to the Sea Spirit.
The day of this ceremony was known in the Gaelic as
"Diardaoin a' bhrochain mhoir," or "the Thursday of the big
porridge."

48

lona and Its Sound

Before the days of the steamers — before the time of the
old and trusty steamship Dunara Castle, which brings to the
Highlanders their provisions from the south — the people of
lona were wont, after the close of the harvest, to set out for
Glasgow in their smacks, carrying with them the produce of
the island. For this passage a steady northerly wind was
all-important, so that before they set sail the voyagers made
their way to a certain well on the island, stirred its waters —
the while uttering mysterious sentences in the Gaelic, which
have now unfortunately been lost— and asked the Spirit
of the Well that the wind might be favourable to them.
Afterwards they proceeded to another well, going through
the same ceremonies here and asking for a steady and con-
tinuous south wind to bring them back to lona. The two
wells are known as "Tobar na gaoithe tuath " and "Tobar
na gaoithe deas," that is, "the well of the north wind " and
"the well of the south wind."

The sun shines bright on the sound these summer days,
lighting up the white sands on Eilean aon Reithe — the Island
of the One Ram — so that they are of a dazzling brightness
and contrast strikingly with the deep lights on the water in
which the blue of the sky is reflected and even appears to
be intensified. The older name of this wild island is said
to be "Eilean annraidh," or "the Island of Storms" — a fitting
name for this sentinel guarding lona from the hosts of the
north wind.

The tribe of the sea swallows are filled these days with
the joy of life, and on graceful wings are busy at their fishing
from sunrise till long after sunset. But even before these
birds are thinking of their nesting the ravens have already
reared their young and have taken them far afield in their
hunting, and in the eyrie of the peregrine, built where the
cliffs rise sheer from the Adantic, the young hawks are
already losing their first downy coat and are growing their
clear-cut, powerful wings.

There is one small, unobtrusive bird which makes its
E 49

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

equally unobtrusive and carefully concealed nest amongst
the short-cropped heather fringing lona's Sound. Known
as the twite, or mountain finch, its four or five eggs are of
a pale sky-blue ground colour, on which are set a few mark-
ings and spots of a very dark brown, so that the eggs are of
great beauty, and rival in their colouring the unclouded
summer sky. When the north wind — cold even at this
season — blows for days up the sound the spray from the
white-topped breakers is often carried across to the heather
where the mother twite broods her eggs, but her nest is
always built beyond the reach of the tide or the roughest
sea. In its habits there is much that is of interest in the
mountain finch. In the Hebrides and along the extreme
west coast of Scotland it makes its nest usually at sea level,
while in the more central districts of the country I have come
across it nesting on the highest hills, where, at a height
of three thousand feet and more, it has for its com-
panion only the mist-loving ptarmigan and the silent-flying
eagle.

When the midsummer sun is strong on lona's sands,
and when the crofters' cattle have sought the shelter of the
cool rocks of Dun I, then it is that at times there can be
seen far out at sea a white bank of mist hiding from view
the distant Island of Tiree. Carried forward by the westerly
breeze, the cloud approaches, and soon the white vapour
covers land and sea. For a time the sun gives battle to the
cloud, and now and again dispels the mist pall, but soon
the fog is so thick that even the Island of Mull is blotted
out. On such a summer's evening I have crossed the sound
when not a breath of air ruffled the w-aters, and when the
boil of the tide was the only thing that stirred. Gone were
the solans to fish elsewhere, and as the boat was pushed
out into the sound the shore faded away almost at once.
Many unfortunate bumble bees, having entirely lost their
bearings, flew aimlessly but hopefully towards the boat,
and when they were undeceived in their expectation that

50

lona and Its Sound

they had found land, lacked in some cases the strength to
fly farther and fell exhausted in the water.

One island lying in the sound is noted for the white
heather which grows on its narrow crown, and, indeed, on
all the islands a profusion of wild flowers blossom in their
season. Here there are no trees, for the great winds of
winter will suffer nothing beyond the height of a bush to
offer resistance to their rush.

But one island there is on which no shrub grows, on
which no heather carpets the ground, and that is the lonely
rock of Reidh Eilean, which lies west of the sound, west
of lona herself. The rough summit of a hill set in the
Atlantic and just rising beyond the water's surface is this
lonely island. Many sea birds have their home here, and
of a summer's night the silvery tribe of the herring play
on the surface of the quiet waters, and perhaps the storm
petrel — on whose notes a piper of old composed a tune —
flits swallow-like past, winging her way to those Islands where
she has her home during the season of her nesting.

Guarded by her sentinel islands and her sound of restless
waters, lona, full of sacred memories, rests quietly and
securely, for she is safe in the keeping of the Spirit of the
West Wind, which can bring her naught but good from the
vast spaces of the sea.

5«

CHAPTER X

THE SEA POOL

In the mist-shrouded Island of Mull, and lying in the
shadow of big hills on which ptarmigan nest and the eagle
has his ihome, is the sea pool of which I write. The small
river which forms the pool has its source in a chain of lochs
lying within six miles of the sea, yet its tributaries are many,
and by the time the stream reaches the sea pool its waters
are not unworthy of the silvery salmon, and the sea trout,
exulting in its strength.

The pool is not deep — when the water is at its average
height the deepest hole is not more than six feet — yet at
certain seasons of the year it holds many fish in its clear
waters. An average tide from the still sea loch into which
the river runs does not reach it, but at the full of the
"springs" the sea enters the pool, and dams back its waters
so that at times they overflow the adjoining rough pastures
where the green plover scream and wheel during the season
of their nesting. At such times, swimming in with the salt
water, many sea trout, and perhaps a few salmon also, enter
and populate the pool.

The season of the fishing falls late in these parts; there
is no early show of fish when the ground is still frost-bound
and the hills are deep in snow : indeed July is usually more
than half gone before the great " run " of salmon and sea
trout ascend the river. The pool, it is true, is peopled
throughout the winter by a few small sea trout or "finnock,"
and when the frost grips the countryside, and the pool is
held firm beneath a sheet of black ice, these small fish
may be seen swimming in the waters beneath, but they
are not worth the taking until they have returned to

52

The Sea Pool

the sea loch in the spring for the rich feeding that is
there.

It is during the early weeks of April that the first "run "
of sea trout enter the sea pool, but they are few in number
and some still show the want of good feeding. One April
morning that I recall was of singular charm. No breath
stirred the still leafless birches from which the missel thrush
uttered his melancholy song, and the air was clear and warm.
There was a small freshlet in the river— just enough to make
the pool of good fishing size — and the fish were there and
were on the take, so that I had my first basket of the season.
I well remember how a cormorant, following doubtless the
run of fish, took up his quarters there in my absence, and
thus rendered all further fishing useless. I think the keeper
laid him low ultimately, but too late, for he spoilt the only
run of spring fish that season. About this time an extra-
ordinary sharp thunderstorm visited the glen at dusk. It
is a curious fact that along the western coast these storms
occur with more frequency in winter than summer, and are
accompanied by a high wind — perhaps even by a gale. On
this day a strong breeze from the west had brought with it
squalls of hail with clear sunny intervals between them, but
of thunder there was no sign, so that the storm when it
suddenly burst overhead was quite unexpected. In quick
succession blinding flashes of lightning lit up the hills in
vivid greenish light, the thunder following on the instant.
So thick was the hail that almost at once the ground was
clad in white, and when after less than fifteen minutes the
storm, hurried forward by the wind, passed eastward, it
carried with it the season of spring and left winter in its
stead.

Even though no sea trout are in the pool, it is good
to sit by its banks of a fine spring day, for the lover of Nature
finds many friends here. At times the air is filled with the
trilling call of many curlews, and in the dusk of the even*
ing these shy birds, absorbed in their spring song, may

53

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

sail towards one and alight, almost at one's feet, still call-
ing. And with the coming of daybreak, one is awakened by
their note — a note that must always have a special charm
for one who is a lover of the wild and mist-swept places —
and may watch them as they come down from the hills to
alight at their feeding grounds near the pool. I know the
curlew and his haunts as well as most, and I can safely
say that in no place have I seen and heard so many of their
tribe as near the banks of this sea pool.

During March and April the cry of the green plover
rings often in the ear — for do they not nest within a stone's
throw of the pool ? — and the flute-like calls of a pair of red-
shanks that with each season make their nest in the rough
grass hard by carry far in the stillness of an April evening.

And then, with the coming of May, the birches of the
hillside above the pool become tinged with the most delicate
green, and before the soft southerly breeze they sway with
feather-like motion. And from them for the first time since
the summer of the past year come the clear notes of the
cuckoo, and the sweet and plaintive song of the willow
warbler. From them, too, the tree pipit — newly arrived from
Africa — flies up perpendicularly into the blue sky, and as he
sails leisurely downward to his favourite perch, utters his
cheery song.

And now, the river banks welcome to themselves the
sandpiper, straight from his southern winter quarters —
with pleasure one hears for the first time his "wheet, wheet,
wheet," as he wings his way rapidly up the water-side — and
when the birches are in full leaf, and even the late-budding
oaks have taken on a tinge of green, the nightjar may be
heard uttering in the twilight his husky notes.

As spring gives place to summer, the hill grasses in the
high corries above the sea pool, where the ptarmigan croak
and the golden eagle sails on tireless wings, at length
take on a tinge of vivid green, and show up brightly against
the dark rocks. The sky is clear these days, and all Nature

54

The Sea Pool

is renewed by the strong sunlight; but even in the month
of June big rainstorms roll in from the Atlantic, and before
the soft westerly wind the grey mists advance to the hills.
It is the characteristic of the western coast that rain rarely
falls unless it is accompanied by a strong breeze, so that
it drives aslant through the glen almost in the form of
spray. The storm continues but an hour or two before the
hills run water. Water-courses which are usually dry carry
to the river of the sea pool rushing torrents, and I know
of no grander sight than to watch them emerge from the
mist-cap, and — their murmur mingling with the rush of
the wind — hurry to join the parent river beneath.

To the fisherman a June rainstorm must always bring
good cheer, for do not the heaviest salmon enter the river
during this month ? Curiously enough, a salmon has never,
I think, been taken in the sea pool itself; they hurry past,
for their instinct leads them westward up to the linn and
to the chain of lochs beyond. During June, few sea trout
enter the river, but early in the following month they press
from the Atlantic into the sea loch through the narrow
channel joining it with the ocean, so that on quiet summer
nights many of their race may be seen leaping in the salt
water of the estuary, and the soft "plosh" of their rising
carries far in the still air.

During these days of midsummer the scent of the bog
myrtle is carried far over the loch, for myriads of its plants
have their home in the boggy land leading down to the
water. A profusion of sea thrift is now in blossom on the
shingle lying near the sea pool, so that a tinge of pink is
to be seen over all the river estuary. Here oyster catchers
have their nests, and with lack of foresight sometimes lose
their eggs with a high spring tide.

From the bushes stonechats sing and call, and with
wonderful cunning hide from the intruder the whereabouts
of their nests, search he never so carefully. Whinchats are
here also, and no less skilled are they than their cousins in

55

The Land of the Hills mid the Glens

hiding the site of their delicate eggs of pale unspotted blue
or their large family of sober-coloured young. In the wood
of stunted oaks the young of the barn or white owl are already
full-fledged in the hollow of the tree where they have been
reared, and the plaintive alarm note of the wood warbler may
be heard as she flutters anxiously from bough to bough in
the neighbourhood of that small domed nest containing her
large family of half-fledged young.

There are no hours of darkness at this time. For an
hour either side of midnight twilight covers the land, but
as early as one o'clock I have watched the sunrise firing the
high cirri clouds in the north-eastern sky and tinging them
with crimson.

For weeks, maybe, the sea trout must remain in the salt
water, for even the biggest flood of midsummer runs down
in a few hours, and for many days scarce a trickle of water
finds its way to the sea pool. When at length the long-
awaited rain comes and the river quickly rises, grand sport
may be had by the fisherman who is on the spot. One such
July day I recall when the mist was low, and when from out
the mist-cap every hill burn rushed, full to the brim. Many
sea trout were in the pool that day, and they were not above
taking a nicely thrown teal and green or brown hackle,
so that by evening one's basket was well filled and one heeded
not the west wind that blew the rain across from the hills with
gale force and soaked one to the skin.

The next day brought sunshine and showers, so that
when the sun shone, hot and clear, the scent of the bell
heather came across the glen from the hillside beyond the
river, and mingled with it was the aroma from many bog
myrtle plants.

In August the main run of fish is past, but with each
"freshlet" belated sea trout enter the river and quickly
ascend to the lochs. At this season the banks of the river
are breast-high with the deep green bracken, and the ling
under the birches is heavy with blossom, so that as one

56

The Sea Pool

passes one's footsteps send shov/ers of yellow pollen to the
ground. It is now that the midges are most plentiful, and
I have more than once been almost compelled to leave the
river bank, so violent were their onslaughts.

With September come the small sea trout or "finnocks,"
and the sea pool is peopled with them until the end of
October, when fishing closes. These fish do not run far
up the river, and many of them do not penetrate beyond
the sea pool. In size they average about half a pound, and
give very fine sport. I think they come best to the fly
of an evening in late September, after sunset, and when
the tide is just on the turn. The spring tides in these parts
are at the full a little after six o'clock in the evening, and
when, after damming back the pool, they recede once more,
the sea trout instantly come on the take, and seem to be quite
unaffected by the number of victims drawn from the pool.
At such times mergansers often swim in from the sea loch
and haunt the waters. Very industrious fishers are they,
and it is indeed a sign of ill omen to the human angler
should they rise from the pool at his approach.

An old Highland story is sometimes told of the Glen
of the Sea Pool. A certain noted hunter — Ian Mor, by
name — killed a fine stag in the glen and conveyed it by
night to his home nearly five miles distant. In those days
the fairy people — or "Sithean," as they are known in the
Gaelic — played a great part in men's lives, and many
charms were used to counteract their influence, which was
not always beneficial. On this occasion the fairies laid an
invisible weight on the stag, a common practice of theirs,
and on Ian Mor confessing to his companion that he felt
as though he had the house on his back, his friend stuck
his knife into the deer — this was a sure charm against fairy
influence — and the animal at once became immensely
lighter.

With October, the last month of the fishing, there comes
a keen edge to the wind, and before the advance of the

57

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

frosts the bracken loses its green hue and droops listlessly
to the ground. The birds have almost all gone, but the
cheery stonechats will remain through the winter and the
white owls will still pass in their hunting during a day of
gloom, or, in fine weather, after sunset.

The river is often in spate these days and the gales are
strong and frequent. Then, one morning, the hill-tops and
high-lying corries bear their first covering of snow, and
one realises that winter is at hand.

In the birch wood, where the trees now stand clad in
gold, the big stags roar continually, for the storms have
driven them down from the hills, and tribes of redwing and
fieldfares cluster on the rowan berries.

And so winter comes again to the glen and to the sea
pool.

58

CHAPTER XI

MEMORIES OF HIGHLAND STALKERS

Living far removed from the great cities, and often amongst
all that is most admirable and grand in Nature, the High-
land stalker has a certain distinctive charm of his own. In
him is often set deeply the poetry and romance of his race.
He has lived out his quiet life in his glen, with the big
hills he knows so well sheltering his home from the fierce
winter storms, and his glen is his whole world. In winter
as well as in summer he is abroad in all weathers. In wild
January blizzards he may be out on the high ground after
hinds, and may have his work cut out to gain shelter
before he is overcome by the choking drift. When it is
realized how rapidly a blizzard of dry, powdery snow from
the north may descend on the uplying glens, obliterating
every object more than a few yards distant, it is a matter
of surprise how seldom the Highland stalker does go astray
during a winter's storm. Such incidents occasionally do
occur, it is true, but I have never heard of a life being lost,
for a stalker has a more intimate knowledge of the ground
of his beat than any other man, and in summer when the
mist lies thick on the hill, he is able to guide the sports-
man unerringly, not only to safety, but also to that part
of the ground where, with the particular wind which
happens to be blowing at the time, stags are most likely
to be found.

During the closing days of December, 1906, a terrific
blizzard of snow swept the country without warning, save
that the glass had dropped steadily, although the wind was
in a northerly quarter. On the morning of December 26
the frost was intense, and there was scarcely a cloud in the

59

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

sky, so that there seemed every prospect of a clear day to
follow. Towards noon, however, a grey cloud appeared
on the northern horizon ; snow began to fall, and continued
without intermission for forty-eight hours, accompanied by
a whole gale from the north. A number of stalkers went to
the hill on that particular morning, but though many of
them had to fight hard to regain their homes, they all
succeeded in reaching them safely before dark. It was, all
the same, fortunate for them that the northerly wind had
for some days previous to the advent of the great storm
brought frost and snow squalls to the hill country, so that
the hinds had left the higher grounds for the shelter of
the woods of veteran Scots firs, and were thus in more
accessible quarters than is usually the case.

In spring the stalker's work takes him rarely to the
high ground, except, maybe, to kindle a hillside where the
heather is, to his way of thinking, too long to afford
the best grazing for his deer, and it is not until the
latter end of August that the heaviest work of the year
begins.

Day by day, before the "gentlemen" are astir, the
stalker is closely scanning the corries through his glass,
and day after day, perhaps under a blazing sun, with
no breath of air to cool the hillsides, perhaps in a
heavy storm of rain and snow, he is abroad on the high
grounds.

The Highland stalker sees many a fine sight during his
expeditions to the high hills. He sees, maybe, the battle
between the sun and the mists, or, again, the coming of
the cold north wind to the hills — the north wind which
drives irresistibly the fine weather before it, and which
settles down on the hill-tops, carrying with it cloud and
impenetrable gloom. He sees, too, the black eagle — the
"lolaire Dubh " of the hillman — and round the eagle he
weaves many stories.

Fiona Macleod related how a Highland shepherd gave

60

Memories of Highland Stalkers

the eagle the curious name "An-t-eun mor abu." An-t-
eun mor signifies the "great bird," but the shepherd was
at a loss to translate the last word. Some time later Fiona
Macleod was able to discover that the word "abu " was the
slogan of the Gaels in earliest times.

The hill stalker admires the eagle. A veteran hillman
recently told me how he "was regarding the eagle and was
taking notice of the nobility of the bird " when mobbed
by grey crows, the eagle continuing on its flight heedless
of the repeated attacks of its small adversaries. A curious
expression has on more than one occasion been used in
conversation with me on the soaring of the King of Birds, the
stalker observing that he had seen the eagle "waving " in
the sky.

I shall long remember a pathetic story which a most
benevolent looking old stalker unfolded when I met him
near his home. Surrounding his house was a small clump
of larch and Scots firs in which a kestrel had built her nest
and reared her family. The young kestrels left the nest,
but how one of the brood met an untimely death had best
be narrated in the stalker's own words: "The little haak,
I saw him on a tree, so I said to him, * Come down, man,'
and he came down and I killed him with a stick." The
story is a humorous one, but has its pathetic side. One
can imagine the scene. The small kestrel, tired maybe,
and resting after its first flight, the appearance of the enemy,
and the regrettable tragedy.

I remember once when on the hill, a white-bearded
stalker asking me whether I could name to him the Seven
Sleepers of the Earth. I learnt from him later that he
considered without doubt that the wheatear, or stonechacker,
as he called it, was one of the seven, and he treated my scep-
ticism with something like pity. As a conclusive proof of his
statement, he described to me how he had on one occasion
discovered a hibernating wheatear at the end of a hole
on an exposed moor. His story was evidently true, but

6i

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

the weight of the assertion was lessened when he added
that the bird was found in the month of March. It would
thus appear that this wheatear was an early migrant which
had arrived prematurely in the Highlands, and which had
sought refuge at the end of a burrow from the cold spell
which prevailed at the time.

Though I have met many stalkers during my wander-
ings on the hills, I much doubt whether the place can
ever be filled of a noted hillman who has now been laid
to rest near the corries he knew and loved so well. It
could indeed be said of this veteran that he was one of
Nature's most perfect gentlemen. The giant hills of his
glen he knew as well as any man, and many were the
interesting sights he had witnessed when out on his ex-
peditions. On one occasion he had followed a wounded
stag to where it had fallen in a burn, and as he was
engaged in "gralloching " the beast, he heard an object
strike the water beside him with a splash. In surprise,
he raised himself quickly — to see a golden eagle check
itself suddenly on its downward stoop and soar upwards,
leaving a dead ptarmigan to float down stream.

On another occasion the stalker was on the high tops
during a fine summer day. Ptarmigan were restless, and
soon the cause of this restlessness was evident, for a couple
of eagles crossed the hill, flying out beyond a steep face
and passing, if anything, a trifle below the level at which
the stalker sat. The "tarmachan" flew wildly, aimlessly,
in all directions, but the leading eagle, choosing a victim,
rapidly overhauled the bird and struck it down.

The stalker had also watched the eagles teach their
young to fly, sailing out from the rocky hillside and using
every persuasion to induce their youngsters to follow them,
until at last their efforts were rewarded, and each eaglet,
swaying and rocking as an aeroplane in a whole gale of
wind, soared out over the corrie.

Not so long ago I was lucky enough to come across a

62

Memories of Highland Stalkers

cairngorm stone of somewhat exceptional size while out on
the high hills, and though the stalker rarely allowed his
feelings to become evident, in this instance he was con-
strained to remark that I had indeed discovered "a brave
stone."

Another stalker — he is now an old man and on the
retired list — lived in the same wild glen, and many a
story had he, too, to tell of the hills. Full of quaint say-
ings was this veteran. I remember how on one occasion
he stated, while remarking on the weather which had been
experienced during that season, how that "at times the sun
would gain the masterpiece, but that then the wind would
get up, and the mist would come down, and the atmosphere
would become most ungenial." Talking of the expeditions
of a certain ornithologist, he once remarked of the person in
question that "at times fine weather would accompany him "
— an expression which sounded with great charm when
spoken by this old hillman in his own characteristic
way.

In a lonely bothy, in the very heart of Scotland and of
the hill country, there .formerly lived an old watcher who
had the true charm of the hillman, and whose fund of
reminiscences, told in his own inimitable way, seemed in-
capable of being exhausted. Now this veteran has
retired — the hill was getting too steep for him, he simply
remarked — and the bothy is inhabited by one of a younger
generation. His predecessor took an interest in the birds
which had their homes on the hills near his solitary abode.
On fine July days he would climb to the very highest tops,
and would sit quietly watching the snow buntings enter-
ing and leaving their homes amongst the rough granite
"scree," or, as he put it, "dancing on the hill in the sun-
light."

In the bothy field mice live, and my old friend used to
spend the evenings in taming his small companions. After
a time the mice lost their fear of him, and even fed on

63

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

crumbs which he placed on his boot, striking each other
comically with their paws in their efforts to obtain as large
a share as possible of the feast.

An experience which this old watcher had on one occa-
sion was one which will bear setting down here. On a
certain July afternoon, after a day of sun and oppressive
heat, a heavy thunder-cloud gathered above the hill north
of the bothy. Tlie air had the stillness which often pre-
cedes a storm, and as the cloud lowered, twilight descended
on that part of the glen, although the sun still shone with
curious red light at the head of the pass. Without warn-
ing, instantaneously, a solid mass of water struck the hill-
top opposite the bothy with a deafening crash. A surg-
ing torrent immediately rushed tumultuously down the hill
face, leaving a deep scar — visible at the present day — and
bearing in its course rocks of such size as to be beyond
the power of man to lift. Almost at the same moment
a second wall of water descended on the hill near the foot
of which the bothy was built, the rush of water narrowly
missing the small habitation and its solitary and shaken
inmate. The storm soon passed, and the sun again shone
out, but the debris washed down to the foot of the glen
was so extensive that the river was held back, and a lochan
temporarily formed there.

This veteran took his duty as watcher seriously, and
a stray mountaineer was accosted politely, and interrogated
as to whether he had "permission for the hill." The type
of tourist which the old hillman despised was the one
which imagined that the hills were free to all men. I re-
member well two individuals — a man and a woman — who
were "spied" making for the summit of a hill up which
no right-of-way existed. The old fellow started off in pur-
suit, but the climbers kept on their way at such a speed
that he was forced to give up the chase. On his return
to where I was sitting his quaint remark was, "They would
not stop — thev were a couple of dirty sparks." The

64

STALKINC; : EXAMINING THE HILL FOR A LIKELY STAG

STALKING: A DOUBTFUL GLANCE AT THE SKltb.

Memories of Highland Stalkers

emphasis with which the last two words were spoken was
sufficient guarantee of the contempt they conveyed.

The tourist on the hills is generally looked upon with
suspicion and a tinge of contempt by the stalker. Once
I noticed two forms in the distance. The stalker who was
with me looked at them a moment through the glass, then put
back his telescope into its case, uttering as he did so a single
word, and full of meaning. "Towerists," he grunted, show-
ing clearly that such unfortunate beings were utterly beneath
his notice.

During the spring meeting of a certain Alpine club
on the Cairngorms, the ascent of Cairn Toul (4,241 feet)
was attempted during a wild day, with a northerly gale
and heavy snow squalls. The mountaineers encountered
Arctic conditions on the hill, and had to cut their way
step by step up the precipitous face. Between the storms
of snow they could be seen clinging like ants to the hill, and
finally reached the slimmit in a blizzard so terrific that
they could scarcely draw breath. The feat was regarded as
an extremely noteworthy one, so that the stalker who,
after hearing full details of the climb, mildly stated "that
he could well believe it was rather airish on the top " seemed
to those who heard him to have certainly put things in a way
free from even the slightest suspicion of exaggeration.

At the fall of the year the hills surround themselves
with a certain quietness and mystery. With the coming
of darkness the roaring of many stags breaks the silence.
So intent are they in throwing out their husky challenges
that in the dusk it is possible to approach to within a couple
of hundred yards of them. A fight in grim earnest be-
tween two stags is of rare occurrence. Encounters, half
serious, half playful, are numerous; but no stalker with
whom I have spoken has ever witnessed a battle to the
death. A veteran keeper had, indeed, on one occasion
come across a stag still warm, and bearing the marks of the
antlers of his adversary where the fatal wound had been dealt.

F 65

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

Another stalker of my acquaintance once noted a stag lying
apparently dead on the hillside after a fiercely contested
struggle. A near view showed that the beast still lived, and
through the hours of darkness this conquered warrior
wandered painfully, slowly, away to the far hills, where the
hoarse triumphal roaring of his rival echoed and re-echoed
across the glen.

66

CHAPTER XII

AN LOCHAN UAINE

Buried in the very heart of the high hills, so that no eye
can see it from a distance, is the loch known in the language
of the mountains as An Lochan Uaine — the Green Loch.
The lochan has many brothers and sisters of the same
name; but in its own case the designation would appear
to be misapplied. Lying in a crater-shaped corrie
facing full to the bitter north winds, the lochan is of so
great a depth that the bottom cannot be made out, even
on a day of strongest sunshine, and thus it would seem that
the water should be known as An Dubh Lochan — the Black
Loch.

Winter comes early to the lochan. In the low country
the air is yet soft and mild when the first thin sheet of
black ice makes its way slowly, quietly out into the dark
waters. Many enemies are against it — this young ice.
The springs which feed the loch still retain their summer
heat, and fierce gusts of wind time and again restore the
lochan its freedom. But sooner or later the waters are
imprisoned, and the lochan sleeps under ice and, perhaps,
heavy wreaths of snow^, till the coming of another spring.
Even the heart of the deep corrie which cherishes the lochan
is over three thousand feet above the level of the distant sea,
and at the head of the neighbouring Garbhchoire Mhor ("The
Great Rough Corrie ") is the home of snowfields which
remain always unbroken from one year's end to another.

The eagle often sails above the lochan. On warm,
sunny days he perches for hours on end on the hill-
top above, enjoying to the full the light and warmth.
In winter his form is dark against the snowy wastes, and

67

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

I have seen him speeding up the great glen against a
blizzard of powdery snow so dense that it was almost im-
possible for me to look into the storm.

One summer's day a couple of eagles were hunting
above the lochan. On every side ptarmigan swept across
the hill in wild flight, anxious at all costs to escape
their dreaded enemies. One of the fugitives was struck
down by the leading eagle, and as it fell, his mate, fol-
lowing close behind, seized the small body and bore it
off in her talons, perhaps to a ledge where a hungry eaglet
awaited its meal.

The peregrine is rarely seen at the lochan, but on sunny
days of June and July the wild and beautiful song of
the snow bunting is carried down to the loch from the
rocky "scree" above. During this season there is no
night on the high hills, and this mountain songster may
be heard in the intense stillness of the day-break when mid-
night is past but an hour.

To the lochan red deer rarely find their way. Food
is scarce on the granite-strewn slopes, and the going is
steep, even for a stag. Peace is in the glen always, for
this part of the forest is a sanctuary, and no rifle breaks
the stillness of the corrie or the great glen at any time.
During the dark nights of October, maybe, when a
southerly wind brings rain and mist low on the hills, the
roaring of the stags in the glen below is wafted gently up
to the lochan, or as the grip of the frost is loosened in
spring and the snow becomes soft, an avalanche thunders
from the cornice fringing the ridge above and piles up
its debris on the ice-bound waters. The roaring of such
an avalanche strikes on the ear like the muttering of dis-
tant thunder as the great blocks of snow and ice rush
with ever-increasing speed and enormous bounds to Lochan
Uaine.

Even during the long days of June it is late before the
sun strikes on the dark waters of the lochan, for south-

68

An Lochan Uaine.

'^' S
z «

t^ -c

O t

An Lochan Uaine

ward the ground reaches an elevation of four thousand
feet; and in winter, for months on end, the loch is in
deep shadow.

The white mists hang low on the lochan for days
together. Sweeping straight across from the distant
Atlantic, the winds from the west often carry with
them soft fleecy clouds which at first rest lightly on the
hill-tops and gradually, imperceptibly, slip down to the
surface of the loch, hiding it from the gaze of the eagle
or of the soft-flying ptarmigan. I have often watched from
the ridge above the playing of the winds on the waters of
the lochan. No air current, except perhaps, from a due
northerly point, strikes full on the loch. Often when a
westerly wind approaching gale force was sweeping the
mountain, I could see the eddying currents meeting on
Lochan Uaine, and ruffling its waters from every point of
the compass; white-tipped wavelets being hurried now in
one direction, now in another, before the fitful gusts.

On quiet summer days, when the lochan lay unruffled
by the faintest breeze, the veteran watcher of that part of the
forest was wont, from the ridge above, to scan the waters of
the lochan for the ripple of rising trout. But no ever-widening
circle of wavelets rewarded his watching, for the infant
burn which drains the loch descends in a series of cascades
to the great glen beneath, so that no trout, however active,
could force its way up. And then, one hot July day, it
occurred to two fishermen that the loch might with advan-
tage be peopled. With no difflculty they succeeded in
luring fourteen trout from the big burn and placed them
in a large biscuit tin. And now came the difflcult part of
the undertaking — the transporting of the future population
up the precipitous hillside. The heat was intense, and
the water in the tin had to be renewed with great frequency,
for the fish rapidly exhausted the limited supply of oxygen
and lay gasping feebly on their sides until a new draught
of burn water gave them fresh life. At length the loch

69

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

was gained and the trout, one by one, were liberated and
sent forward into an unknown world. But one small trout-
let, the baby of the pioneers, was not destined to explore
the black depths of the lochan. All through the journey
he had been pining and went out on to his last great
journey just as the goal was reached.

I have often wondered what was the fate of these trout.
Food they must have secured, for during the summer
myriads of small insects play above the surface of the
lochan, and the depths of the waters contain snails and
other delicacies. The lochan, too, is of too great a depth
for the ice to penetrate far beneath the surface, even during
the most severe frost. One can only hope that the explorers
are b}'^ now firmly established, and that the waters of the
lochan, lonelv from time immemorial, have at last been
given small people to cherish in their g"loomy recesses.

70

CHAPTER XIII

THE GLEN OF THE HERONS

At the head of a sea loch, penetrating deep into the hills
of the Island of Mull, is a narrow glen. Rising steeply
from the loch the glen lies full to the south, so that it is
in strong sunlight throughout the day, and on its heathery
slopes grouse sun themselves and hill adders bask in the
heat.

Running through the glen is a burn of clearest water,
forming, as it hurries to the sea loch below, a chain of deep
pools in which the water, quiet and limpid, shows as almost
of a sea-green colour. In the months of spring many
primroses bloom here, and wagtails glance, in long un-
dulating flight, above the swiftly-flowing waters. From the
mossy land at the foot of the glen comes often the trilling
cry of the curlew, busy at her nesting, and amongst the
black rocks in its upper reaches the dark form of the raven
is sometimes seen as she enters and leaves her nest. Above
even this, and where the burn has its birth, is the haunt of
the hill ptarmigan and of the eagle.

Perhaps a mile from the sea the burn hurries through
a narrow gorge, between steep rocks, and then falls sheer
into a deep sun-bathed pool. Growing at the burn's edge
a veteran oak here finds some little shelter from the winter's
gales, but for all that is stunted in form — is not, I should
say, twenty feet in height. But at the season of spring, to
this tree there come a colony of wild-voiced herons, and
the glen re-echoes with their cries.

To anyone conversant with the nesting habits of the
heron in a country of woods this nesting site must appear
strange indeed, for it is customary for thfs unwieldy bird

71

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

to choose the very highest and most inaccessible tree. But
here, on the Atlantic seaboard, no woods are present, so
that the heron must content herself with a ledge on a rock,
or the branches of a small and stunted tree.

And it is full early in the season that the heron builds
her nest. It is, indeed, always a race between her and the
raven as to who shall lay the first tg^ of the year. I do
not think there is much to choose between them ; anyhow
it is a matter of a day or two at the most, and often the
frost is very keen at this season, and the snow covers all
the length of the glen. But it was on a day of soft winds
and clear sunlight — the date was March i6 — that I first saw
the " Glen of the Herons " and visited their colony.

On the shores of the loch below many common gulls
were mating, and their glad cries echoed among the rocks.
Though the air had in it the breath of spring no growth was
as yet showing amongst the hill grasses or the plants of bog
myrtle, and the hillsides looked more brown and bare by
reason of the strong sunlight upon them. As I made my
way up the glen I could see before me many pairs of herons
standing in ungainly positions on the branches of their tree,
and as I approached they one by one took wing with harsh
grating cries, and flew off to alight on some flat rocks near.
Very curious did they look as they stood thus, outlined
against the sky. But two of their colony were more reluctant
to leave, rising indeed from their nests and eyeing me
angrily, but not taking wing until I was almost under their
tree.

These two birds had commenced to lay — in one nest there
Avere two eggs, in the other but one — but the remainder of
the nests were only in various stages of repair and con-
struction. Some were almost finished and already lined with
bracken, while others had nothing but the rough platform
completed. In all there were eight nests on this small oak,
and two more built on ledges of rock against which the tree

had grown.

72

The Glen of the Herons

1 do not think a better situation for observing the home
life of the herons could possibly be imagined, for when
standing on the heather above the waterfall I was actually-
above the tree, and could look down upon all the nests at
a distance of not more than a dozen feet from them.

When freshly laid the eggs of the heron are things of
considerable beauty. Of a pale sky-blue colour, and un-
spotted, they are in striking contrast to the bare brown
branches of the tree and the hill grasses, bleached and
browned by many a winter's storm.

On this day the mist was swirling past the higher reaches
of the glen, and it was only occasionally that glimpses of
the snow wreaths lying near the source of the burn, could
be seen. This year the herons had eggs slightly earlier
than the ravens that nested on the hillside opposite, for
it was not until March i8, or rather later, that the latter
birds produced their first hostage to fortune. By then,
the mild weather had gone, and there was snow and
frost on the hills, so that from the rocks above the raven's
nest great icicles hung, and the nesting ledge was white
with snow.

During another season, on March 21, two of the herons'
nests each had three eggs, the remainder none as yet. This,
I think, shows that in their time of nesting the birds are
very punctual and do not depend on the weather to any great
extent. That same year, on April 13, one of these nests
had young which seemed about forty-eight hours old, the
other still contained eggs.

By the 22nd of the month four of the nests had young,
and the earliest comers were already developing into lusty
young birds, which called incessantly in a very husky and
feeble imitation of their parents' cry. During this day a
companion and I fixed up a "hide" on the top of the rock
in the hopes of obtaining some photographs of the parent
herons at their nests. The weather was very fine and sunny,
the snow-covered hills standing out in dazzling whiteness

73

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

against the deep blue of the sky, while away to westward
the sea breeze brought with it white-tipped wavelets from the
Atlantic waters.

With much labour a hiding-tent was set up and the top
covered with bracken, but although we waited for hours the
herons could not summon up sufficient courage to face the
strange erection, and we had to leave without success, nor
did circumstances permit of our attempting any further
photography that season.

That same year, on June i6 — eight weeks later — my
way took me past the Glen of the Herons. The glen
was now clothed in its summer verdure. The primroses
had gone, and belts of bracken grew luxuriantly. The old
oak ^7KS now in full leaf, so that the nests of the herons
were partially hidden, but the birds were still there, and on
looking into the nests I was interested to see that one of
those which held, in late March, three eggs, contained now,
quite three months later, four eggs. Evidently these must
have been a second laying, unless another pair of herons
were tenanting the nest. Another interesting case was a
nest which contained two small young on April 20 and which
now held two newly-hatched young and one tgg. Young
herons remain long in the nest, and I doubt whether during
these eight weeks the first brood could have been reared,
the nest repaired, and a second clutch laid and hatched out.
It seems more probable that some mischance befell the first
family, and the parent bird laid a second clutch of eggs in
the same nest.

In another season the Glen of the Herons was visited
on July 7 — a day when the mists hung low on the hills and
when the south-west wind brought with it soft driving
rain from off the Atlantic. On this occasion one nest
contained two young, about a fortnight old, and, pressing
close to them for their warmth, a tiny newly hatched
chick. In another nest were two eggs and a new-hatched
young one, while two other nests had large feathered young.

74

THE HERONS' GLEN.
Showing Six Nests in the Same Tree

THE HERONS' TREE.
A Nearer View of the Nest£»

The Glen of the Herons

The eyes of the young herons are of a singularly bright
yellow colour, and their skin is of a curious hue, a sort of
smoky blue. Thus the tree of the herons was still fully
occupied more than sixteen weeks after the first eggs were
laid— a protracted nesting season.

I do not think the herons use the burn of their own
glen for their fishing, but along the banks of the sea loch
they can be seen at every state of the tide as they stand
motionless and expectant on the lookout for fish. Often,
after dusk has fallen, I have been startled by the harsh alarm
scream of the heron as, disturbed in his fishing, he has
flitted past in the twilight like a restless spirit.

But it is not alone on fish that the heron feeds. In the
spring, at the mating season of the frogs, he takes great toll
of these clammy creatures and feasts also on their spawn :
indeed, in late March every little knoll round the nesting
tree is thick with half disintegrated masses of this sub-
stance.

The herons at times travel far to their fishing. From
one heronry that I know at the north end of the Island of
Mull the birds regularly cross the sea to the Island of Coll,
more than six miles distant, where many lochans provide
them with food in plenty. But the flight of the heron is a
thing of labour should the wind be contrary, and I have
seen one 67 these birds arriving not a little weary after his
overseas flight, so that he was full glad to rest on the
rocky shore of this rugged island lying to the westward of
Mull.

Amongst the bird world the heron is a bird o? evil omen.
Nowhere is he left unmolested. The tribe of the plovers
pursue him relentlessly, the sea swallows dart angrily at him
when he blunders across their path ; all the gulls are his
enemies. He has no friend at all, and yet it is hard to see
why he should be held as an outcast, for he rarely attacks,
and seems only too glad to escape notice, though unluckily
for him he seldom succeeds in doing so. It may be that

75

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

his somewhat uncanny appearance and stealthy habits are
the reasons for this enmity towards him. Certainly the
heron's life is rendered a burden to him whenever he strays
from his nesting glen, and thus it is that he is only too
content to alight quietly at his feeding grounds and, unseen
and so undisturbed, to carry on his fishing.

76

CHAPTER XIV

THE QUEEN OF THE ISLANDS

West of the rocky headland that stands, dark and weather-
beaten, between Loch Scridain and Loch nan Ceall, is a
small rocky islet, Ernisgeir by name. During the season
of their nesting, sea-birds in their thousands populate the
island; at other times no living thing is met with here
save perhaps a grey seal on passage to his breeding
grounds, or a green cormorant resting awhile from his
fishing. Even during days of summer calm when the
Atlantic, to all appearances, is quiet as a loch, the swell
breaks in white cascades on the island, and in the winter,
with the passing of a south-westerlv gale, the sea here
is a grand sight as the great rollers cast themselves against
the island, the spray enveloping even the highest parts of
the rocks. Small and unpretentious as it is, and hidden
away in obscurity, the islet is, nevertheless, known to
the old people as "the Queen of the Islands," and the
following tradition explains the origin of the name thus
chosen.

It is said that the Lord of the Isles wishing the hand
in marriage of the daughter of MacLean of Coll, the latter
would consent only on the understanding that the Lord
of the Isles should give his future wife as her dowry
"Little Ernisgeir and all her islands," or, as the Gaelic
puts it, "Ernisgeir bheag 's a'cuid eileanan." A small
request seemingly, and one to which the suitor readily
agreed. But when the marriage settlement came to be
demanded, a claim was made for all the neighbouring
islands, including the whole of Mull, since there were no
small islands in the neighbourhood of Ernisgeir. Hence it

77

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

came about that to Ernisgeir was given the proud title,
"Queen of the Islands."

In another version of the story it is said that the re-
quest was put forward by a nurse or foster mother (which
latter class was common at that time in the Highlands)
when she went to ask the Lord of the Isles for a patrimony
for her child. To make the request small and likely to be
granted without trouble, on being asked what land she
wished, she replied that she would be quite satisfied with
"little Ernisgeir and her islands," and the true meaning
of the request was not realized at the time.

Even during recent years the appearance of Ernisgeir
has changed. The old people of to-day remember the
time when the grass grew long and green here, affording
pasture sufficient for eight sheep throughout the year.
Now scarce a blade of vegetation can be found from one
corner of the island to another. It seems that the puffin,
or, as he is called by the Highland fisherman, "Seumi
ruadh," or "Red Jimmy," must be held responsible for
this, since it was only at his coming, within the past twenty
years, that all grass disappeared as the result of his bur-
rowing.

But to the island, these companies of "herring birds,"
to give the puffin another local name, give a strangely
cheerful look. I shall not forget the first time that I passed
it close, crossing from Gometra to lona in a motor-boat.
While yet some distance from Ernisgeir the puffins in their
hundreds flew out towards the boat, and accompanied it,
without a cry — for these strange birds are almost always
silent — well beyond the place of their nesting. This was
a day of dull skies and — a thing rare in the Western High-
lands— a steady downpour of rain unaccompanied by wind.
On this day along the Gribun Rocks grey m'sts hung, heavy
with their moisture. Of the hill-tops one could see nothing,
but from out the mist cap there came many white water-
falls, for each hill burn was overflowing, and dried-up

78

The Qtiee7i of the Islands

watercourses were given a new lease of life as the flood water
hurried seaward. Many solans, occupied in their fishing,
passed and repassed Ernisgeir, for the herring is often
plentiful here, and even if it should be absent the mackerel
takes its place, and to the solan it is little inferior to the
herring. It was not until evening that the wind came, a
strong breeze from the west; but the rain still fell and the
hills remained inscrutable beyond the soft barrier of the mists.

Another midsummer's day on which I visited the island
brought with it "steady weather," as they say in the High-
lands. A strong breeze from the east drew sharply down
Loch Scridain, blowing through Glen More from the big
hills. But an east wind of a morning is the sign of fair
weather, and thus we set sail from the sandy shores of
lona with good heart. Our course took us past the disused
quarries of the finest granite, and past green grassy islands
above which sea swallows wheeled and skimmed gracefully.
The ebb tide was strong against us, and after a time the
w^ind dropped, so that the rowing of a heavy boat through
waters still ruffled by a short sea, or "jabble," as the boat-
man termed it, was no light task. Even the sea air was
warm this day, and at times the sun shone, though away
eastward heavy clouds were gathering high above the hills
as though betokening thunder.

It was after midday when Ernisgeir was reached and
a landing made on its rocky shores. On this day the
puffins had not come out to scrutinize the boat — I expect
the noise of the motor had aroused their curiosity on the
previous occasion — but as they saw that intruders were
about to set foot on their nesting haunt they swarmed
excitedly around them. With them, and wheeling and dip-
ping gracefully on their long, slender wings, were numbers
of Manx shearwaters, and on the sea there swam buoy-
antly a few plump black guillemots, handsome in their
black plumage with that small conspicuous patch of white
on either wing, and their red legs.

79

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

At the south end of the island the rocks rise precipi-
tously, and here kittiwakes stood quietly on their nests or
sailed on white wings above the sea. Curiously enough,
the big cormorant is almost entirely absent from these
Hebridean Islands, his place being filled by the green
cormorant or shag, and of these latter there were many
nesting on the day of this visit. Ungainly and seemingly
plebeian birds are these green cormorants; still, they show
great devotion and bravery when their eggs or young are
in danger, and not infrequently refuse to leave the nest
even when one is standing not more than a foot or two
from it. At such times the}'^ will utter harsh and angry
cries, and peck viciously with their strong bills. I remember
once seeing a sailor hurl some heavy rocks at a shag
guarding her brood, and although one actually hit the
nest the brave bird refused to leave it.

As I left the island, the spring tide was at its lowest
ebb, so that many rock pools, teeming with the life of the
sea, were left exposed. Hermit crabs lurked in their
depths, and numbers of sea anemones in brilliant hues
awaited their prey, their many tentacles spread to the full.

Near to Ernisgeir, and hidden away beside that rocky
promontory known as "Craig na h'lolaire," or the Eagle's
Rock, is a deep and gloomy cavern known as "MacKinnon's
Cave." No ray of light penetrates its inner recesses, and
the air here contains little oxygen, so that one feels
oppressed in the cave and glad to emerge once more. On
this day, setting our course for Loch nan Ceall, and sailing
close in shore, its narrow entrance was passed near by.

Tradition has it that to this cave at certain seasons was
wont to repair a Highlander, known as "MacKinnon of the
Whelks," in order that he might there fast and humble
himself. MacKinnon was a piper, and was in the habit
of taking with him his pipes when he visited the cave.
One day, when he was quite alone in the cavern, and play-
ing a tune on his pipes, there gathered round him in the

80

The Qiteen of the Islands

intense darkness that prevails always in the cave, many
evil spirits. Each time he would start playing the pipes,
the spirits endeavoured to overpower him, but the pipes
acting as a partial, though not complete, charm, they were
for long unable to do this. In the language of the High-
lander who gave me the story, "MacKinnon was then
wishing that he had three hands; then he would have his
two hands in the pipes, and the other in the claymore (or
great sword) to cut down the evil spirits." The tune which
he was said to have played on the pipes has been handed
down, and can still be obtained.

MacKinnon was apparently overwhelmed at last, for the
strains of the pipes slowly became more irregular and at
length ceased — nor did the player ever emerge from the
dark recesses of the cave.

8i

CHAPTER XV

BEN MORE MULL

To the Isle of Mull the name "Muile nam Mor-Bheann,"
or "Mull of the Big Hills," has been given. In one of the
songs of Duncan Livingstone, the Crogan bard — he who
in the Gaelic was known as "Donnachadh nam Blar " —
the island was thus designated, and now wheresoever the
language of the Gael is spoken this song is known and
sung.

But though Mull is guarded by many hills — the rough,
precipitous slopes of Beinn Buie shielding the land from
gales from the south, while rising from the Sound of Mull,
Dun da Ghaoithe breaks the force of the northerly winds
— there is one mountain that towers above the rest, so that
for many miles to seaward it serves as a landmark, and
even from the distant hills of Perth and Inverness can
clearly be seen, and that is Ben More — "the Big Hill."

Compared with Ben Nevis, or the giants of the Cairn-
gorm Range, Ben More is not high, for its summit reaches
a level of no more than 3,163 feet; but whereas the bases
of the Cairngorms lie more than fifteen hundred feet above
sea level, Ben More rises straight from the waters of the
Atlantic.

There is little heather growing on these hills of the
far western coast, for the rainfall is extremely heavy and
the soil is not suitable; granite, which heather loves,
is absent, and the black basaltic rock does not favour its
growth. Thus it is that Ben More, on its lower slopes, is
clothed in rich grass, and nearer the top only a few stray
mosses and mountain plants find lodging places amongst
the sharp volcanic rocks.

82

Ben More Mull

At every season of the year Ben More has its own
individual charm; but I think the hill is at its best on a
sunny day of mid June, when all Nature is pulsating with
life after a long and severe spring — and hereabouts the
spring is late in setting its mark on the land — and when
the air is of that wonderful clearness that one sees only
when the summer is young. On one such day, early of
the morning, I made my way through Glen More. The
river was so low that scarce a trickle of waiter made
its way seaward, but in a deep pool a large salmon lay
waiting for the spate that would carry him to the upper
reaches. Already the young of the dippers which frequent
the burn had left the nest, but ring ouzels still tended their
broods, and from the single telegraph line that traverses
the glen, stonechats perched, scolding roundly as their
nesting-ground was passed. No bird is more cunning
than the stonechat in concealing the whereabouts of its nest,
and I have had many patient vigils without discovering
the site of the eggs or young. Standing perched on the
stems of the fragrant bog myrtle, whinchats called anxiously.
They too had their nests, but unlike the stonechats, which
had thriving broods to care for, were still sitting on their
eggs of pale unspotted blue.

When within half a mile of Loch Scridain, I turned
from the road and made for the summit of Ben More,
which stood, no more than three miles away, distinct in
the clear sunlight. A few pairs of curlew tended their
young on the lower slopes of the hill, but they were soon
passed, and save for the occasional chirruping of a meadow
pipit, or the "chack" of a wheatear, the hill was in
silence. Away ahead one could see, outlined against the
deep blue of the sky, many stags, and, on a different part
of the hill and keeping separate from them, hinds and their
young dappled calves were seeking out the cool breezes,
or were sheltering behind rocks from the strong heat of
the sun. On the rocks near the summit cairn an eagle sat

83

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

awhile, digesting his meal, before sailing out on broad,
motionless wings over the rocky corrie where a few
ptarmigan have their home.

At length the shoulder of the hill was reached, from
where I could see, spread before me, the sister loclis,
Loch Scridain and Loch nan Ceall, reflecting the blue
of the sky, and many islands on which the surf broke
lazily. Here the ground was carpeted with plants of the
cushion pink (Silene acaulis), and I was interested to note
that the vertical limit of their growth was at least five
hundred feet lower than on the more land-locked Cairngorm
Hills.

Stretching away to Loch nan Ceall lay a broad grassy
corrie well loved by the deer, and where buzzards circled
and ravens croaked. From the shoulder to the cairn is
a climb of some seven hundred feet over very rough
boulder-scarred ground with only here and there a small
grassy patch. Near one such patch I watched a cock ptar-
migan, who ran up the hill ahead of me, and whose mate
may have had her nest in the vicinity, but a careful
search of that part of the hillside revealed nothing. The
tracks of the deer were numerous here, and indeed led
right across the summit of the hill, and I could see
where stags had been lying, perhaps to catch the warmth
of the evening sun as he sank towards the north-west horizon.
In the shelter of the stones, plants of a certain mountain
saxifrage — probably Saxifraga nivalis — were putting forth
their buds, but no other flower grew here.

I think the summit of these far western hills must in
fine summer weather have a temperature considerably lower
than the Cairngorms. On the latter hills, after days of
summer sunshine the great plateaux become so heated that
the temperature is at times actually higher than in the glens
beneath. Even on Ben Nevis I have known this to be
the case. But with Ben More, and indeed all hills stand-
ing out into the Atlantic, the heat of the sun almost

84

Ben More Mull

always draws in a cool breeze from the sea, which at a
height of over three thousand feet is usually chilly even in
the finest of weather.

I do not think the snow bunting nests on Ben More,
though one summer's day I fancied I heard his song carry-
ing up from a stony corrie lying north-west of the summit
cairn. Indeed, bird life is very scarce on the hill — an odd
grouse on the lower slopes and a few ptarmigan near the
summit. No golden plover nest here, and on all the hills
of Mull there are only a very few of these birds in the
season of their nesting. Where the hill rises from Loch
nan Ceall, numbers of curlew have their nests on a strip
of boggy ground, but these birds do not ascend far, for
the ground soon becomes dry and rock-strewn and unsuited
to their habits.

I think Ben More Mull must be the most western hill
of Scotland on which ptarmigan have their home. From
what other hill in this country could one stand at a ptar-
migan's nest and actually see the heavy Atlantic swell
breaking almost at one's feet, with at times even the boom
of the surf in one's ears as it breaks on the reefs by
MacKinnon's Cave, away beyond the dark Gribun rocks?

A wild stretch of country lies before one from the
summit cairn. Hill and loch and rocky island. Through
the maze of hills this June day, the narrow Sound of Mull
threaded its way, the blue of the reflecting sky, and on its sun-
bathed waters the white sails of passing ships were vividly
contrasted with the dark blue of the sea. Eastward, beyond
the Firth of Lome, lay the great hills of the mainland;
Cruachan, with its twin peaks and, rising straight from Crian-
larich, many miles distant, the conical hill known as Ben
More, on which the snow lingers till well on in summer.
Then, bearing north, the great range of the Glen Coe Hills,
with Ben Nevis, their chief, still carrying big snowfields on
its upper slopes. Lying well sheltered in its land-locked bay,
the town of Oban showed mistily through a thin blue smoke

85

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

of its own making, and near it could be seen the wide
entrance to the long and winding sea loch — Loch Etive,
which receives into its waters that famous salmon river the
Awe, and, continuing even farther inland, penetrates into
the very heart of the hills. Nearer, and set at the entrance
to the Linnhe Loch, lay the green island of Lismore — its
Gaelic name signifying the "great garden " because of the
fertility of its soil — with its stout lighthouse built on the small
island at its southern extremity.

From the summit of Ben More after sunset, if the night be
fine, one can see the rays from many far-flung lighthouses
shining across the great spaces of the Atlantic. Westward,
Dubh Hirteach shows its bright light for thirty seconds;
is eclipsed for ten seconds, with ten seconds of light after
that, followed by ten seconds of darkness. Not far
away, so it seems, is the great light of Skerryvore,
showing a flash every twenty seconds. Bearing north, one
sees the quickly flashing light of Scarinish on Tiree, and
north of that again the small flashing light of the Cairns
of Coll seems dim and feeble in comparison with the bright
steady glare of Ardnamurchan a few miles from it. North-
west, Heiskeir light stabs the darkness with its sharp
flashes, and even the rays of Barra Head Lighthouse, sixty
miles to the westward, are clearly visible. Then again,
turning southward, one sees the beacons showing the ap-
proaches to the Isles of the Sea, with their swift currents
and their many jagged rocks, and away beyond that again,
beyond the lonely Isle of Colonsay, the fixed light on
Rudha Mhail, in Islay, shows as a warm beacon in the
summer twilight. I have named only a few of the lights
which are clear. I should think that at times even the light
on Innistrahull, off the north Irish coast, would carry to
Ben More, but I do not know that it has ever been
identified.

Lying northward of the summit cairn of Ben More is
3 deep corrie, with sides of precipitous rocks, or treacher-

86

OYSTER CATCHER'S NEST.
Ben More Mull ani its Snow-beds in the Distance.

Ben More MtUl

ous scree, so that a descent into it is a matter of consider-
able difficulty. Among the rocks the rose-root flowers, and
clumps of parsley fern unfold their delicate fronds with the
melting of the snow. The sea thrift grows here, flowering,
however, considerably later than at its usual habitat at sea
level, and saxifrages open their white flowers. In the corrie
is fine grazing, so that deer are almost always here from
June until the coming of the autumn snows, and ptarmigan
croak quietly from the rocks. In the corrie snow lingers
till late. On one occasion it was not until July 7 that the
last trace disappeared, and for a hill so much under the
influence of soft Atlantic winds this is a very late date.
But the following year the snow had gone irom the hill
by mid-June, and at the time of the climb of which I write
no remnant remained.

This June day, in the shelter of the summit cairn, the
midges made themselves felt even at this great height, and
each time I halted on the lower reaches of the hill during the
descent they were exceedingly hungry.

When about one thousand feet above Loch Scridain,
which lay almost directly below me— so steep was the
descent — I found a small loch where was the nesting-ground
of several pairs of common gulls. During the whole of
the day I had watched the birds soaring gracefully at
immense heights, evidently revelling in the joy of life which
a day such as this must give to all nature, but as I
approached their lochan they flew angrily towards me, utter-
ing fierce cries. Several young birds of various ages
crouched on the grass or endeavoured to escape by swim-
ming, and I saw more than one nest containing eggs, which
for some reason had been deserted.

Arriving at sea level, no breath of wind disturbed the
loch. Gradually the flood tide crept inward, covering the
sun-baked rocks and parched seaweeds with its cool waters.
Along the shore sandpipers called anxiously, for their young
were near them, and in the air was the scent of many yellow

87

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

irises with which the shores of the loch are covered at this
season of early summer.

Lying as it does well into the Atlantic, Ben More
attracts to itself many clouds. When lona and the Ross
of Mull are flooded with summer sunlight, I have time
after time seen dark storm-clouds hanging low on the hill,
and heavy rain frequently falls here when in the glens
below the day has been one of the finest. How often,
when all the rest of the sky was of a deep blue, have I
watched tiny clouds gathering on the hill and being carried
on the arms of the breeze past the cairn. Often these infant
clouds as they touched the hill would imperceptibly gather
strength, so that soon the whole hill-top would be shrouded
in thin filmy mist on which the sunlight played as it strove to
dispel the vapours.

In the season of winter the great storms of rain which
at that time visit the Hebridean Islands fall on Ben More
in the form of snow, and it is then that the gloomy
corries on the north-east side of the hill are filled with drifted
snow hurried thither on the gusts of the south-westerly
gale.

And when the mists lift a little, so that the hill-top is
clear, the snow can be seen whirled in great clouds past the
cairn in the arms of the storm.

One day of March, when much snow had quietly fallen
on the hills overnight, without warning a gale from the
west sprang up shortly after midday. On the summit of
Ben More the air was bright and clear, but behind the
hill lay banks of dark storm clouds. Across the hill-top
thick blinding clouds of snow were being carried, and so
great was the force of the wind that, instead of drifting
into the corrie below, the snow, as it was swept over the
narrow summit, was caught right up into the clouds, so that
it could be seen trailing into the sky, outlined in the form of
a long white cloud against the blackness of the storm behind
it, and gradually merging into the hurrying mists.

88

Ben More Ahill

Full often does the wind in the season of storms, sweep-
ing" down from Ben More, rush through the narrow Sound
of Ulva, so that the spindrift boils on the surface of Loch
Tuadh, and on Loch nan Ceall the waves run mountains
high; when at the same time on the waters of the Firth of
Lome scarce a breath of wind stirs, and when Loch Buie is
calm in the sunlight.

But gradually, with the strengthening power of the sun,
and when the season of spring is already well established
in the glens, the brown grasses of Ben More become tinged
with green, and at last this verdure extends even to the
summit of the hill, so that the dark rocks seem still more
sombre on account of this touch of life that is about them.
There are times when at the close of a summer's day,
when the sun is sinking behind Ulva and when the whole
of the hill is bathed in a warm soft light, that Ben More
takes on a strangely soft and kindly aspect, but for all
that the hill is essentially one of wild and rugged grandeur
— in its element when the storm-clouds race in from the
sea, and when the roar of the gale re-echoes from its gloomy
rocks, where the eagle revels in the storm.

89

CHAPTER XVI

THE LOCHAN OF THE RED-THROATED DIVER

On a lochan, set high among the western hills and remote
from the haunt of man, a pair of red-throated divers have
their summer home.

During months of winter the lochan is held in the grip
of the frost, and all the grasses of the boggy plateau are
browned and scorched by the bitter winds from the north.
But the divers have never seen their country thus, for it
is not until the uncertain spring has given place to glori-
ous days of June, when the sun is high in the heavens
and all nature is glad to live, that they arrive at the
lochan.

I recall to mind a June day, near midsummer, when,
accompanied by a kindred nature lover, I made my way
to the lochan. The coming of summer was backward that
year — May had brought with it a succession of northerly
winds, with no warmth in their breath, and the hills still
held their covering of snow. Even with the coming of
June the air remained chill, but to-day, the longest of the
year, the morning breaks calm and mild. On the hills
the mist lingers, hiding from view their higher corries,
but with the strengthening of the sun the sky clears, and
in the air is a warmth unknown for many a day.

From the veteran stalker's house at sea level, the path
to the lochan rises abruptly, winding its way up a steep
hillside facing full to the south. The hot sun draws out
many delightful scents from the mountain vegetation. The
perfume of the bog-myrtle's opening leaves, the scent of
the youthful bracken fronds, of heather and young grasses,
all lie on the still air and charm the senses. On the top

90

The Lochaii of the Red-throated Diver

of the hill, stags stand — their growing antlers outlined
against the blue of the sky — finding some relief from the
heat in the gentle sea breeze which is drawn in from west-
ward. Opposite are dark cliiTs where buzzard and raven
have their home, and near by a pair of golden eagles rear
their brood in an inaccessible precipice, rising sheer from
the sea.

We reach the tableland, and see before us the lochan
of the divers. From here a fine view lies stretched out to
the westward. Below us the blue waters of a sea loch
reflect, in their rippling, the sun's rays, and the Atlantic
swell can be seen making its course shorewards with
measured rhythm. Far out on the waters the Island of
Colonsay lies half hidden in the haze, and beyond that the
hills of Islay are dim and indistinct. On the plateau Nature
is very still in the warmth of this summer day. We make
our way to the lochan 's edge. No sign of life reveals
itself to us. The breeze ruftles the water's surface, and
the water has that reddish hue denoting the presence of
much peat.

The lochan holds, so it is said, trout of great size, which
may at times be seen in the dusk of a summer's evening
as they swim leisurely near the surface; but they rarely
rise to the fly, and during to-day not one of their number
shows himself. No sign of the red-throated diver is to
be seen on the loch, but a search round its banks reveals
her nest containing a solitary ^^g quite warm to the
touch.

Weeks of dry weather have caused the loch to shrink,
so that the diver must have difficulty in hoisting herself
up on to her nest. There is the usual beaten track run-
ning from the nest to the water's edge, for the diver when
leaving her ^g^ invariably follows the same path. The
nests of the diver tribe are placed always within a foot or, at
the outside, eighteen inches, of the water's edge, for the
birds when disturbed never take wing from the nest, but

91

The Land of the Hills and the Gleets

creeping to llic water, dive noiselessly in and remain
concealed till the passing of danger.

It was not till we had been in the neighbourhood of the
lochan some little time that the diver showed herself, and
evidently thinking concealment was no longer possible, rose
from the water and flew round at great speed and at an
ever increasing height, uttering grunting cries. Speeding
away in the direction of the sea, she did not reappear for
some time, but when she did so, "volplaned" at express
speed and with great rushing of wings unfll she had almost
reached the water's surface, when, her timidity overmaster-
ing her anxiety for her eggs, she sailed up once more and
disappeared from view.

It was towards evening that we revisited the lochan.
The air was very still. Clouds of midges danced in the
sunlight, but no rising trout broke the lochan's quiet
surface. Then, as we watched, from the shelter of an
overhanging bank the diver swam out into the water.
Swimming deeply submerged and causing scarcely a ripple
as she moved, she reached the centre of the lochan and there
remained quietly facing us. From where we watched, every
detail was plainly visible, and the beautiful red plumage
on her throat contrasted strikingly with the dark waters.
I do not think that she actually saw us, and her sus-
picions were gradually quieted. Diving noiselessly, she
re-emerged a few feet away from her nest and, now feel-
ing confident she was unobserved, clambered up the bank
and apparently dried her plumage awhile before settling
down on to her Q^g.

As I write the days are now lengthening and the
grasses on the tableland are once again pulsating with life.
If all goes well with them the divers will soon reach their
lochan from their winter home in the south.

During the long summer days the hen bird will set
about choosing her nesting-ground, and constructing her
rough nest. At the evening she will leave the lochan,

92

NEST OF THE RED-THROATED DIVER

On the Shores of a Hebridean Lochan.

The Lochan of the Red-throated Diver

flying down to the sea below to her fishing, and even
when brooding she will still visit the salt water for her
food, where her curious call-note will often be heard at
the hour following sunset. Then, when midsummer is past,
and when the stags are losing the velvet on their horns,
the young divers will be taken to the sea beneath, and
the lochan, now in quietness and in solitude, will be left
in undisputed possession of its great trout.

93

CHAPTER XVII

THE TRIBE OF THE SEA SWALLOWS

When the air is again warm, and the south wind blows
softly, the sea swallows reach the grassy islands of the
Hebrides, where they will remain for the season of their
nesting. They are about the last of the migrant tribes to
reach us. The wheatear has long since come — her young are
already hatched; the swallows have been with us for some
weeks; even the swifts are screaming in restless flight round
the ruined castle; and yet the sea swallows linger in their
coming. Then one day of mid-May, when the sea thrift
has begun to tinge the shores with pink, one sees the gleam
of snow-white wings above the green waters of the quiet
ocean, and realises that the sea swallow has once again
reached the place of her nesting.

And what flight can rival in grace that of the sea swallow ?
True, there are birds with more power of the wing — take
the keen-eyed' solan, who presses on his way grimly, un-
swervingly, in the teeth of a gale the sea swallow would be
scarce able to face ; or the dark mountain eagle, sailing with
steady wings against the force of the storm — but in dainti-
ness and in the poetry of flight, the sea swallow is unique
among birds.

The tribe of the sea swallows consists, so far as the
British Isles are concerned, of five distinct species, namely :
the roseate tern, the sandwich tern, the lesser tern, the
Arctic tern, and the common tern. Of these the sandwich
tern is considerably the largest, but both he and the roseate
tern are found only in a few favoured localities, and it is
the three latter species that people the wild islands and the
unfrequented shores of the Hebrides.

94

The Tribe of the Sea Swallows

Between the common and Arctic terns only small differ-
ences exist, so much so that it is a matter of great difliculty
to distinguish them on the wing. But I think there is a
well-marked difference in the call-notes of these two birds
which has not in the past been sufficiently emphasised. The
cry of the common tern is, generally, two or three sharp
notes, followed by a long-drawn and harsh scream. The
call of the Arctic tern is not long-drawn, but a very sharp
and piercing screech, oft-repeated while the intruder is
in the neighbourhood of the nest. When the two species
nest together, as is often the case, this difference in the
call-notes should, I think, serve to distinguish them.

Then there is that small and active member of the tribe,
the lesser tern, much less common than either of the above,
but very charming in its habits, and confiding in its ways.

The tribe of the sea swallows are, with the petrels, the last
birds to commence their domestic affairs, for they are de-
pendent for their food on the multitude of small fry — sand eels
and the like — which live in the surface waters of the sea, and
until the strong sunshine has warmed these waters the fry do
not make their appearance.

The longest day is past, and full summer come to the
land of the hills and the lochs ere the sea swallows are in
the midst of their nesting. But even with midsummer the
air is not always warm, and the north-easter blows cold over
the face of the waters. One such day I crossed the Sound
of Gunna — that strip of tide-torn water lying between the
islands of Tiree and Coll — and saw many of the sea swallows
at their nesting. The sky was clear, this day of late June,
but the north wind was strong and keen, so that the sound
was wave-flecked, and the track of the tide, hurrying north-
ward against the wind, could plainly be seen bv reason of
the heavy sea which it was raising. Many islands lie in
the Sound of Gunna. Of all sizes are thev, ranging from
wide grassy slopes where highland cattle feed, to small
bare rocks scarcely showing above the water at the top of

95

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

a spring tide. On most of the smaller grassy islands Arctic
terns were nesting, and in passing, one could see them
brooding on their nests or arriving with their catch of
fish.

Periodically they would, on a sudden impulse, take wing
together and fly swiftly out to sea, gliding low over the
water's surface, and returning to their nests within the space
of a minute or so. It would be interesting to learn the
reason for these sudden excursions. Certainly the common
gulls nesting near appreciated them, for they gave them the
opportunity of purloining a few of the eggs before the terns
could return and drive off the marauders.

Depending, as they do, entirely on the presence of the
small fry on which they feed, the terns will either not nest
at all, even in a well-known haunt, or will leave it before
nesting is completed, should the fry be absent from the neigh-
bouring waters. An interesting case is that of some grassy
islands in the Sound of Mull. The terns were nesting here
in their thousands in a certain year. The following season
— a very cold summer, and with much northerly wind —
not a single bird was to be seen. The year after this they
had returned, though, I think, in reduced numbers, while
in the fourth season the islands had their former dense
population.

In this latter year the arrival of the terns seems to have
been considerably later than usual. On May 14 and 15
great numbers of the birds were fishing in a bay a good
deal to the south of these nesting-grounds, and it was not
until May 23 that they w^re first seen at a well-known
nesting-haunt where they usually arrive punctually on
May 6. A small island on which they nest was found by
the terns to be already occupied by a colony of black-headed
gulls. A fierce battle commenced, continuing all that day
and into the night, and recommencing early next morning.
At length the terns withdrew, leaving the gulls in possession,
but a few days later the sea swallows returned with reinforce-

96

The Tribe of the Sea Swallows

merits, and again engaged the gulls, ultimately driving them
off and taking possession of the island.

In the Hebrides the terns do not nest much before July.
On two successive seasons, during the last days of June,
I passed a small island where every foot is tenanted by the
terns during their nesting, and not more than half the
number of birds had arrived. Returning later, about
July 10, the island showed a white cloud of screaming birds
moving restlessly above their nests, which almost all
contained fresh-laid eggs.

In one Hebridean island the Arctic terns lay their eggs
on a broad expanse of fine grazing ground, the grass being
cropped short by sheep and cattle. Here the birds do not
even scrape a slight hollow, but lay their eggs on the soft
grass. They are very zealous of these eggs, and swoop
viciously on any intruder, uttering short and piercing cries
of rage. Near here is a bog where dunlin used to nest,
but now the terns, and with them some black-headed gulls,
have taken up their quarters here, and the dunlins have gone
elsewhere.

At times the Arctic tern nests on a long shingly bay,
near the pasture land, where the southerly swell breaks with
a deep booming, and where many shells, some of them
large and of great beauty, lie piled up at the mark of the
high spring tides. Here, when the sky is clear, the terns
leave the incubating of their eggs to the sun, and wheel
and fish in graceful flight, straying far from their nests,
but mysteriously appearing should danger threaten. I have
often crossed the bay at the time of their nesting and never
saw them actually leave their eggs unless the day was dull
and cold. On one such day, late in June, I was surprised
to see three whimbrel still lingering at the water's edge.
As I approached they rose and headed north-west, repeatedly
uttering their high twittering note, pitched in different keys.
Could it be that they still intended nesting in the northern
latitudes where they have their summer home, or were they
H 97

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

non-breeding birds, meaning to stay hereabouts through the
summer ?

On this day I examined several terns' nests. In each
case the eggs were laid on fine sand, and the nesting hollows
were lined with small pieces of shell brought from another
part of the shore. Near by there was nesting a solitary
pair of lesser terns. Flying with short and sharp wing-
beats and uttering her pleasing call, the hen left her eggs
while I was yet some distance away. There were two eggs
in her nesting hollow, but it was devoid of even a lining
of shells, the eggs reposing on a layer of fine sand. It
is not usual for one pair of lesser terns to nest by them-
selves; the birds generally breed in small colonies and have
the ringed plover as their companion, from whose eggs,
indeed, their own are sometimes difficult to distinguish.

All through August the tribe of the sea swallows are
rearing their young. I have seen eggs as late as the middle
of that month, and it is not until September that the birds set
out on their southern migration. A Highland boatman — a
keen observer — near whose home many terns nest, tells me
how on a September day all the sea swallows from the island
near his home congregate together. Then, rising to a great
height and wheeling and screaming, they gather themselves
into line and set out on their journey. But, strangely enough,
it is not to the south, making towards Skerryvore and the
Irish coast, that they set their course, but due north. Can
it be that they make the passage round Cape Wrath and
the north of Scotland and go south by way of the North Sea,
or is their northerly flight a short one only, to join themselves,
perhaps, with other colonies in the neighbourhood?

Even in October one sees terns fishing along the
coast, and a Hebridean fisherman assured me that on one
occasion he had seen a solitary individual as late as
December.

Being such late nesters, the terns, when they set out for
the south, leave behind them numbers of their young of

■% •►- .V

Lesser Tern about to Brood on her Newly Hatched Chick and Egg.

Lesser Tern and her Chick.

A KITTIWAKE WITH HER YOUNG.

The Tribe of the Sea Sivallows

all ages, the migrating instinct proving stronger than the
parental one.

But I do not think their migration is a hurried one,
like that of the birds which have difficulty in obtaining
food on their journey; for the sea swallows appear to make
their way leisurely along the coasts, feeding on the sand
eels as they go, and gradually reaching those southerly
regions where, with the sun shining warm and the sea blue
and unruffled, they will pass the winter months till the call
of summer once more brings them north to their well-loved
nesting-grounds.

99

CHAPTER XVIII

RUDHA NA h'UAMHA

Away in the west of Mull there stands, guarding the shores
of that island from the eager waves of the Atlantic, the
Headland of the Caves, or, in the language of the Gael
— "Rudha na h'uamha."

I think that of all districts of the island — sparsely popu-
lated and inaccessible as it is, even in its busiest parts —
this is the very wildest. No crofter's dwelling can be found
along the headland ; indeed, the foot of man may not tread
its rough slopes from one year's end to another. It is
given over to the Atlantic, and to the winds which come
thither from the vast regions of the sea.

The last outpost of civilisation is a tiny croft overlook-
ing the blue waters of Loch Scridain, just where the loch
gives place to the restless heave of the Atlantic, and here
dwells a Gaelic speaking shepherd with his wife and family.
Often have I visited their home at every season of the
year — ^during summer sun and winter storm — and each time
I have received a welcome of the best, one which could be
given only by those who live their quiet lives close to the
heart of Nature. The good wife of this croft is never idle.
She has many things to occupy her time. Yet I have never
known her too busy but what she was eager to give the
traveller the best that her home could provide : scones and
oatcakes hot from the girdle, things to refresh one greatly
after a long tramp across the hills. Many pairs of stock-
ings and socks does she knit during the dark winter nights,
from the wool which she has herself spun and dyed. At
this spinning and dyeing of the wool there is indeed none
in the island to beat her. Of a summer's afternoon I have

lOO

Rtidha na liuamha

watched her drawing from the various hill plants the dyes
which they hold; the yellow from the bog myrtle, or from
the foxglove, the black from the young alder shoots or
from the elder twigs, the green from the heather, the brown
from the crotal — a stone-loving lichen — and have marvelled at
her skill.

It is in early summer, in fine weather, that the Head-
land of the Caves gives a view of unsurpassed beauty to
those who can penetrate thus far. One such day, when I
lay on the hilltop above the headland, will linger long in
the mind's eye.

In the morning heavy thunder-clouds hung low on the
hills, and not the faintest breeze stirred the heather, but
towards noon the sky brightened and the air was of a clear-
ness I have never, I think, previously known.

From the croft my way lay up the heather-clad hill-
side. Above me buzzards soared, their plumage glinting
in the sunlight, and ravens passed with husky croak. Be-
neath me lav Loch Scridain, its waters ruffled by the
gentlest of sea breezes and, at its entrance, the sands of
lona lying white in the light of the sun. The hill-top is
not high — it stands less than 1,500 feet above sea-level — yet
I do not think that it has ever been my good fortune to
be favoured with so extensive a view as during this day when
summer was yet young, and the scent of hill plants was
everywhere.

Westwards there lay, as it were at my feet, many
islands set in the sun-flooded sea. Tiree, with its white
sands shining, and almost joining it, rocky Coll. Then
away beyond them stood the distant sentinel islands of Barra
and South Uist. More to the south I saw clearly the
granite-built lighthouse of Skerryvore — a needle-like object
of white, set in the midst of a great waste of waters, and
even beyond it, and near forty miles from me, I could make
out, through the glass, herring drifters rising and falling
on the swell, which, with the exception of a day or

lOI

TJie Land of the Hills mid the Glens

two in each year, is always present at the Skerry vore
banii.

It was to the south that the view was most extensive.
Jura, with its three conical hills, appeared almost in the
foreground, so clear was the day. A little beyond, and
farther west, stood Islay's hills, and then away beyond the
Mull of Cantyre, and lying to the westward of that head-
land, lay, full seventy miles distant, mile upon mile of the
Irish coast, with its many hills showing faintly on the
horizon. The largest of these I took to be Slieve Snaght,
above Lough Swilly, and I thought that I could identify
Malin Head.

Every now and again, white fleecy clouds, floating gently
in from the Atlantic, passed up Loch Scridain below me,
but though their line of passage was considerably below
the level of the hill-top, they did not come thus far, making,
instead, for Glen More, above which thunder-clouds had
gathered and were shedding their rain.

Northward there lay mile upon mile of the wildest
mountain land, a country studded with lonely lochans re-
flecting in their depths the dark blue of the sky, and with
the peace and stillness of the hill spirit brooding over all.
No man passes here, maybe, throughout the season, and
the land is given over to the buzzard, sailing on tireless
wings through the day, and ihe timid mountain hare.

With what force must the mist-laden Atlantic gales cross
this lonely country I I noticed that in certain places not
one single plant was growing, though soil for them was
indeed present, and that certain parts of the hill plateau
had been swept and scoured till they were smooth and
level as a still lochan. No grouse haunt these wind-swept
places. No pipe of the golden plover breaks the stillness,
no trill of the curlew falls on the ear. But the buzzard
mews often here and the raven, too, is not always silent.
Nor is the hillside quite forsaken by all bird life, for cheer-
ful wheatears call sharply in resentment, and more dif-

I02

Rtidha na /i nam ha

fident meadow pipits uUer their plaintive alarm cry as the
stranger crosses their nesting grounds.

Years may pass, yet they set not their mark here; world
wars may rage, so that the best of the life's blood of a
nation is spilled, and the earth may seem a saddened and
altered place, yet the spirit of war would scarcely pene-
trate to this wild and mist-laden land, and silence always
would reign here save for the rush of the gale, and the
deep note of the waves as they break on the rocks far
beneath.

Tradition has it that in this wild spot fairies dwelt of
old. On one occasion a number of them went to assist
a crofter living near, in weaving and preparing cloth.
Having completed their task, they clamoured for more work.
In order to rid himself of his too willing assistants, the
crofter called out that their house was on fire. Immedi-
ately the fairies rushed out of the house in a body, nor
did they ever return.

Even in the season of summer, mist often encircles the
Headland of the Caves for days on end, when the green
fields of lona and the heathery wastes of the Ross of Mull
are clear in the strong sunlight. On one such misty day,
late in September, I visited the Headland. Scarce a breath
of wind moved the surface of Loch Scridain as I pulled
out from the quiet anchorage. The course was parallel to
the shore and as near to it as safety would permit. Great
boulders, worn smooth by the power of the Atlantic, were
strewn along the sloping bank lying beneath the high cliffs,
so that walking here was a thing of painful slowness, and
it were better to use the sea as one's path. Where the shore
was smoother, and little bays of shingle lay half hidden,
there were strewn thickly at high-water mark many stems
of laminarian seaweeds, cast up by the winter storms and
now lying dried and shrivelled. Their value is nothing
here, for there is none to gather them.

When within less than a mile of the Headland, the boat

103

The Land of the Hills aiid the Glens

was anchored in a narrow creek, out of reach of the swell,
and the journey completed on foot. Lying strewn along
the foot of the high cliffs are masses of basalt rock,
encrusted often with pale blue crystals of great beauty. At
one point also, there stands a perfect specimen of a fossil
tree, embedded deep in the cliff, and still standing up-
right so that its shape and form may clearly be seen.
Beyond it again is another such tree, in the same position
in which it fell to the ground many thousands of years ago,
and so near the water that with each tide it is washed by
the waves.

Much wreckage is cast by the winter storms on these
desolate shores. Drift wood in plenty lies amongst the
rocks, yet there is none to benefit by it, so that it remains
there from one year's end to another.

In former days the great sea eagle had her eyrie on the
Headland of the Caves, and for her fishing was wont
to sail out to far distant Tiree and its adjoining seas. Now
the eagle has gone ; indeed, there is scarce a single one of
her species left in the whole of Scotland to-day, and so
her lesser rivals the buzzard and peregrine hold undisputed
sway in her old haunts.

As I left the Headland, a strong "breeze of wind," as
the fisher-folk say, was drawing in from the Atlantic, and
quickly the sea rose, so that the swell was booming on the
reefs. Far out to sea the clouds came to an end and the
pleasant Treshnish Isles stood out, the late September sun
shining golden on them.

But at this season of the year the darkness falls all too
quickly, and soon hill and sea were shut out in the gather-
ing gloom, and all was silent save the restless surf as
it 'broke with measured rhythm on the lonely rocks of
the Headland of the Caves.

104

CHAPTER XIX

THE MAIL-BOAT

To the dwellers in the inaccessible Hebridean Isles of Coll
and Tiree, the one link between themselves and civilisation
is the small but sturdy steamer which, summer and winter,
regularly brings to them their mails, and indeed, most of
the necessaries of life.

Manned by a sturdy crew of Gaelic-speaking Highlanders,
and in charge of a skipper w^ho is one of the finest navi-
gators of his time, the mail-boat succeeds in making her
call at the narrow and rock-girt loch at Arinagour, in Coll,
and at the surf-ridden Gott Bay, in Tiree, when no other
vessel, either stranger or one "well acquaint " (as they say)
w^ith the coast, would attempt to make a landing.

I have many a time crossed over to the islands in the
mail-boat, and each occasion I can clearly recall, but one
which remains most vividly impressed on the memory was
on a wild morning of early December. The previous day
was dull and quiet, with mist hanging low* on all the hills,
and with the barometer extrabrdinarily low — it stood at
28.4 inches — and still falling. It was after dark when I started
on my way to Tobermory, that little seaport at the northern
entrance to the Sound of Mull, from which the steamer
was w'ont to start out before daybreak. There was as yet
no wind, but across the northern sky the aurora played
incessantly. From the north-western horizon, where the
sky was free from storm clouds, pale shafts of greenish
light shot up, remained for a few seconds, then vanished,
to reappear elsewhere. As far as the zenith the glow ex-
tended, and flickering shafts of light, as though from sheet-
lightning, lit up the sky. Below, the dark waters of that

105

T/ie Land of the Hills and the Glens

narrow sea-way, the Sound of Mull, lay almost unruffled,
with the flashing lights of the Grey Islands at Salen and
Craignure showing up brightly in the clear air.

An hour or two after midnight the quietness was suddenly
broken by a raging gale from the south, which tore up
through the Sound of Mull with the speed of an express
train, and heaped up the tide before it, so that it was by far
the highest of the year and flooded many of the low-lying
haughs. At the hour of the sailing of the mail-steamer the
gale was at the height of its strength, and the darkness was
so impenetrable, what with mist and driving squalls
of rain, that the captain decided to await daybreak at his
moorings.

So it was that shortly after eight of the morning the boat
put out from the sheltered anchorage of Tobermory and set
her course for Kilchoan, on Ardnamurchan — the first port of
call. We had steamed perhaps a mile when a patch of open
sky, green, and fringed with wild storm clouds, appeared to
the west, followed a minute or two later by a terrific squall of
rain and hail, which flattened the turbulent sea as though oil
had been cast upon it. And with the deluge there came, as is
customary on the western coast, a shifting of the wind from
south to west— a wind which, while bringing, with it the full
force of the Atlantic swell, was more favourable to the chance
of making a landing at the islands whither the ship was
bound. As we came in sight of Kilchoan we could see the
ferry-boat put to sea in the teeth of the gale and laboriously
move forward, foot by foot, propelled by such powerful
thrusts that the strong oars bent almost to the breaking
point. But just as it appeared possible that the ferry would
in time be able to fight her way out to the steamer the wind
increased to hurricane force, with blinding hail and rain, so
that one feared the small craft might founder — it was now
quite hidden from view by the squall — and the mail-boat
headed to sea for her life and set her course for the distant
Isle of Tiree. And the wildness of this passage I shall not

1 06

The Mail-Boat

easily forget. Constantly swept by heavy seas — even on the
bridge we were every moment drenched with spray — the
plucky boat forged ahead surely and steadily. At times the
sky would show patches of watery greenish blue, and even
a feeble sun would occasionally light up the rocky outline of
the Isle of Coll. But with the momentary ceasing of the rain
the sea ran even yet higher, and, to add to the force of the
gale, a strong, spring tide was running dead against the
storm. Once, as we passed by Loch nan Ceall, Ben More
stood out for a moment, clad in unrelieved white and with
driving mists swirling past its cone-shaped summit. Past
the group of the Treshnish Isles, with the outlying members
of the islands bearing the full strength of the Atlantic rollers,
and we should have been well in sight of our destination ;
but the mist was so thick that no land could be made
out, and now even the skipper — who knows these rock-
strewn waters as very few can do — seemed not without
anxiety.

After a while the mist lifted a little, and before us lay the
turbulent waters of the creek known as Gott Bay, with its
dangerous sunken rocks through which we must thread our
way to the pier. Once into the bay the wind blew to us from
the land, and as even a strong wind from this quarter is
favourable to a landing, I expected to be able to be put
ashore, the gale notwithstanding. But I had not realised the
power of the wind.

Though our arrival had been watched by a small crowd
in the shelter of the pier, and although the skipper brought
his ship to within thirty yards and less of the pier itself, the
gale was such that no one on the shore could stand on the
exposed portion of the pier to throw out a rope, and we were
obliged to steam out to sea once more, our object unaccom-
plished.

We now set our course for the Isle of Coll, and for this
run we had a fair wind and sea, so that in spite of some very
heavy rolling, I think we must have covered the distance in

T07

The La7id of the Hills and the Glens

record time. Loch an Eatharna in Coll gives rather more
shelter than the landing place on Tiree, and so it was possible
to put ashore the mails and a few half-fainting passengers
who moaned piteously and incessantly. I think that on this
occasion the unfortunate passengers for Kilchoan were deserv-
ing of more than a little sympathy. They had joined the boat
at Tobermory expecting to be set down at their journey's
end after half an hour's sail through comparatively land-
locked waters. As it was, they perforce endured at least
eight hours of wildest Atlantic storm, and ultimately were set
ashore at Kilchoan late in the afternoon in a state of collapse.
As the captain quaintly observed, " They have indeed had
their ninepence worth." (Ninepence being the fare from
Tobermory to Kilchoan.)

Other memories are of still and frosty days of winter,
days of setting out from the Island of Mull and looking
back on to the snow-capped hills bathed in the rosy light
of the dawn. Save for the slight heave of the Atlantic, the
waters were glassy calm on these days. As we neared Loch
an Eatharna in Coll one clear morning of mid-winter that I
remember, the sun rose red and big from behind the summit
of Ben More and flooded the island before us in its rays.
One saw far afield these clear mornings, and the sea was
wrapped in quietness and mystery those earh' hours before
the coming of the sun.

And with the lengthening of the day, and the coming of
the dry weather, one might see, when sailing the Passage
of Tiree of a fine March morning, many heather fires burning
on the hills of Mull — above Calgary, on Ulva's Isle, perhaps,
or on Ben More itself, and again on the high country of
Ardnamurchan. One great fire I remember seeing far away
to the nor'ard. It was, I think, on Skye, and the whole of
the horizon was blotted out in the blue smoke. And very
good did the scent of the fires seem as it was wafted out on the
sea. On one occasion, after a long spell of dry, frosty
weather, some of the hill fires got the upper hand of those

1 08

The Mail-Boat

who kindled them, and burnt for several days, so that at
night red beacons shone brightly seawards, and those on
the outer islands wondered what they could mean. But these
times of fine weather were of good cheer for the crofters, for
on the low islands the frost Is never severe, and thus they
could go ahead with their ploughing or could burn their piles
of tangles. Some of them, perhaps, would put out to sea in
their skiffs, and would set their long lines for cod and ling and
conger eels, lifting, them just before the arrival of the mail-
boat so that they might send their " takes " to the southern
market.

And when spring had merged into summer and the days
were long and fine the salmon nets would be put out along
the shores of Mull, and the mail-boat, on her return run from
the islands, would bear across toward Calliach Point and the
fishermen would put out in their small boat with their catch
of fine salmon straight from the sea. One day of early May
the air was extraordinarily clear as we crossed to the fishers,
and the snow-covered hills of Skye seemed but a few miles
away, although in reality close on forty miles distant. This,
I think, was the only occasion on which I have been able to
see the sharp outline of Dunvegan Head, in the north of
Skye, from these waters; and even behind that, and perhaps
sixty miles off, was the conical point of one of the distant
Applecross Hills, dazzling white against the deep blue of the
sky.

On such fine days the crew of the mail-boat would be very
busy, for after the frost and wet of tTie w-inter there would
be much painting to be done, and the masts and woodwork
would have to be scraped and revarnished. And as the
crew worked industriously they would speak rapidly to each
other in the Gaelic, and to the stranger from the south their
tongue would seem curious.

During the war the mail-boat was taken away to do her
share in the fighting. I often thought of her breasting the
short, steep waves of the North Sea, with, maybe, a bleak and

109

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

desolate shore in view, and dodging here and there through
mine-strewn waters, where in the end she met her doom.

And I think she must often have wished to feel the heave
of the Atlantic and to see the sun rise from behind Ben More,
or sink of a summer night behind the rocks of lonely Barra
Head.

no

CHAPTER XX

SKERRYVORE

A GREY September morning, with the wind strong from the
nor '-west. For days now the weather has been unsettled,
and a heavy swell is breaking on the reefs that guard this
small isolated rock from the waters of the Atlantic. The
steamer which is to make the relief at the two storm-swept
lighthouses of Skerryvore and Dubh Hirteach, lying not so
many miles apart, but both of them far out at sea, lies at
anchor in the Sound of lona, rising and falling gently on the
swell.

Thick drizzling rain is falling, and the day is long of
breaking. It is still dusk as anchor is weighed, and the
boat slips out through the sound, heading nor'-westward
in the teeth of the wind, and making for the lighthouse
built on the wild rock of Skerryvore (Sgeir Mhor, the Big
Rock) twenty-five miles distant. Ahead, the sky is thick with
mist and rain, and soon the view of the land is lost.

Nothing meets the eye save an expanse of storm-tossed
waters. Sunken rocks — the Torrans — lie about us, and from
time to time cascades of spray shoot up into the air, where the
Atlantic swell meets the reefs. A wild part of the coast
is this, and many a ship has found her doom on these
rocks. Our vessel is powerfully built, as she must needs
be in order to withstand the storms of winter, but the head-
seas are slowing her down.

One sees many birds on these waters of solitude. Solan
geese fly past, making their way hither and thither in search
of fish. The flight of the solan is a thing of immense
power, so that even the gulls themselves seem punv and
feeble in comparison ; but then the solan is essentially a

III

The La7id of the Hills and the Glens

being of the sea, and rarely indeed does he fly over even
the narrowest strip of land. Farther out from the shore,
fulmar petrels cross the bows, their flight strong and free,
and excelling that of the gulls. Seldom is it that they
move their wings, speeding and glancing with soaring
flight above the waves, their wings held out stiffly, more,
perhaps, resembling the wings of an aeroplane than those
of a bird. And they fly in silence always.

Ahead, on the port bow, a trawler is seen labouring
heavily. And now ahead the grey form of the lighthouse
is showing, and one can see the spray being hurled high
above the rocks. IMaking its way with swallow-like flight
against the wind, and following the dip of the waves for
shelter, a storm petrel crosses the bow, and nearer to the rock
solans are fishing.

It is well on to low spring tide as the anchor is dropped
a few hundred yards from the lighthouse, and already a
chain of rocks, running out from the main rock to the
southward, are beginning to show themselves, and to break
the force of the swell at this anchorage. A tern is fishing
in the comparatively sheltered waters here, and a rock pipit
is resting awhile on migration, while the head of a grey
seal swimming close in to the rocks is seen.

There is only one small creek where a landing is
possible to-day, and a red flag, displayed from the rock,
notifies the steamer where that landing is. Even with a
strong boat, and a crew knowing the waters thoroughly,
it is not easy to reach the landing place, or, once there,
to maintain position, for the surf is breaking in and
threatens to throw the boat up on to the rocks.

On landing, it is learnt that the keepers have experi-
enced a wild night, with a very heavy tide on the rock,
and one can see pieces of tangle lying at the foot of the
tower, showing that the tide must have submerged the
whole rock. The foundations of the tower are of solid
granite, the door being placed, perhaps, twenty feet above

112

Skerryvore

the ground, with a set of copper steps leading up to it.
From the top of the tower the roaring of the waves and the
rushing of the gale is heard, and a wild view lies beneath.

The relief is soon accomplished, and we return to the
steamer, weighing anchor immediately and setting a course
for the lighthouse on Dubh Hirteach.

One cannot but realise how lonely a life it is that the
lightkeepers lead, but there are many things of interest
to be noted if one is a lover of Nature, as the men so often
are. In the course of conversation I learned how on one
occasion a grey seal was seen to land on the rocks with
its captive, a good-sized cod. Although its victim was
not yet dead, the seal commenced methodically to skin
the fish, holding it firmly and ripping it up with its
flappers, afterwards tearing out the backbone. On another
occasion a seal was seen under water with a large cod,
which it had disabled but not killed. The seal was play-
ing with its victim in much the same way as a cat does
with a mouse, releasing the cod, and having watched it
for a while swimming feebly, pouncing on and seizing it
again. My informant also told me that only a few days
before the relief he noticed a solan goose come to the
surface of the water holding a fish across his bill. He
was in the act of shifting the position of his prize in order
to swallow it, when a black-backed gull swooped down,
snatched away the fish, and swallowed it before the sur-
prised solan had time to remonstrate.*

On the passage to Dubh Hirteach the wind and sea
are with the boat, and she travels fast. Moving south-
wards on migration, companies of great shearwaters pass
by. In their build and flight they resemble their lesser
relative the Manx shearwater, skimming and gliding on
their powerful wings just above the crests of the waves,
and constantly "banking " to obtain the full advantage of the

iVo/(;.— Solans almost invariably swallow their catch before emerging on the
surface after a dive.
I 113

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

wind. As Dubh Hirteach is neared, a heavy surf is seen
breaking- on the reef lying to the west of the rock on w^hich
the hghthouse is built, the spray driving like smoke before
the strong wind; and on the rock itself a heavy swell is
breaking.

It is not possible to-day to make a landing direct on
to the rock, but the strong motor launch is lowered, and
in her the lightkeeper and a small supply of provisions are
carried to within a few yards of the rock, and are hoisted
on to the latter by means of a derrick. While the relief
is being effected, members of the crew are busy fishing
over the rails of the steamer, and succeed in landing some
good mackerel and saithe. Small birds are flying around,
or are sitting lightly on the disturbed surface of the sea,
uttering subdued, twittering cries. Their flight reminds one
of the phalarope, and they ride on the water with the
buoyant grace of these birds, sitting erect with their shapely
necks held well above the water's surface. Through the
glass one can see that there is much white about their
necks, so they are probably not of the red-necked phala-
rope species. It may be that they are grey phalaropes on
their southern migration, but the rough sea makes observa-
tion difficult. I hear that a couple of dunlin are annual
visitors to this lonely rock, arriving at the conclusion of the
nesting season, and leaving about the end of October. For
a number of years they have been welcome visitors, and
go by the names of "Tommy" and "Johnny." So fear-
less are they that they will come when called, and will
feed almost out of the hand.

The relief effected, the boat heads northwards, and an
hour's passage brings us back to the Sound of lona, w^here
the steamer is anchored and we are ferried ashore in smooth
water.

114

CHAPTER XXI

LOCH NAN CEALL

Overshadowed by wild hills, round which the mist-laden
Atlantic wind weaves many clouds, lies a quiet sea loch.

It is rare that any craft darkens its surface.

Months may elapse between the visits of the small cargo
steamer which brings to the crofters their meal and flour
from the south, and apart from an occasional yacht in
summer time, the loch is deserted, save for the skiffs of
the lobster fishers, which put to sea early of a morning
from Gribun shore, or from the quiet Sound of Ulva.

South'ard, the hills rise steeply to a height of more
than three thousand feet, with dark precipices around which
the silent-fiying raven croaks, and green corries where the
stags feed of a summer evening.

Many burns rush swiftly from the corries of the big
hills to the loch. But even after days of torrential rain,
when they roar in full flood, the waters retain their crystal
clearness, for their source is on the stony plateaux and their
course traverses rocky ground the whole length from parent
spring to estuary.

To the east there lies the mainland, with all the hill
country of Argyll spread out before the eye, and north
the desolate Isle of Ulva, and that wild headland of Tresh-
nish, where the Atlantic waves break in rushing spray
when the wind blows strong from the south-west. West-
ward of the loch lies the Atlantic, and away on the hori-
zon the Isle of Tiree. But it is only on a clear day that
one's vision carries thus far, and then the houses seem to
stand straight up from out of the water, so flat is this
distant island.

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

I know the loch at all seasons of the year — in winter,
when for days the roar of the gale echoes through the cliffs,
and in summer, when day succeeds day, with no cloud
showing in the sky, and when the waters of the loch are
of a pale transparent green, .so that the forests of great
seaweeds may clearly be seen many feet below the surface,
and amongst them big conger eels stealthily gliding.

It is, I think, during the darkest months of winter that
one sees the loch in its grandest mood — months, when for
days wild storms of rain and wind surge in from the sea
and the waters are a turmoil of white breakers. At length,
perhaps, the wind veers a little — from south-west, maybe,
to north of west, at once dispelling the low-driving mist
clouds and showing out to sea a sky of steely blue with
grey hail squalls and dark thunder-clouds on the horizon,
and with the drifting snow swirling across the tops of the
higher hills. As the squall approaches the loch at great
speed — for the gale continues unabated — vivid lightning
comes from the storm cloud, and above the rush of the
wind the thunder crashes and rolls among the corries of
the hills.

At one point along the southern shore of the loch the
rocks come sheer to the water's edge, and a precarious
passage is made for the narrow road that traverses the
island. During nights so dark that even the sea beneath
was invisible, I have made the journey along the loch side,
and have found the wind so strong that it was difficult
even to stand against it. The roar of the surf beneath, the
roar of the wind among the rocks above, the thick driving
mist strong with the scent of the sea — on such nights as
this one felt the spirit of the storm brooding darkly over
the loch. There are many days of December when the
force of the wind is such that the waters of the loch are
caught up in whirlwinds and carried hither and thither;
when the gale, eddying around the clififs, rushes in gusts
of hurricane force, now from the west, now from the east,

ii6

Loch nail Ceall

with in between these gusts, a lull, uncanny in its stillness. I
have seen, on such days, cormorants attempt to raise them-
selves from the loch's surface, and have seen them beaten
down to the water by the storm so that they gave up the
attempt at flight.

There is always a certain risk in using the road beneath
the rocks on a wild night of wind and rain, especially after
frost, for big rocks often break loose from the cliff, and
bound in great leaps to the road below. It was many
years ago that a tragedy was enacted at the small dwelling
which used to stand at the foot of the cliff. One wild night
a great rock, many tons in weight, breaking loose from the
hili above, crashed into the house, in which a newly mar-
ried couple had just established themselves. The house
entirely disappeared, and no trace was ever found of its
inmates.

How different do the cliffs appear In early June when
the air is still and warm and when the rocks are tinged with
pink blossoms of many plants of Silene acaulis!

During clear days of early spring, when the wind still
carries with it a nip of frost, but when the sun shines warm
and bright, buzzards sail across these rocks, and the raven
may be seen carrying sticks to her nest. On the summ'it
of the cliff the peregrine stands for hours motionless, scan-
ning the country round him, or wheels in strong flight
across the sunlit waters of the loch.

Concerning the name of the loch much conjecture has
arisen. On the maps one will find the spelling "Loch na
Keal," but in the Gaelic alphabet the letter "K" does not
exist. The most probable derivation is, I think, "Loch
nan Ceall," or the "Loch of the Burying Grounds," for on its
shores are several such places, the most famous being on
the Island of Inchkenneth. A derivation of some interest
I had from a veteran Highlander who was no mean scholar
and could write the Gaelic well — a somewhat rare accom-
plishment among the past generation. His opinion was

117

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

that the name was "Loch nan Ceall," or "The Loch of the
Round Gravelly Bluffs." This word is not known to the
present generation of Gaelic speakers, but certainly near
the head of the loch the hills are scarred with gravel, one
especially, which in the clear midsummer light shows up
red and prominent from many miles out to sea, and is
noticeable even from Tiree and Coll.

Guarding the entrance to the loch are the two islands
of Inchkenneth and Eorsa. Lying well out into the loch,
Eorsa breaks the force of the west wind, and gives good
anchorage for a ship in the wildest gale from that quarter.
The island is uninhabited, save by the sea birds which
have their home here. In winter, woodcock frequent the
long heather, while in summer its shores are peopled by
colonies of terns.

On Inchkenneth is the burying ground of many High-
land chiefs. One farm stands on the island, and often
during winter weather the farmer is cut off from the main-
land for days and even weeks on end; for no boat can
make the passage of the Sound when the great squalls
sweep across from Ben More.

As the days lengthen, and the snowy corries of Ben
More become streaked with black, many oyster catchers
people the shores of the loch. Certain of these birds are
always present, even in the dead of winter, but these winter
visitors take their departure northwards at the coming of
spring and are replaced by oyster catchers who have their
winter homes to the south'ard. "Gille Bridghe," as the
oyster catcher is known in the Gaelic, is quite fearless
during the season of her nesting. I have counted over
a dozen pairs of these birds brooding their eggs within
a few yards of the road that runs by the loch.

It is said that the name "Gille Bridghe," or "Saint
Bridget's Lad," was given in olden times to the oyster
catcher because when the saint came first from Ireland
to convert the Long Island (the name bv which the Outer

1 18

Loch 7ian Ceall

Hebrides are known) to Christianity, she had with her
an oyster catcher in each pocket, and on her arrival turned
them loose.

Where the rocks are lying piled one upon another, the
shelduck has her nest, so hidden away that only the expert
may locate it, and on the boggy hillsides, a few hundred
feet above the loch, many curlew have their homes.

In these days of May, when the south wind blows
gently, and when the air is once more warm, it is good
to visit the loch, for now a new bird note falls pleasantly
on the ear — the cry of the whimbrel or lesser curlew. It
is only on the journey to their northern nesting grounds
that the birds linger at the banks of the loch. By the
end of May the last of them has passed on.

With the coming of the fine weather the tribe of the
herring enter the loch, and following them as their lawful
victims there enter also many bird people, so that the waters
are animated and cheerful. On many evenings of June
I have sailed into Loch nan Ceall from the Atlantic, and
these visits will linger long in the memory. The sun sets
late among these western islands and after nine o'clock
(G.M.T.) of an evening still shines soft and rosy on the
unrufifled waters, for by now the last of the breeze has died
away and the loch is entirely quiet.

As one slowly makes one's way up to the anchorage
at the head of the loch, puffins and guillemots cross one's
path, and circling high overhead on untiring wings solan
geese scan the still water for fish. On Ben More the
setting sun throws its rays, lighting up those green corries
and dark rocks on which the winter snowbeds still linger.
These were days when the weather for weeks at a time
was of the best, when day succeeded day on the loch and
always the sun shone brilliantly, when the land wind blew
strong from the east of a morning but veered westward
with the turn of the day, so that the sea breeze ruffled the
loch's surface of an afternoon.

119

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

On one occasion, in midsummer, I spent the night on
Loch nan Ceall. The moon was near the full at the time,
and as I made my way to the loch shortly before midnight
the waters shone golden in its light. The land was in
silence, save for the occasional cry of an oyster catcher,
or the harsh grating notes of a corncrake from the young
fields of growing oats. Ben More stood out dark against
the star-studded sky. Its last snow wreath had dwindled
under the strength of the midsummer sun until it covered
only a yard or two of the hillside, and in a few days the
hill would once again be clear of snow.

It was an hour after midnight when anchor was weighed,
and a course set for the mouth of the loch. Already the
north-eastern sky was showing a dull red glow, and the
light of the moon was waning. From the dark rocks of
Inchkenneth there came a deep booming note, as the tire-
less surf of the ocean spent itself among the hollow caves.
And now the light was stronger, and the Treshnish Islands
stood mirrored in the silent depths of the sea, and green-
topped Staffa sought the first gleams of the rising sun.
Now the waters were busy with many birds at their fish-
ing, and companies of guillemots could be seen winging
their way only an inch or two above the sea to their nest-
ing grounds on the islands.

On a flat-topped rock many green cormorants stood,
eagerly greeting the coming of the sun. Black guillemots
too entered or left their nesting holes in the rocks border-
ing the loch, and on the many grassy islands the tribe of
the sea swallows wheeled and dipped. On the flat rocks
many brown seals were lying, and with them were their
young, for the loch always shelters many of the seal tribe,
and here they find good fishing and quietness. But their
larger brethren the grey seals rarely enter the loch, for they
prefer the wild outlying islands, and to feel the heave of
the Atlantic.

As the mouth of the loch was gained the early sun shone

1 20

Loch nan Ceall

red through die morning mist on the quiet waters of Loch
Tuadh — that northern sister of Loch nan Ceall, and joined
to it by narrow Ulva Sound — while away to the nor'ard
stood the black cliffs of Treshnish and of Calliach Point.

Gradually the summer gives place to autumn on the
loch.

The wind blows chill from the north, driving the shoals
of mackerel to the deeper waters, and sending the herring
to sea, so that no longer are the solans sweeping over the
loch, and the pulTins bethink themselves of their journey
south, while the last of the cormorants have left their
nests. New bird visitors now arrive — the wary greenshank,
with wild melancholy cry, and the great northern diver, of
imposing mien, while one morning, after north wind, large
flocks of widgeon may be seen riding buoyantly on the
rough waters.

At night, great companies of geese fly overhead, as they
make for their winter quarters on Islay and along the Irish
coast, and in late autumn wild swans may sometimes be
seen.

So that the loch is never deserted of living things, and
gives food in plenty and shelter to many birds until with
the call of the spring these winter visitors again set their
course for the north, and their places are taken by those
birds which at the approach of winter move southward to
warmer, though not more hospitable, lands.

r 21

CHAPTER XXII

THE FIGHTING OF THE BLACKCOCK

There are few male birds amongst all the feathered tribes
who do not, at the season of spring, give battle with their
fellows for the favour of the demure lady who stands quietly
by. But of all, I venture to think, the blackcock heads the
list, for during the months of spring and early summer he
fights each morning with great regularity. His battles are
waged not only in the spring of the year, but during the
season of summer and autumn as well.

In the Island of Mull — that island of wild hills and glens
— there are birch woods clustering on the wind-swept hill-
sides, and it is here that I have many times watched, early
of a morning, the blackcock, or "coilleach dubh," engaged
in his favourite pursuit of fighting.

The birds are very conservative in their choice of battle-
grounds, and return every morning to the same strip of
hillside.

One such fighting place that I know is situated just
above a remote sea loch, through whose narrow entrance
the flood tide rushes faster than a boat can pull. Birches
clothe the hillside, with here and there gaps in their ranks,
where the hill grass is cropped short by the sheep and
deer.

It is to one such open space that there come, flying
noiselessly through the gloom as the first dawn shows in
the eastern sky, the whole tribe of the blackcock of that
neighbourhood. An enthusiastic keeper friend of mine
erected, before the season of the battles had commenced,
a couple of excellent shelters overlooking this ground, and
one morning towards the end of April I made my way in

THE BIRTHPLACE OF A HILL BURN.

The Fighting of the Blackcock

the twilight of the dawn along the shores of the sea loch to
where I hoped to secure some photographs of fighting
blackcock. At this hour, in the spring of the year, it is
good to be abroad in the wild places. From a little grove
a blackbird was striking up his flute-like song. The cheery
whistle of oyster catchers and the cry of curlew fell
pleasantly on the ear, and far up the hillside a missel thrush
was tuning up his notes.

Arriving at the fighting ground, the keeper was awaiting
me, and together we crept up the bed of a burn and
succeeded in reaching the "hide" without alarming the
fighters, which, as we could hear, had already arrived.
Peering cautiously over the top of the hide, I could see
many birds fighting hard only a few yards distant. Their
curious bubbling note never for one moment ceased, and
every now and again, as two individuals struck at each
other with their feet, they uttered a sharp hissing sound,
reminding one somewhat of the crow of a cock partridge.
I think that the more one watches blackcock at their fighting
the more one must come to the conclusion that much of
this is somewhat half-hearted, and appears to be indulged
in mainly with the idea of putting in the time and relieving
the birds of their high spirits of an early morning. Of
course, combats in earnest do take place and continue
until one of the combatants is either killed or else put to
flight.

On the morning of which I write many of the birds
spent most of the time in confronting one another, in pairs,
in crouching attitudes and with tails spread fanwise, from
time to time leaping half-heartedly at each other but never
having a real "scrap."

At length the sun rose, a ball of fire in the eastern sky.
His reflection showed clear in the still waters, and the battle-
ground of the blackcock stood out distinctly, with the grass
encrusted with rime. With the coming of the sun the
ardour of the blackcock abated and their thoughts turned

123

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

from fighting to feeding, so that "sparring" was broken off,
and the birds commenced to feed quietly side by side with
their erstwhile antagonists.

Another much frequented battlefield of the blackcock is
on the south shore of the Sound of Mull. Here, too, the
spot chosen is on the outskirts of a birch wood, on a strip
of comparatively bare ground. The main road runs only a
few yards from this ground, and often, very early of a
morning, I have disturbed the birds at their contests. More
than once I have passed within a few yards of the fighting
birds in a motor-car without even causing them to lift their
heads. Having got past them I have stopped to watch their
battles, with their soft, bubbling notes in my ears, and with
the keen wind from off the Sound sighing through the
birches and rustling the withered fronds of the bracken.

Though it is undoubtedly the mating impulse that
prompts the birds to fight, it is rarely that the greyhens
in any numbers frequent the battlefield. One often sees an
odd bird there, or even two or three, but personally I do
not think I have ever seen so many as even half a dozen
watching the fighting of perhaps twenty cocks.

The blackcock is polygamous, but he takes no interest
whatever in the eggs or broods of his several wives. I
think there are, all the same, considerably more blackcocks
than greyhens in existence, so that the former must
frequently be perforce content with a single mate, if indeed,
they are always able to procure even one.

124

CHAPTER XXIII

THE TRIBE OF THE WILD SWANS
I. — THE BEWICK SVMN

When October has departed, and Polar winds, sweeping
aci^oss Scotland from the north, tell of the approach of frost
and snow, the gentle and graceful Bewick swan arrives at
its winter quarters with us.

A certain island there is, lying out into the Atlantic,
which every winter gives food and shelter to these tra-
vellers, and where no hand is lifted against them, so that
they have little fear of man, allowing him to approach
nearly, and being reluctant to take wing even when
disturbed.

It was on a calm and clear day in November that I had
my first sight of the swans. For some days winds from
the north had prevailed, bringing snow squalls to the land,
and piling up the drifts on the mainland hills. But on
the island the snow did not lie, for the waters of the
Atlantic had not as yet given up their summer heat, and
the grass was still green. In the centre of the island a
narrow creek runs inland from the south'ard. It is only
at high spring tides that the salt water enters far — at other
times a slow-running burn, with motion scarce perceptible,
makes its way seawards. Up the creek were a number of
Bewick swans, both young and old, the parents and their
three or four youngsters in some cases still keeping to-
gether in small parties. In places the strips of water had
been frozen across, and a few of the swans were asleep
on the ice, allowing of a near approach before walking
painfully over the slippery surface to the nearest lane of
open water. At length thev considered that I had ap-

125

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

proached too closely, and rose quickly into the air — and this
is a point which distinguishes the wild from the domes-
ticated swan, namely, that the wild species shows greater
speed by far in launching itself into space than does our
own mute swan, or even the wild duck.

The swans moved rapidly through the air by means of
powerful wing beats, and passed backwards and forAvards
several times above the surface of the creek before slant-
ing earthwards, and descending on the ice, their momentum
sending them sliding forward a considerable distance.

A few miles to the westward lies a shallow loch, the
home of countless wild fowl during the winter months, and
here a few hours later I witnessed one of the most inter-
esting and beautiful pictures of bird life that it has ever
been my good fortune to enjoy.

The loch was frozen over, and at one end numbersi
of disconsolate gulls were standing on the ice. But at
the far corner a great company of Bewick swans were
swimming restlessly backwards and forwards across a
narrow lane of open water, a lane which they had kept
open by continued movement all through the night. A
clamour of many notes was borne to the ear, notes musical
and bell-like, and pitched in many keys. From time to
time the sounds died away, but for a second or two only.
A horse and trap passed along the water's edge, yet the
swans paid little or no heed to it, so intent were they on
preventing the frost from gripping the narrow waterway,
and their voices carried far in the quiet air. It is always
with their music that the wild swans herald the approach
of frost; throughout the night, when the ice is silently
binding the lochs, their notes are loud and insistent, never
ceasing as they swim activelv through the water, but with
the coming of the thaw they are again silent, or nearly so.

Not often is the air so clear in the Western Isles as
was the case this quiet November day. From the loch
where the swans have their winter home a great expanse

126

The Tribe of the Wild Swans

of sea and sky was to be seen. Eastward, across the waters,
the hills held much snow in their corries, and the sinking
sun tinged these snows with pink.

A country of silence, with the spirit of peace brooding
over it.

On this low-lying island the frost is rarely intense. The
next day a south-easterly wind brought with it an increase
of temperature, and the narrow lane of open water on the
swans' loch was rapidly enlarged, so that by night the
whole loch was free. With the coming of the thaw, silence,
or comparative silence, reigned in the swan world.

Through the months of December and January the
swans frequented the loch. During the opening days of
February — days when gale after gale from the west swept
over the island, and fierce squalls of sleet and rain were
driven before the wind — they were still there. But shortly
after the middle of the month the wind dropped, the sea
was again calm, and though the mountains lying to the east
still retained their snow caps, the Bewick swans left the
island, and at the end of the month the loch and creek
were silent and uninhabited.

Of all the winter migrants to these coasts, I think the
wild swans are the first to respond to the earliest breath
of spring, but that year they left their winter quarters even
sooner than usual. It is believed on the island where they
are found throughout the winter that the swans know
instinctively when the Baltic is open, and flight north
directly this is the case. Whether this is indeed so, or
whether the birds make the northward journey in short
stages, it would seem strange that they depart a good two
months before the white-fronted geese, for the two birds
nest not far from each other in the far north, where snow
still lies deep on the ground even during the early days
of June. It is interesting to note, however, that the swans
do occasionally return to the island after apparentlv having
left for the north. Also that in tho autumn they fly in from a

127

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

northerly direction, while on their return in spring they come
from the east.

There was one sw'an, however, that was unable to make
the northward flight with his fellows that spring, and during
the early days of March he lingered on the island, the sole
representative of his race. He may have been suffering
from a gunshot wound, for although protected on this
island, the swans are often shot at on other islands to the
north and north-west. Outw^ardly he had no apparent
injury, and showed a remarkable degree of confidence. I
first spied him from the top of a little knoll, from where a
wide expanse of the island lies open to the view. He was
asleep at the edge of a pool of water thinly encrusted with
ice, and still slept, head buried deep in his snow-white
feathers, as I reached him. Some movement of mine
awakened him, but he show^ed little surprise or alarm, though
when first he saw me he called once in that deep musical
note so pleasant to the ear. He allowed himself even to
be stroked, and it was only after several minutes' scrutiny
that he decided to move, and walked sedately to another
pool.

I have wondered what was the fate of this solitary and
lonely swan, whether he recovered sufficiently to follow
his tribe in their northw^ard migration to the frozen tundras
that approach the Pole, or whether he remained, an un-
willing prisoner in a land that held no further attractions
now that spring had come again.

In imagination, I can see him rising up into the still
night air, and with deep honking cries rapidly winging
his way to the northern plains, for surely he has gone in the
spirit to that land of mystery which gave him birth, even
if in the flesh he lacked the strength to make the great
journey thither.

128

Bewick Swans at their Winter Quarters.

A Solitary Bewick Swan

Red-necked Phalarope at its Summer Quarters in July.

*iJrm-^fv\ V7«' i'

r'^i'LKS

Red-necked Phalarope— Throwing a Dainty Ripple as it Swims.

The Tribe of the IVild Swans

2. — THE WHOOPER SWAN

The whooper swan does not, in ordinary circumstances,
congregate in large companies as does his smaller cousin,
the Bewick swan. Generally whoopers may be seen in twos
or threes, swimming majestically on the dark waters of
some mountain loch or eagerly feeding on the weeds, after
the manner of the domesticated mute swan. And indeed
they may not easily be distinguished from the latter bird,
for in size they closely approach it. But whereas the mute
swan holds his neck in a graceful arch, the whooper carries
his outstretched, and after the fashion of a goose. Then
again, there is this difference between the two birds, namely
that the pronounced knob or "berry" at the base of the
bill of the domesticated swan is entirely absent in the case
of the whooper. These differences are important, for our
own mute swan often migrates to a certain extent in a semi-
wild state, and it is probable that a number of the reports
which one reads from time to time of wild swans taking
up their quarters on some loch refer in reality to mute
swans in their wanderings.

It is late in the autumn ere the whooper swans make
their appearance on the lochs of the Western Highlands.
Nesting as they do, to a large extent, in Iceland, the winter's
cold comes to them somewhat later than to those birds
breeding well within the Arctic Circle, and so they are longer
in commencing their migration south.

After a spell of north wind, in the early days of
December, several whoopers made their appearance on a
hill loch of western Ross-shire. It was on a perfect winter's
day that I got my first sight of the birds. Not a breath
of wind stirred on the moors, and the winter's sun, though
low in the sky, was shining bright and warm on the
desolate countr3'side. Climbing a small hill, I had before
me a vast panorama of mountain and island. Northward

J 129

Tke Land of the Hills and the Glens

lay the rugged peaks of Caithness and Sutherland, and
nearer at hand, and standing more to the eastward, was
the great bulk of An Teallach, on which ptarmigan nest,
and the eagle and raven have their home. Almost at my
feet lay Gruinard Bay with a heavy surf from the north
breaking on its sandy shores, and here a fleet of herring
drifters were busy with the setting of their nets. Just
showing above the nearer hills I could make out some of
the hills of Skye, with the flat top of MacLeod's Table,
rising from Dunvegan, prominent among them.

Beneath me lay a hill loch on which, their white
plumage catching the rays of the sun, were seven swans.
One lot of them, three in number, were standing in dozing
attitudes, while near the edge of the loch the remainder
were feeding on some water weed, propelling themselves
powerfully through the water with heads well below the
surface and pausing to emerge only for short intervals to
draw breath. Careful stalking enabled me to approach the
birds to within two hundred yards when, becoming uneasy,
and apprehending danger, they one by one rose from the
water with much paddling of feet, and on their strong
wings made their way to the far end of the loch, a couple
of miles distant. The next morning — the moon was near
the full at the time — an hour before dawn I visited, together
with a companion, the "loch of the swans."

In the western sky the moon shone clear as we set out,
lighting up the dark waters of the sea loch which lay a
mile or so to the westward. The ground was held fast
in the grip of an intense frost, so that our footsteps re-
sounded from its iron-bound surface, and the murmuring
of a hill burn running through the glen was borne up to
us on the still air. On the higher ground lay a powder-
ing of snow, showing the well-marked tracks of fox and
mountain hare, and of grouse which Reynard may perhaps
have been stalking. Before the first rays of the December
dawn had lighted the south-eastern sky we reached the

130

The Tribe of the Wild Swans

loch, and there, near the outlet where the burn has its
source, were the swans.

The company had been reinforced since we last saw
them, and among them were two young birds. Although
all the swans appeared to be dozing, they gradually changed
their positions. Shining full on them, the moon lit up
their snowy plumage, seeming to impart to it a tinge of
warmth in which an artist's eye would have delighted. And
indeed, are not the wild swans things of mysterious beauty
in that they are, according to old Highland traditions, often
none other than kings' children under enchantment? Have
they not been seen on wild and lonely lochs, where they
considered themselves secure from human gaze, to put away
their plumage and assume human shape in their unsuccessful
eflorts to free themselves from the spells under which they
have been cast?

As we watched them from the shelter of a great boulder,
the light of the breaking day contended with the beams
of the moon, and tints of red appeared among the clouds
crossing the hill away to the south-east of us. All around
us grouse awakened, crowing lustily as they left their beds
of rime-flecked heather. A mallard, flying up the loch and
emerging suddenly from the dusk, settled in the water,
beside us, swimming carelessly around, and quacking ex-
citedly as though challenging any possible rival in the
neighbourhood; but his suspicions being aroused, he flew
off again as suddenly as he had arrived. With the coming
of daylight the swans roused themselves, frequently rising
up in the water and vigorously flapping their wings. Soon
they commenced to feed on the grass and weeds preserved
from the frost beneath the water's surface, swimming quite
close to us without suspicion as they breakfasted. The
two immature birds, conspicuous from their fellows by
reason of their plumage of brownish grey colour, fed by
themselves for the most part. Until full daylight we
watched the family party, and endeavoured to leave our

131

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

hiding-place without arousing their suspicions. But in this
we were unsuccessful, for the swans became alarmed and
took to flight, the two youngsters being the last to move.

For a few days only the whooper swans remained on
the loch. I imagine that their way led" them south, for I
know of no loch on the West Highlands where whoopers
remain throughout the whole of the winter. It seems, indeed,
as though many of the birds visit Scotland on their migra-
tions only, and spend the winter to the southward of us.

But a few days later, when a north-easter cut through
the heather, bringing with it bitter cold and squalls of
driving snow, a fresh company of whooper swans, two old
and one young, arrived on the loch. It seemed as though
they were the parent birds still shepherding their full-grown
offspring, for all fed closely together, heeding not the great
cold, which numbed me as I watched them. So rough was
the Minch this day that even where I sat the salt spray
sped overhead, and the long-tailed ducks and other birds
which frequented Gruinard Bay were driven to seek else-
where for their food.

And on the wings of this storm the whoopers sped
silently from us, so that with its passing the loch was left
to the mallard which sit and sun themselves here, and
the bald coots which call querulously to each other across
the peaty water.

132

CHAPTER XXIV

THE PTARMIGAN OF THE WAVES

A STILL sea loch, with encircHng hills, and a burn with waters
of crystal clearness hurrying from the upper glens.

At its mouth the burn widens, and enters the salt waters
by many channels intersected by shingly stretches. It is
here that, with the first coming of spring, while the birches
on the hillsides are still leafless, and when the song of the
missel thrush is the only bird music to be heard, there arrive
at least tw^o pairs of ringed plover.

I have always thought that emanating from this un-
obtrusive wader was some quality of unusual charm, so that
its Gaelic name, "Tarmachan na Teinne," or "the Ptarmigan
of the Waves," seems to be a term of singular beauty, and
well adapted too. "The ptarmigan of the waves " have,
maybe, already paired before arriving at the nesting haunt;
and it is pleasant to watch them, during sunny days of March,
when the breath of spring is stirring amongst Nature's
children. The lady on these occasions stands demurely by
while the cock bird rises excitedly from the sun-warmed
shingle and with curious, erratic flight — a flight that is
almost bat-like — twists and tumbles, calling the while with
soft and plaintive note. All the time, his wings move with
scarce half their usual speed, and this characteristic of the
love song of the waders — though I have not seen it set down
in any book — is well marked also in the oyster catcher and
the golden plover, to mention only two at random..

His love-flight ended, the bird, perhaps, goes through a
display for the benefit of his mate, spreading out his tail
fanwise, and otherwise making himself as attractive as
possible for his lady wife to look upon.

'33

1 he Land of the Hills and the Glens

It is not until the last days of April that the ringed
plover commence their nesting. Little enough of a nest do
they make, for after the manner of all the family of the
plovers they content themselves with a slight hollow scraped
out in the shingle, or amongst the sand dunes on which
the sun shines with a blinding glare during days of summer
heat. And, as plovers, they adhere to the habit that there
should always be a number of "cocks' nests," as they are
called, in the vicinity of the real nest. It may be that these
are the doings of the male bird during his display, or they
may be made by the hen in choosing the most favourable
site. Be that as it may, they are almost always present.

One early May day the sun shone from a sky of deep
blue, and though there was still a nip in the sea breeze,
the waters of the ocean reflected the blue of the sky, and
only the smallest of wavelets broke, glinting in the sun,
upon the long beach of silvery sand that is the haunt of
"the ptarmigan of the waves." As I sat amongst the sand
dunes there came, from far out to sea, a company of bird
travellers, making for the island. As they neared me, I
heard that musical, twittering cry which is the call note of
the whimbrel. Wintering far to the southward of our most
southern shores, the whimbrel appear along the whole of
the western coast during the first days of May with such
regularity that they have earned for themselves the name
of "May birds." In the Gaelic they are known as "Guil-
binneach."

Swinging in, then, from the sea the travellers alighted
upon the sun-baked ground close beside where I sat, and
spread themselves out, searching with their long, curved
bills for worms and suoh-like tit-bits. Near where they
were feeding I came across a ringed plover's nest with
two newly-laid eggs. In this case, although incubation
had not yet commenced, the owner of the nest showed no
little anxiety, running round me, and frequently uttering
her soft, plaintive cry. In this- instance the nest had no

134

The Ptarmigan of the Waves

lining of any sort; but I have, at times, seen nests charm-
ingly decorated with shells of many colours, so that they
stood out conspicuously against the sand.

Although I say it almost regretfully — so much is there,
one might say, of charm of character in "the ptarmigan
of the waves " — I think that, of all shore-living birds, the
ringed plover must be one of the most careless — or can it
be, most foolish? — in the selection of a nesting site. In
support of this, I cannot do better than to give here an
account of a season's nesting of a pair of these birds.

They arrived early in February at their summer home,
but it was not until the middle of May that the nesting-
ground was chosen. This was a strip of green grass, just
above the level of the shingle, and by the bank of a deep
pool of the burn. The nest, such as it was, was scraped
out, and three eggs laid. At the approach of an intruder,
the hen bird used to slip quietly off her nest, creep under
the fence and cross the burn unobserved, but at times she
might be heard calling nervously from the shingle on the
far side of the stream. The nest was perilously near the
reach of the spring tides, and on one or two occasions
had narrow escapes. But one Sunday morning at the very
end of May there came a heavy rainstorm out of the south-
west. Mist hid the hills, and blinding squalls of rain swept
the glen. Soon the burn commenced to rise rapidly until
it was swirling seawards with swollen, turbid waters.

The moon was at the full at the time, so that the tides
were at their highest, and to-day, carried forward by the
south-westerly gale, the Atlantic waters filled the sea loch
far more rapidly than usual. So it came about that,
an hour before high tide, the nesting-ground of the "ptar-
migan of the waves " was inches deep in water, and on
the sea receding once more, the eggs were gone. Shortly
after high tide I visited the nesting-ground — too late, un-
fortunately, to save the eggs — and found the ringed plover
flying round her nesting-site with pathetic anxiety, seem-

135

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

ingly uncertain as to what evil fate had befallen her unborn
family.

But the birds were not long in recovering from the
sorrow at their loss, for within a fortnight a new nesting
site had been chosen and four eggs laid. This time the
nest was on some shingle about five hundred yards from
the burn, and just beside the ruins of a boathouse. Un-
fortunately for the birds, the neap tides were on when the
hen laid her eggs. During the neap tides high water is
several feet lower than during the spring tides, and this
the birds found out to their cost a little later on. From
the situation of the nest I could see that the eggs stood
a very good chance of being washed away by the first
high tide, so, together with a fellow bird-lover, kept the
nest under observation during the evening high tides. In
the Hebrides the evening high tide is noticeably higher
than the morning, so it was from the former that the
greater danger was to be expected.

As, day after day, the tides increased, we watched
anxiously the waters creep nearer and nearer to the simple
home of "the ptarmigan of the waves." One afternoon the
tide approached to within a few inches of the eggs, and
we made sure that, next night, the nest would be flooded
out. I was away from home that day, but my companion
reached the nesting-ground well before high water, and
when the sea commenced to trickle into the nest, removed
the eggs and laid them out of harm's way. The day was
fine and sunny, and during the hour that they were out
of the nest no harm befell the eggs, for the sun kept them
warm until the tide again receded, the nest was left
dry once more, and the eggs replaced. Both the ringed
plover stood quietly near the nest when it was flooded, but
curiously enough showed no signs of anxiety, and did not
even utter their alarm cry. When the eggs were replaced,
the hen returned to the nest as though nothing unusual
had happened.

136

The Ptarmigan of the Waves

Next morning at six o'clock 1 visited the nest, but the
morning's tide did not reach it. Tliat day we were obhged
to travel to the far end of the island, more than thirty miles
distant, and there was no one to watch over the nest. A
strong wind swept in the waters of the flood tide, and I
felt sure that the eggs must be carried away. It was just
at high water that 1 returned, and at once made my way
to the sea loch, with the faint hope that I might be in time
to save the eggs. But to my disappointment I found several
inches of water covering the nesting site, and to make
matters worse a strong wind was blowing off the land. Had
it not been for this I believe I could have saved the eggs,
as they would have been floating near, and their
immersion would, in all probability, have done them no
harm.

This time the birds seemed to realise their loss, calling
repeatedly and moving restlessly across the shingle near
where their home had been, and I felt sad for them, that
their second attempt at rearing a brood should have ended
in disaster.

More than those of almost any bird the eggs of the
ringed plover harmonise with their surroundings, and so it
is almost impossible to discover the nest by straightforward
searching. By far the simplest method is to sit or lie
quietly in the neighbourhood of where, by her behaviour,
a ringed plover has given one reason for thinking she has
a nest. And really this small wader, though apparently
timid, is, in reality, quite confiding. Provided that the
observer remains motionless, not many minutes elapse
before she begins to run, in short hurried rushes, towards
her nest. As she approaches her eggs she becomes more
wary, and halts more often, or, perhaps, runs on at a tan-
gent so as to mislead the enemy; but it is not long before,
if one is the possessor of a good glass, one has the satisfaction
of seeing her slip quietly on to her eggs, and settle down to
brood them.

«37

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

I have seen eggs of the ringed plover as late as the
first days of August, and July nests are quite of ordinary
occurrence, so that of all the plover tribe "the ptarmigan
of the waves " is the latest nester.

Even when first hatched, the young chicks can run
actively about, and they harmonise so closely with their
surroundings that, when they crouch at the alarm call of
their parents they are almost impossible to locate. It is
then that the old birds show signs of very great alarm and
often make believe that they are injured, trailing along just
ahead of the disturber of their peace, and perhaps waving
a wing helplessly in the air, or lying motionless, as though
dead, in their efforts to decoy him from the vicinity of the
young.

With the coming of autumn, "the ptarmigan of the
waves" leave their nesting ground and make their way to
the south, their places being taken by birds of their species
which have nested to the northward of these islands.

Often of a dark autumn's night, when the wind sighed
and moaned, and when the rush of the sea was borne to
the ear, I have heard the plaintive cry of "the ptarmigan of
the waves " from out of the pitchy darkness, and from the
hearing of it have been transported in the spirit to sunlit
islands where, beside a calm sea, I have so often watched
the birds engrossed in the cares of their nesting.

138

CHAPTER XXV

THE ROSS OF MULL

Away to the west of Ben More, and hidden from the main-
land by this and sister hills, a long and narrow strip of
bog and moorland stretches out into the Atlantic. Some
twelve miles in length, it is given over almost entirely to
sheep, with a few crofts scattered along the margin of Loch
Scridain, and to a lesser extent on its southern shores which
are open to the Atlantic.

To the lover of the wild in Nature the Ross must always
have a charm peculiar to itself, for its beauties are many,
and are apparent at every season of the year. Its southern
seaboard is exceptionally wild and grand. For miles the
cliffs rise sheer from the sea, reaching a height of well over
a thousand feet, and the coast is quite uninhabited except
for the wild goats which have their home there. Towards
the western extremity this coast becomes less precipitous,
and here there nestles the little crofting community of
Ulsgean, near to long white beaches of fine sand, the
most remote of them bearing the Gaelic name of "Traigh
Gheal." Bearing still west, the island of Erraid — immortal-
ised in Stevenson's "Kidnapped " — is reached, and the Sound
of lona, which acts as the western boundary of the Ross.

Away to the south of Erraid lie the Torran Rocks,
avoided by all mariners who have not a thorough knowledge
of the coast, and stretching far out to sea. Even on a fine
summer day the Atlantic swell breaks white on these rocks.
Some of them are only a few feet above high water mark ;
others show only at low water, and on a still day of winter,
when the surface of the sea is calm but when a heavy swell
rolls in from the south-west, the waves shoot in smoke-like

139

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

spray against these dark grim rocks, to fall in glistening
cascades all around.

On line summer evenings, when the sun sets late behind
the rocky island of Coll to the north-west, many herring-
drifters may be seen steering past the Ross as they make
for the Skerryvore banks. Rising and falling on the gentle
Atlantic heave, these drifters reach their fishing grounds
by sunset, and lie to their nets during the- short hours of
twilight, lifting them again before sunrise and making their
way to Oban, or to Mallaig, maybe, with their silvery catch.
In the still air the smoke of the fleet lies on the horizon in
the form of a dark cloud, extending for many miles on
either side of the busy community. When a stillness has
fallen over the waters many birds make their way to the
herring fleet; indeed a dead calm is in the Gaelic known
as "the Calm of Birds," from the fact that to the unruffled
part of the sea where herring or any other surface-swimming
fish are to be found, many birds wing their way, because there
is no wind to obscure their vision. Here the sulair or solan
dives with unerring precision ; here also there come the grace-
ful-flying shearwater, the guillemot and the wise razorbill,
while the consequential puffin usually accompanies them.

And when full summer is come to the Ross of Mull big
lythe— pollack as they are known in the south — arrive at
the rocky shores from the deep waters of the ocean, and of
an evening the fishermen from Carsaig and from Uisgean put
to sea in their small boats, and, rowing over the ground
where flourish the great seaweeds known as "Tangles,'' lure
many of these strong bronze-coloured fish by means of the
white fly, or the rubber eel. At such times no breath of
wind ruffles the sea and away in the north-west sky the
sun is dipping behind the horizon, and the rowers speak
rapidly and incessantly in the Gaelic as they recall old
anecdotes of these fishing-grounds.

I have noticed that the lythe seem to come in gradually
from the deep waters of the Atlantic. Thus around Tiree

140

The Ross of Mull

they are plentiful even before the end of June. Then slowly
making their way east, they appear along the Ross of Mull
in July, and it is not until the latter end of this month that
they penetrate to the land-locked waters of the Sound of
Mull from where the ocean is invisible, and on either side
tower great hills.

It is in June and July that the crofters look for the best
weather of the season. In July the bell heather is in full
bloom, so that its perfume carries far over the sun-baked
earth. During this month, too, there come the hosts of that
biting fly known as "the cleg," or in the Gaelic, "Creith
leag," which with stealthy flight alights upon man and beast
and sucks their blood. It is rare that these flies travel far
out to sea, though in days of great heat I have known them
accompany me throughout a two-mile row. In August the
cleg is less in evidence, which is accounted for by the quaint
belief that whereas in July he possesses both his eyes, in
August he loses one of them, and cannot so accurately see
his victims. Amongst the bogs there grows the St. John's
wort, known in the Gaelic as "Achlusan Challum-Cille," a
plant of magic power when found unexpectedly.

Throughout its southern coast line much wreckage is
washed ashore along the Ross of Mull. From the summit
of Beinn an Aonidh I have looked, of a July day, along its
shores, and as far as the eye could reach have seen the
drift wood piled up at high-water mark. The great cliffs
prevent this wreckage being removed by land, and no
houses are near enough to allow of boats being rowed hither.
These wild cliffs are the haunt of the raven, the buzzard
and the peregrine throughout the year. How different In
their flight are these three birds. The buzzard and raven
are strong, but leisurely fliers. They prefer to secure their
food by stealth rather than by dashing flight. The pere-
grine is full of vitality — of the joy of life and the poetry
of swift flight. From his perch on the topmost pinnacle
of the precipice, the peregrine, on guard over his nesting-

141

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

ground, sails into trie still air with harsh screams. Mount-
ing rapidly, he soon reaches the grey mist clouds that lie
a little above the hill-top, and his outline becomes faint
as he penetrates the vapours. Then swooping earthward
at terrific speed, and with wings tightly closed, he seems
as though he must plunge into the quiet waters of the
ocean many hundreds of feet beneath him, until opening
his clear-cut wings he shoots upwards without effort.

IMost anxious of fathers is the tiercel, and he continues
to utter his alarm cry till all chance of danger to his young
has passed. But almost before the young of the peregrine
have left the ^gg-> the young ravens have taken their first
flight, for is not the raven held to be the first of all nesting
birds? An old Gaelic saying has it: "Nead mu Bhrighid,
ugh mu Inid, Eun mu Chaisg, Mur bidh sin aig an fhitheach,
Bithidh am bas." Or, "Nest at Candlemas, ^gg at Shrove-
tide, bird at Easter; if the raven have not these he has worse
■ — that is, death."

Of all birds the raven was — and is perhaps still — held
by the Gael to possess the greatest knowledge. "Fios
ceann fithich " — ("the knowledge of the raven's head ") — is a
Gaelic proverb, yt\. these birds often choose for their nest-
ing-site an easily accessible rock, where the nest can be
harried or the young birds killed, while all around are great
cliffs where they would be safe from the interference of
irate keepers or shepherds.

There is something very attractive in watching on a
fine summer day a family of ravens sailing across the rock-
strewn moor in leisurely flight. Every now and again the
parent birds tumble in the air with that peculiar movement
so characteristic of them, and from time to time their deep
croak carries through the quiet air.

On the grassy islands which fringe the Ross near its
western end, red-breasted mergansers make their nests when
full summer is come and the grass is long on the islands.
Here the duck lays her large clutch of eggs, sometimes

142

The Ross of Mull

reaching a dozen or more, and leads forth her young brood
to the waters of the Atlantic in mid-July. Here also are many
of the gull tribe: the herring gull, of sinister aspect; the
lesser black-backed gull ; and on a few of the Torrans, the
great black-backed gull himself. Of all British gulls he is
the largest and most powerful on the wing. His cry is a
deep, far-carrying note, less strident and more musical than
those of his lesser relations, and he is always full of anxiety
when his nesting-grounds are visited.

On the southern shores of the Ross, the solan is not
often seen, but in summer time these birds of powerful
flight enter Loch Scridain in large numbers. No prettier
sight can be imagined than to see, of a sunny August day,
the solans busy at their fishing on the loch. The sun shines
on their snowy plumage, throwing them up with great
vividness against the dark blue waters. And then their head-
long descent, with wings not closed till the moment of enter-
ing the water, but pressed tightly back, and the plunge which
sends the white spray glistening in the sunlight, are things of
great beauty and charm.

On the shores of the Ross there are few days when the
sea is not restless. Even into Loch Scridain the Atlantic
swell penetrates, and near the head of the loch there stands
a rock — Carraigean by name — which acts as a sure index
of the state of the ocean beyond. At high water the rock
is submerged, but the least swell breaks white here, even
when on the shores of the loch no movement is visible. So
it is that the landsman crossing, maybe, from Bunessan to
the Island of Tiree and passing down the shores of Loch
Scridain on his wa}^ to the little port, is glad when he sees
that all is quiet round Carraigean, or else is filled with
anxiety to see the white swell breaking on this lonely rock.
And during the winter season with what power does the
Atlantic swell beat on these western rocks, even on days
when the air is calm and touched with frost. From the
high ground of the Ross I have seen the swell dashing in

143

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

spray on the wild shores of Colonsay— a good twenty miles
from me — so that all the air around the island was rendered
blurred and indistinct by reason of the salt mist that hung
about it. There are days of fierce north-easters, at the
season of spring tides, when the waters are driven westwards
with such force that at low tide great forests of seaweed
stand exposed, and wither in the numbing wind.

In olden days tlie strip of shore lying between the tide-
marks was often a refuge to the luckless man or woman
who had the ill fortune to have incurred the displeasure
of the fairies and to be pursued by these "silent persons."
For below high-water mark no fairy, nor indeed any evil
spirit, had the power to penetrate, and thus those who fled
before them made their way instinctively to the shore. Of
the fairies many beliefs held good. These little people,
while not actively hostile to man, nevertheless played him
many a sorry trick. Curiously enough, the fairies of the
Island of Mull were said to have only one nostril. Their
dress was usually green, but in Skye they wore clothes
dyed a crotal, or warm brown colour, the dye coming from
the lichen which covers the rocks on the bleak, wind-swept
hillsides. Sometimes they had blue bonnets on their heads.
It is said that on one occasion two men on lona were
returning of an evening from the fishing, when on their
way they passed the door of a fairy dwelling, or "brugh,"
and saw dancing going on within. One of the men, fas-
cinated by the music which came from the "sithein," joined
the dancers without even waiting to lay down the string
of fish he had in his hand. The other, more cautious, be-
fore he entered stuck a fish-hook in the door — for metal
was a charm against fairy spells — and so was able to leave
when he minded to do so. His unfortunate companion,
however, was forced to remain, and was found twelve
months later — for not until the end of this period was it
possible to release him from the fairy spell — still dancing.
When taken outside by his former companion his fish,

H4

The Ross of Mull

which had till then magically retained their freshness, fell
rotten from the string that held them.

This and many other such legends were wont, in the
generation that is now rapidly dying out, to be narrated of
a winter night around the peat fires of the Ross of Mull
while the salt-laden wind howled without, and while within
the peat smoke eddied through the room, and the embers
glowed in the open fireplace. At such times so worked upon
was the imagination of those who listened that they could
almost persuade themselves they heard through the storm
the wailing of the "ban-sith " or fairy woman, or listened
to the thunder of the approach of that other dreaded super-
natural being, the "each uisge " or water horse, in his eager
search for a victim to ride with to a watery grave.

MS

CHAPTER XXVI

THE HILL BUZZARD

To the eagle, one may say, the buzzard is first cousin.
Indeed, from the King of Birds it is not, at first glance, easy
to distinguish him, especially at a distance. He has the
same flight — though this is not so powerful — as the eagle, and
he soars tirelessly, as the latter bird, in the quiet summer air.
But against a winter's storm, or in any rough weather, he is
unable to rush forward with the strength of the eagle, for he
lacks the great power of this bird, and one does not often see
him abroad during wild weather.

The distribution of the buzzard is different from that of
the eagle. In the central Scottish Highlands, where amongst
the highest hills the eagle rears his young, the buzzard is
entirely absent. But on the Atlantic seaboard, where the
coast is wild and rugged, although the hills are not generally
so high as farther inland, the buzzard almost entirely takes
the place of the golden eagle now that the erne or sea eagle
has been banished from the last of his western strongholds.
There is a certain Hebridean island where, along its
western seaboard, the buzzard may be seen any day, for here
these stately birds are really plentiful, and are but little
persecuted, for there is no game-preserving in these wild
parts.

It is early in the springtide that the buzzards may be seen
at their courtship. One day early in March I passed through
a deep glen where several pairs of these birds make their
nests. After a night of frost the air was of a wonderful clear-
ness. On the north-lying faces of the lesser hills great
icicles showed where the burns had been caught in the grip
of the frost. On the higher hills the snow was dazzling

1-^6

The Hill Buzzard

bright in the sunshine, and to the westward" of all lay the
Atlantic and her many islands calm and serene. The glen
this day re-echoed with the mewing cries of several pairs
of buzzards. Sailing through the blue cloud-flecked sky
they wheeled and circled, at times swooping earthwards and
alighting, on some boulder near the swiftly flowing burn,
where their tawny plumage could distinctly be seen as the
birds stood in the clear sunshine. It was late in April when
a pair of these birds chose as their nesting-site a ledge of
rock in a narrow ravine. The rocks here were of no great
height, and it was possible to walk right into the nest. Here
the first week of May I found three speckled eggs, their
number and smaller size alone distinguishing them from those
of the eagle. The buzzard did not leave her nest until 1 had
almost reached the nesting-ground, when she flapped off,
moving her blunt wings vigorously until she had reached
an altitude sufficient for her to soar in spirals over the hill-
side, often uttering her mewing cry, " pee-u, pee-u," the while.
Unlike the eagle, she had made little attempt at building a
nest, contenting herself with gathering a few twigs of dead
heather and tufts of grass. All along the ledge anemones
were in blossom, and were actually flowering in the nest
itself and close beside where the eggs were lying. I paid
several visits to the nest during May and June. The young
were hatched out safely and grew apace, though I never found
any food at the nest. By the end of June they were well
feathered, and took their first flight during the early part of
July.

The buzzard is sometimes a late nester, and this points
to the fact that, should the first clu"tch of eggs be destroyed,
the birds will lay a second time — a thing which I have never
known the eagle do. On one occasion I was shown a
buzzard's nest as late as July 3, which contained one solitary
chick not more than twelve days old. The nest in this case
was situated on a small island where the birds had never
before been known to nest, and was built within a few yards

147

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

of the Atlantic on a small cliff. The bell heather was bursting
into bloom as I crossed the moor, and many orchids grew on
the boggy ground. The midsummer sun shone hot and
clear, and the broad Atlantic lay unruffled in the sunlight,
but with a long, oily swell breaking against the rocks.
Twites with their full-grown young rose from the heather,
and wheatears called excitedly from the stony ground, where
their broods had concealed themselves. From the crest of
a small hill sloping down to the sea one could look down
upon the nest and see the buzzard standing, on guard over
her young, with the strong sunlight striking upon her. Nor
did she make any attempt to rise until I had approached
nearer, when she flew off mewing and was soon joined
by her mate. And this is a well-marked difference between
the buzzard and the eagle, namely, that the buzzard almost
always cries when she is disturbed from her nest, whereas
the eagle leaves her eyrie in silence. Both birds have the
same heavy, almost clumsy, flight when leaving their nests,
becoming graceful only when they have reached a con-
siderable height, when they can display their fine soaring
powers.

Like those of the eagle, the buzzard's young are, when
first hatched, clad in down of a greyish white. They are
not quite so long in arriving at maturity as the eaglets,
but in all respects closely resemble the latter.

After the nesting season is over and the young are able
to fly, the family of buzzards, accompanied by their parents,
range far over the hills and rough moorland country. Still,
sunny days they love, days when the air is warm and clear,
and when they can soar quietly above the hillsides, all
the time uttering their querulous cry. To the attacks of
other birds they pay no heed, nor do they ever attempt
to escape from their assailants.

148

NEST OF THE BUZZARD.
Anemones in Flower in the Nest.

YOUNG BUZZARDS,
Nearly Full Grown.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE LOCHAN OF THE WHITE-FRONTED GEESE

In the wilds of western Ross-shire is a hill lochan where, with
the coming of each winter, certain white-fronted geese make
their home. The lochan indeed is no more to them than a
winter haunt ; at the approach of April they become filled with
a strange restlessness, and before that month is past they
have set out on their powerful wings for their far-off nesting-
grounds within the Arctic circle.

This lochan lies on a rough moorland plateau, with deep
peat hags to catch the unwary stranger who may attempt
a straight course. Across the plateau there stand the relics
of ancient forests of Scots fir. Stumps broken off" close above
the ground and great roots, blackened by the peat, are all
that remain of these vast woods, where wolves once had
their home and where great stags roamed restlessly in bygone
days. But now the climate has changed, and no trees could
stand the fierce gales that sweep the plateau in the season
of winter.

It was on an afternoon of mid-December that I first
saw the Lochan of the White-fronted Geese. In these
northern latitudes dusk falls quickly, and the light was
already waning as I made my way across the plateau.
Beneath me lay the waters of Loch Ewe, ruffled by the breeze,
while northward was that part of the ocean known as the
Minch, and beyond it again the hills of Harris and the
Lewes; their conical summits draped in snow. No sound
disturbed the silence of the plateau; no life was visible save
where, on the leeward side of a knoll, I disturbed a company
of golden plover — or "Feadagan," as they are known in the
Gaelic — in their sombre winter dress. As far as the eye

149

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

could reach no tree nor even bush was to be seen ; even the
heather was stunted and weather-beaten from many struggles
with the forces of the winter gales. But desolate as it was,
the scene held that grandeur and beauty which only the
country of the hills can give, and so my walk was not a
lonely one as I made my way to the lochan.

All wild geese in their habits are most wary of birds,
and among their tribe the white-fronted species are no
exception to this rule, so that a near view of them is by
no means easy. As it happens, however, to this lochan
there is one approach, from behind a slight knoll, which, if
followed with sufficient care, will lead the naturalist to within
a hundred yards of the loch, keeping him all the while
entirely hidden from the geese. Having arrived at the top
of the knoll, he may, by lying flat on the heather and using
the shelter of certain boulders, bring his glass into use and
study the birds at leisure, often, though not always, without
arousing their suspicions.

On the day of which I write, as I peered cautiously round
a large stone, I had the pleasure of seeing a number of the
geese standing asleep on a rock which rose from the water
near the centre of the lochan. After a time they one by
one awakened, dropped into the water, and, having roused
themselves from their nap, commenced to feed on some
aquatic weed growing in the shallow water. After a while,
however, seeming to tire of this, they left the loch, and,
walking in single file along the bank, plucked at the brown
grasses fringing the shore. All the time one of their number
stood motionless on guard, a strikingly alert figure with his
white forehead clearly visible against his sombre plumage
and the dark background behind him.

At length, as the dusk was deepening, the geese rose in
a body from the lochan, and wath hoarse cries made their
way into the sunset, doubtless setting their course for some
other feeding-ground well known to them.

Soon after this day the weather changed, and, with the

ISO

The Loclian of the White-fronted Geese

dropping of the wind, the country was quickly in the grip of
the frost. But even though no clouds covered the south-
eastern sky, it was after nine o'clock this late December
morning that the sun rose from behind the snowy top of
Ben Airidh Char, and shone clear on the heather of the
moorland plateau. Away to the north there lay a mass of
billowy clouds, as though heralding squalls of snow from
off the cold waters of the Minch. In the sunrise the pale
grey of these great clouds became transformed to a faint
rosy hue, changing to a deep red colour as the rising sun
increased in strength. I have many times, in fine weather,
seen this wall of clouds, and they seem to be over Stornoway
and the hills behind it — that would be a full forty miles from
the "Lochan of the Geese."

No wind disturbed the surface of Loch Ewe this day.
On its quiet waters lay a fleet of many herring boats. The
previous day at sunset they had set their nets, and were now
lifting them, for no herring is foolish enough to be caught
in the light of full day. Fishing craft of every description
lay there. One saw steam drifters from the East Coast, and
with them motor boats, large and sturdy enough, though
possessed of little speed. Then there w^ere the small sailing
craft belonging to the Highland crofters, and even rowing
boats were pressed into the service, for the fishing was good
that year, and much money was coming the way of the croft-
ing community through the fishing. Lying at anchor near
the pier w-ere the small carrying steamers which were to bear
the catches to the port of Lochalsh, a full sixty miles distant,
whence they might be sent by rail to the markets of the south.
Above the loch the smoke of all these craft lay in a thin blue
mist, through which could be seen the long Isle of Ewe, and,
away at the entrance to the open sea, where the long swell
broke lazily, the dark rocks of Rudha a' Choinn.

The bogs were frozen hard this morning, so that one could
set a straight course for the Lochan of the White-fronted
Geese, and soon from the shelter of a rock I spied it wath the

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

glass. But to-day no geese peopled the lochan; they had
been driven forth by the frost which held the waters fast in its
grip. Indeed, on the ice one could see their tracks, and they
had perhaps kept open a narrow channel as long as possible
by continually swimming backwards and forwards.

But with the coming of a south wind a few days later
the frost left the plateau, and though on the lochan the ice
was by now many inches thick, it was soon melted sufficiently
for the geese to return and feed as of old on the succulent
weeds.

During the early spring they were still there; but one
morning of April, when the breath of spring pervaded the
lochan and when the waters of the Minch sparkled blue in
the sunlight, the company of white-fronted geese rose with
strong cries from the loch, and, rising high into the still
air, set their course for the north. Gathering themselves
into V-shaped formation, they moved rapidly forward on
powerful wings. Past Rudha Stoer, past Cape Wrath, their
way led them, and then, crossing far above the Orkneys,
they were perhaps over Iceland before the sunset. Here, I
think, they halted awhile, for the Arctic was still in the grip
of the ice, but immediately their instinct told them that the
ice and snow had broken up they pressed forward, for they
were making for their nesting-grounds in the high North,
where, in Spitzbergen, maybe, or in the Russian tundras,
they would rear their young in a land of continual daylight,
and would think no more of the Ross-shire lochan till the
early storms of autumn warned them that the season of the
southward journey was at hand.

152

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE NESTING OF THE RED-NECKED PHALAROPE

On certain of the Western Isles the red-necked phalarope
has its summer home. It is one of the last of the birds ol
passage to make its appearance, and sprmg has given place
to summer ere it arrives. During these days of June, days
when the afterglow shows red in the north-east throughout
the night — for is not the sun above the horizon till well after
ten ? — these islands of the western ocean hold much charm.
The sea is blue; the hills of the mainland show faintly in
the haze, or, maybe, after a day of heat and thunder, when
the air is still and clear, they can be seen, sharp and distinct,
with black thunder-clouds enveloping their summits, while
on the islands the sun still shines, hot and clear. This island
of the phalarope, where I first learned to know it, lies well
out into the Atlantic.

The island holds in its keeping many lochans. Of these
but two are large enough to have the name loch given to
them, and it is on the shores of the greater of these two
lochs that the phalarope has its home. Westwards the
xA-tlantic is scarcely a thousand yards distant, and when one
is near the loch, even in fine steady weather, the swell breaks
loud on this shore.

The coming of the phalaropes to their island has never,
so far as I know, been marked, but the birds without doubt,
make their way northward over the Atlantic, and perhaps
halting a while, by the wild sea-girt rocks of Skerryvore
and Dubh Hirteach, whence they proceed to their far-distant
goal beyond the western horizon.

I shall long remember one cloudless day of June, when I
saw for the first time the phalaropes on their native loch. I

153

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

think the thing whicli struck me most forcibly at the time
was the absence of fear which the birds displayed. As they
swam gracefully and easily near the bank, they would allow
the human intruder to approach within a very few yards
without betraying the least concern, and even then rarely
took wing, but swam rather indignantly a little distance
away, and then apparently forgot the disturber's presence.

The phalarope is readily identified, even with little
experience of its tribe. In size it approaches the dunlin, but
is more graceful than the latter bird, and its flight is more
wild and swerving. It is, too, distinct from the dunlin, in
that it swims habitually, whereas I have never seen a dunlin
do so. When on the water the red-necked phalarope rides
with extreme buoyancy, and progresses rapidly. Its neck
is long and is held erect, and when it approaches the observer
the russet-red markings on the cheeks and neck are
strikingly handsome. Its call, too, is quite distinctive, a
high chirruping cry, resembling no other call that I know of.

Although the phalarope is confiding, the discovery of
the nest is by no means easy. I remember how a friend and
I spent many weary hours tramping a swamp — with mud
reaching to the knee — where we had reason to suppose
phalaropes were nesting. But no signs of the birds were
forthcoming, and we had almost given up the search when
I came upon a pool of water on which a phalarope was
swimming buoyantly and gracefully, seemingly without a
care in the world. So near an approach did it allow that I
managed to get a number of photographs of it at close
quarters. It fed almost at my feet, picking off insects with
lightning-like rapidity and unerring skill from the leaves
of the water vegetation, and occasionally fluttering after
a fly or gnat. I certainly did not suspect that it had eggs
near, and it was unlooked-for and surprising when it
rose quickly and decidedly from the water, winged its way
swiftly to a tussock of grass, and, creeping in, settled down
on to its nest. Hoping to be able to photograph it while it

154

The Nesting of the Red-7iecked P halarope

brooded, I pressed down some of the grasses, and moved
back a few yards. The bird returned to its eggs almost at
once, and I could see it endeavouring to conceal itself more
effectively, plucking at the grasses with its bill and weaving
itself fresh shelter.

Unfortunately for my attempts at photographing it on
the nest, I was unable to revisit the spot till the first days of
July, and found the young birds hatched, though they were
not many hours old. Arriving at the nest, I discovered it to
be empty, but the parent birds were moving anxiously
around — in marked contrast to their behaviour when they
had eggs — and so I waited quietly to see whether the baby
family would show themselves. After a while one small
downy person emerged from the thick vegetation, shortly
afterwards followed by another. Hoping to induce the
parent bird to give me a chance of photographing it brood-
ing its young at close quarters, I remained on, and was
successful, but in the meanwhile the sun sank, the wind
became chill and blew strongly from the west, and I found
that one of the small birds was suffering severely from the
cold. A crofter's home stood not far distant, so carrying
the patient in my pocket, I sought entry there, and held the
baby phalarope over the fire. Gradually, from being limp
and stiff, life returned to it, and at length I had no small
difficulty in holding it, so active were its struggles. At this
stage I returned it to its parents, and having done so, moved
ofif from the nesting-site as quickly as possible.

The following year I again visited the phalarope's pool,
this time on July 2. The day was fine, clear and sunny. The
birds were there as before, one confiding and undisturbed,
the other wild and anxious, and flying over the lochan
intermittently, uttering excited chirping cries which the mate
answered. I gathered that the excited individual was the
hen.

After watching what I imagined to be the cock for a while,
he disappeared stealthily into a tuft of weeds, and I made

155

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

certain it was here that the nest was situated, the more so
as after the hen, flying over, had called him out, he returned
again in a few seconds. However, a most careful search
revealed nothing, and a little later on I found what I took to
be the nest. The eggs were broken, and must have come to
some mischance.

The next day I made my way again to the big loch, and
after a long walk came to its shores, and found the charming
and varied colony of bird life which it harbours throughout
the year. A dunlin still brooded her four eggs, and a colony
of terns had each a single ^g^ in their nests; they had
probably, lost their first and even second clutches, and this
was their last effort before the close of the summer. Near
the seaward end of the loch I noticed a phalarope betraying
great excitement, flying backward and forward in the
vicinity of a small pool, and chirruping loudly. I surmised
a nest, or perhaps young birds, must be in the neighbour-
hood, and by good fortune came upon the nest almost at
once. It was situated a few inches from the water's edge,
and was not concealed so cleverly as the one I had seen the
previous year. In it there were four delightful eggs, so
characteristic of the phalarope. Very small they were, and
compared with those of the snipe, or even dunlin, they were
decidedly less pear-shaped, and also, I think, relatively
thicker. They were very closely marked with dark brown
blotches, which almost hid the ground colour.

Having located the nest I wished to see whether the
brooding bird would return to the eggs while I remained
in the vicinity, so took up my position not far away, and
waited quietly. For some time the phalarope continued its
anxious flights, but at length settled on the pool, where it
was joined by its mate. Swimming close together and
betraying great confidence, they yet lacked the boldness to
return to the eggs as long as I remained near them, so I
resumed my wanderings, and left them in peace. I was
more than sorrv, on returning to the loch some weeks later.

The Nesting of tJie Red-necked Phalarope

to discover that disaster had overtaken the domestic Hfe of
the phalaropes. Near the loch the grazing is good, and
cattle are constantly feeding there. The beasts usually avoid
nests and young birds with noteworthy care, but in this case
the eggs had been smashed by a heavy foot, and the parent
birds had left the neighbourhood, to return again when the
June sun once more shines on their loch.

157

CHAPTER XXIX

THE LAND OF TIREE

Some seventy miles north of the Irish coast, and about nine
miles to the north-east of Skerryvore, there lies a green
and fertile island, Tiree by name.

As to the origin of the island's name much uncertainty
exists. The most widely held opinion is that it signifies
*'Tir-i," or "the Land of lona," as in olden times the monks
were said to get most of their grain from here, and across
in the Ross of Mull is a district known as "Pot-i," or "the
Larder of lona," where the monks were wont to obtain their
meat.

Another suggested meaning is "Tir-an-eorna," or "the
Land of Barley," and a derivation which has of late held
favour is "Tir Eadh," or "the Level Land."

Unlike most of the Hebrides, this island is composed
mainly of great stretches of level green pasture land lying
only a few feet above the height of a spring tide; and,
except along its south-west shores, there is none of that
characteristic rugged and bleak appearance which is so
typical of these western isles.

There is an old saying that "only for paying two rents,
Tiree would yield two crops in the season," referring to
the extreme rapidity of growth which all cereal crops make
on this favoured island, where barley put into the ground
in the last days of May is ready for reaping by August,
and where the vegetables of the gardens spring up as if by
magic. Indeed, so fertile has the island always been, that
it bears for its arms a sheaf of corn.

On Tiree the conditions, to my mind, in many ways
closely resemble those obtaining on the great plateaux of

158

The Land of Tiree

the Cairngorm Hills. In fine weather these conditions are
indeed magnificent, for the sun shines with intense power,
and his rays are reflected from the sea with additional
brilliance. But of shelter there is none, so that even in
midsummer one may vainly seek some protection against
the north wind which sweeps down from the Minch, with
winter, even at this season, in its breath. And the potato
haulms may, even in June, be flattened and rendered black
by the gale.

Tiree is famous for its sands. These extend for miles
at a stretch, and are of a remarkably white colour, for
they are composed entirely of the remnants of shells. When
the sun shines on them, their dazzling whiteness is
such as to tire the eye, and the dark form of the skua,
as he stands in wait for the tern and its catch near the
water's edge, seems even darker by contrast. Of all the
sands the longest is Traigh Mhor, which extends in a great
crescent to a distance of several miles. Here in summer
terns glide and wheel, and in winter many shore birds
find feeding at the edge of the tide. One sees turnstones,
dunlin, sanderling, purple sandpipers, and godwits on this
wide shore, while a little way out to sea solans hunt, and
long-tailed ducks ride buoyantly. Farther west lies Traigh
Bhagh, where terns have their eggs and where the small
burn from a chain of lochans enters the sea at its eastern
end. Here at times grilse and sea trout attempt to run in
from the sea, but there is rarely sufficient water to cover
them, so they pass on to the streams of Mull, maybe, or
to the far-distant Irish coast. At the south end of the
island are the beautiful sands known as "Traigh Bheidhe,"
from where the dark rock of Skerry vore can be seen, and
the tall lighthouse of flashing granite that rises there.

At the extreme south-western end of the island stands
the hill known in the Gaelic as "Ceann a' Bharra." Con-
cerning the meaning of this name some uncertainty exists.
It may have to do with the fact that from here is a fine view

159

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

of the distant island of Barra, or perhaps it is a corruption
of an earher Gaelic name given to the hill. But the name,
as written at present, is held to be meaningless by a prominent
Gaelic scholar. Here the coast is wild and rocky, and
the headline precipitous and abounding in caves where
rock doves have their nests, and where much driftwood is
cast by the tide. After the wind has blown strong from
the south-west, the great Atlantic swell thunders on these
rocks. Slowly and with a great stateliness the long waves,
clear and blue in the sunshine, roll forwards towards the
half submerged rocks. They do not break fussily and
abruptly as the wavelets of the North Sea or Irish Channel,
do these Atlantic giants. Gradually curling over, they crash
on the black rocks with tremendous power, throwing the
spray high in the air to fall to leeward in a slow cascade
of shining whiteness. And when the sun is sinking on
the western horizon behind grey storm clouds, and when
the ocean wind blows freshly, then it is that on the breeze
may be carried the pungent smell of the burning seaweed,
coming from Saundaig, maybe, or from Green, and around
all the outlying rocks there lies a thin grey mist, arising
from the breaking of the great waves, which, despite the
wind, seems to hang motionless above the surf.

Many sea birds have their home on Ceann a' Bharra.
Here the gentle but somewhat foolish guillemot broods her
one ^gg during the long days of June, choosing as a site
for her hostage to fortune a ledge so insecure and slippery
that disasters are frequent. Here too the wise razorbill,
though in small numbers, finds for her ^gg a more safe
resting-place, usually a cranny hidden away amongst the
rocks. Green cormorants are here, too, and from time to
time the peregrine and the raven nest in the cliffs, and the
grey crow builds her home of the stems of the giant seaweed.

Tradition has it that long ago a party of witches were
passing Ceann a' Bharra, on their way to Ireland, sailing,
as was their wont, in egg-shells. A native of the island,

i6o

A West Highland Crofter's Dwelling

AND

lis Inmates.

A TIREE WOMAN SPINNING.

The Land of Tiree

seeing that his own wife was of the party, and therefore
a witch, and knowing that they were in the spell of the
evil one, wished them Godspeed on their journey. Instantly
the egg-shells were sunk and the man's witch wife drowned.

Fairies were not so long ago held to have their dwell-
ings beneath the grassy slopes of Ceann a' Bharra. These
"silent people" were said to come always from the west,
for they could pass with equal ease over the ocean as on
the land. When travelling they moved in little eddies of
wind. When wind and rain came from opposite directions
— that is on a sudden change of wind after a shower — it
was possible to bring down the fairies in a body by throwing
a piece of horse-dung against the breeze.

It is, perhaps, on a clear day of sunshine early in May
that Ceann a' Bharra is at its best. By now the grass is
springing up fresh and green, and wild hyacinths are
tingeing the southern slopes of the hill with blue, while
many primroses blossom in the sun-bathed and sheltered
crannies, and throw out their scent far across the hill. Away
to the east the high corries of Ben More Mull, still deep
in snow, throw back the sun's rays, while in the Passage
of Tiree trawlers are busy fishing, their mizzens set to
steady them in the gende swell. Far beyond Skerryvore
and Dubh Hirteach does the view extend, as far indeed as
the track of the big ships, as they make for the Irish coast.

Nestling between Ben Hynish and Ceann a' Bharra is
the little crofting township of Ballephuill. Here many
of the older generation "have no English," as they quaintly
put it, but will greet you in the Gaelic and offer you the
hospitality of the Highlander. On the small crofts the
land is green and fertile, and then besides the harvest of
the land there is the harvest of the sea to keep starvation
from the people.

The bracken, or " raineach," as it is known in the Gaelic,
is so plentiful and widespread throughout the western coast
that it is curious to find it almost entirely absent on Tiree.
L i6i

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

Only in one spot have I seen it, namely on the slopes of
Beinn Hough, a round grassy hill standing on the north-
western shores of the island. Still, its absence is no mis-
fortune, for once this quickly spreading fern gains a foot-
ing on the land it is extremely difficult to eradicate, and it
is not to its credit that it thrives best where the soil is
richest.

It is beyond Beinn Hough that there lies the wildest
part of Tiree, Craignish Point by name. Here the land runs
out, in a narrow peninsula, into the sea, and for miles to
the westward there stretches wild broken water, with jagged
reefs of rocks where the grey seals rest and round which
there swim great copper-coloured lythe of an August even-
ing. A rock-girt coast this, and avoided by mariners except
when, in fog or darkness, or helpless in a great storm, their
craft approach these great rocks and perhaps meet their
end here.

Born and bred by the sea, some of the finest seamen of
the west come from Tiree. In their small boats the men put
to sea at any time throughout the year when the weather
is at all favourable. In summer they are perhaps after
saithe, or " piocaich," as they term them in the Gaelic,
or they may perhaps be trolling for lythe, for kippering
for the winter months. Then there is the lobster fishing,
which takes up much of their time from early summer up
to December and even to the New Year, should the weather
be fair. In winter and early spring there are long
lines to be set for cod and ling, and there is also the herring
fishing, which of late has brought much money to the
island.

Since there is now no peat on Tiree, the natives up to
recent years were wont to sail their small skiffs across to
the Ross of Mull, over twenty miles to the south-east of the
island, where there is an abundance of moss and peat bogs.
But more than one accident occurred on the passage across,
and more than one boat was lost, so that the custom has been

162

The Land of Tiree

discontinued and coal and thill wood have taken the place of
peat.

Lying as it does, well out into the Atlantic, Tiree is visited
by many birds during the time of their migration. In
the early days of May, whimbrel and white wagtails halt
awhile here on their journey north, and many flocks of
golden plover, resplendent in their nesting plumage, feed
on the grass fields before moving on to the Arctic with
swift and powerful flight. Hence the Gaelic proverb,
"Cho luath ris na Feadagan," "As swift as the whistling
plovers." One season a pair of cuckoos took up their abode
on the island for more than a month, so it is probable that
the hen bird laid her eggs in some of the many nests of
the meadow pipits which breed here. Amongst the chil-
dren of the island the cuckoos were a source of not a little
excitement. The birds were to them quite unknown, and
their call was universally a matter for talk.

Amongst the Gaels the cuckoo is spoken of as "Eun
sith," or "the fairy bird," and this name has been given
to it from the fact that it was said to have its home under-
ground, like the fairies. To this underground retreat it
retired on Midsummer's Day — surely rather an early time
this for one's winter sleep I — and so was ranked with the
wheatear and the stonechat as one of the Seven Sleepers.

In autumn many wild swans visit the island, coming,
perhaps, on the arms of a gale from the nor'west, when
even the solans have difficulty in facing the squalls, and
rise and dip aslant the gale with wings pressed back and
stern and grim appearance. The wild swans have great
power of flight, and it is a fine sight to see them forging
their way, in a line, against the storm, each bird seemingly
unaffected by the gale, save that its progress is slower.
The first of all the winter migrants to take their departure,
the wild swans leave the island during the very earliest
days of spring, when, away to the northward, the Coolin
Hills of Skye still stand out clothed in a mantle of unrelieved

163

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

white, and when even the lesser heights of Mull and
Ardnamurchan are snowclad.

Later in the season, when full spring is come, the air
is at times of a wonderful clearness, and hills at a very-
great distance are visible. From Tiree to Ben Nevis is
a distance of just over sixty miles, yet I have frequently
seen this, the highest of Scottish hills, of an early May
day, when the mountain was still of an unspotted white
and so contrasted vividly with the deep blue of the sky.
At such times, through the glass, every rock of the Coolins
is distinct, and the hills about Knoydart seem to lose
a little of their sternness as the strong sunlight floods
them.

I think there can be no island more open to the winds
than Tiree. When over in Mull the day has been calm,
I have often found a fresh breeze blowing here, and in
winter across the island there sweep a succession of gales
from the south and south-west, that continue for days with-
out a moment's intermission, so that even the sanded ing
and dunlin are driven from the sands and the curlew are
no longer heard.

Tiree has no safe harbour or anchorage, so that the
mail boat is often unable to call, and the island sees its
mails and bread being carried off once more to Tobermory
or perhaps to Bunessan.

Amongst the older generation of the island it was always
held that the wind the old year left behind it would be
the prevalent wind for the ensuing year. Thus on Hog-
manay, many anxious glances were cast at the sky, and
pleasure was expressed if it were seen that the wind was
from the south, for the Gaelic saying has it :

" Gaoth deas, teas is toradh
Gaoth tuath, fuach is gaillionn
Gaoth 'n iar, iasg is bainne
Gaoth 'n ear, meas air chrannaibh."
164

The Land of Tiree

Which means :

" South wind, heat and produce;
North wind, cold and tempest;
West wind, fish and milk;
East wind, fruit on trees."

When on Tiree I have often tested the Gaelic saying
that "When the wind is lost, you may look for it again
in the south" — " 'N uair a bhios a ghaoth air chall iarr a deas
i," and have found it almost always correct. Often after
a fierce storm from the north the winter's dawn breaks
without a breath of wind. The surface of the sea is like
glass, yet the sky shows a dull leaden look which portends
nothing good in it. Towards midday, or maybe earlier, a
puff of air comes away from the south. Within half an hour
a fresh breeze is blowing, and before the afternoon is old
a whole gale of southerly wind is sweeping up from Islay
and the north Irish coast, sending in seas which thunder
on the white sands, and causing the herring drifters to seek
what shelter they can find. For this reason it is held that the
first day of the south wind, and the third day of the north
wind, is the best time for crossing the dangerous and tide-
swept Sound of Gunna which divides Tiree from the neigh-
bouring island of Coll. But to cross safely one must reach the
ferry early even on the first day of the south wind, and I have
before now had a wild crossing through arriving at the ferry
too late in the day. The tide flows so swiftly here that the
wind raises a heavy sea almost at once, and although the
ferryman knows every rock and tide rip intimately, it is
impossible for a small boat to cross in a storm. But in the
summer months the south wind can blow softly and steadily,
though at times it may bring with it rains and mist from
the sea. Indeed, to the Gael the south wind is sometimes
spoken of as "the Gateway of Soft Weather," a poetical
expression which has in it a great truth.

No channel that I know of is so frequented by the solan

165

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

as the Sound of Gunna. The birds are here throughout
the year, with the exception of a short season in the dead
of winter, and I suspect that from here they make their way
with their catches of herring and mackerel to their great nest-
ing-ground on Borreray, one of the St. Kilda islands, and
lying just under one hundred miles to the north-west of
Gunna Sound. A long flight this, but nothing exceptional
for a bird of so powerful a build as the solan.

In the season of full summer there is little darkness in
the Land of Tiree. I have crossed at midnight that great
stretch of level land extending across the island from east
to west near its centre, and in the dusk have heard the
trilling cries of many curlew as they swept in from the sea.
From the swampy ground at such times come the curious
and pleasant cry of the dunlin and the harsh notes of the
corncrake. And before two o'clock (G.M.T.) the song
thrushes have been singing their loudest, perched perhaps on
the top of some wall, or on some storm-scarred gorse bush,
for on Tiree are no trees of any kind. And then the air would
be sweet with the music of countless larks, for I think that
here, this sweet songster is more plentiful than in any other
district that I know% although their numbers are thinned by
the fierce peregrine, and their full-grown young have been
borne off in my view by herring and black-backed gulls.
Then on the "reef " the tribe of the green plover are to be
found in their thousands, from early spring to midsummer,
and with their peevish cries there mingle the soft melodious
notes of the unobtrusive ringed plover, which also have
their home here.

And when the strengthening sun has dispelled the early
morning mist, how fine a view is to be had away to the^ east,
where the hills of Mull stand in serried ranks ! King of
them all, Ben More attracts to himself many clouds so that
as often as not his summit is invisible even in fine summer
weather.

Then, bearing north, Beinn Fada, or the Long Hill,

i66

The Land of Tiree

partly hides the rounded shape of Beinn Talaidh, famous
for the line grazing on its slopes. Overlooking the Sound
of Mull is Dun da Ghaoithe, only partially seen, and towards
the southern end of Mull, Beinn Buie shows its rock-scarred
summit.

There is the home of the spectre of the Macleans, Eog-
hainn a' chinn bheag, or "Ewen of the Little Head" — a
headless phantom mounted on a black steed, who is heard
riding furiously outside the home of any of the clan before an
approaching death. The ocean is no barrier to this spectre
steed, and the sparks have been seen rising from his feet as
he dashes across the rocky shores of Mull on his way to Tiree.

It is said that during very clear weather the northern
coast of Ireland can be made out from the summit of Ceann
a' Bharra. I have never had the good fortune to see it, but
the distance from this point to Malin Head is not more than
sixty-five miles, so I imagine that the higher hills of that
district should be visible at times.

Since no trees can grow on the wind-swept island of
Tiree, wood is dear and difficult to obtain, so that most of
the crofters' dwellings are constructed of driftwood, carried,
maybe, thousands of miles on the Atlantic tides. To with-
stand the great gales of winter these houses have strong
walls of exceptional thickness, with small windows set in
far back. The old earthen floors have been replaced by
coverings of wood and stone, and one can now very rarely
obtain a " cruisgean " or old-fashioned lamp burning fish oil.

One by one the old beliefs die out — the fairies are now
no more than a name; the water-horse no more inspires a
superstitious dread; the half human, half fairy being known
as the "Glastig " is no more seen abroad of dark and stormy
nights. Yet the natives of this wild island retain all their
charm, and in them the true Highland hospitality and
simplicity is still strong, for their lives are lived close to
the very heart of Nature and they have as their companions
all the four winds and the restful spirit of the everchanging
ocean. 167

CHAPTER XXX

WINTER BIRDS ON THE SHORES OF THE MINCH

With the coming of autumn there reach the wild
shores of the Minch many wading birds fresh from their
nesting-homes in the far north. Some of these birds remain
on right through the winter, others again, after a brief
halt, move southward, making perhaps for grassy Islay,
or for the coast of Ireland, where feeding in abundance
awaits them. Many storms sweep the Minch in the season
of winter. From Stornoway across to Loch Ewe is not more
than forty miles, and the islands of the Outer Hebrides shelter
this arm of the Atlantic from the heavy swell from the south-
west. But northward no land lies, and on clear winter
days when the frost holds the land, and when the air'
is keen and still, there breaks on the shores a heavy
surf, coming from the north, so that its deep boom may
penetrate far into the country of the wild hills and moor-
lands.

Along the Minch, and alternating with the rocky head-
lands, there lie many beaches of fine yellow sand. Far
different in colour are they from the sands of Tiree, where
shores of whiteness rivalling almost the snow in their purity
throw back the light of the sun so that the eyes are dazzled;
but they possess a charm of their own, and are the haunts
all through the winter months of many birds of the sea
shore.

When the wind is of no great force — a thing rare to
find in this northern land — it is good to lie in the shelter
of the sand dunes and watch the many varieties of birds to
be seen here. None, I think, is more interesting than the
long-tailed duck, or sea pheasant, as it is sometimes

1 68

Winter Bu'ds on ike Shores of the Minch

called. These graceful birds do not nest with tis — 'iheir
home is in Iceland and the north of Norway — but any win-
ter's day they may be seen diving energeticaily for food
at a short distance from the shore, and I think they are
more assiduous in their diving than even the cormorant.
As he submerges the drake throws up the long pheasant-
like feathers of his tail so that they are very conspicuous,
and, indeed, when flying he always reminds me — the re-
semblance is more marked in the drake than in the duck —
of a pheasant. His flight is none too strong, and his long
tail feathers droop behind him as though they were some-
thing of a burden.

In their stay under water the long-tailed duck are more
or less regular. I have often timed them, and the period of
submersion has usually been thirty-five seconds or there-
abouts.

I do not know if they are paired throughout the winter :
certainly the majority of those I have watched during the
days of early January have been mated. Their cry is a
low whistling, thought by fishermen to resemble the words
"coal an' candle licht," whence it is that in certain parts of
the north and eastern coasts the bird goes by this name.

Purple sandpipers frequent the shores of the Minch until,
in April and May, they leave for their northern nesting-
grounds. No bird is more confiding; indeed, I have often
walked up to w^ithin a yard or two of them as they were
intent on their feeding. Unlike most "waders " they do not
keep together in large flocks. A company of a dozen even
is a rare thing to see, and usually the birds are met with in
twos and threes. Their food seems to consist largely of
barnacles, and they are adepts at balancing themselves on
wet and sloping rocks, standing in comical attitudes with
legs far apart. They rarely swim, but I have once or twice
seen one deliberately swim across a narrow channel of deep
water. The purple sandpiper is not difficult to identify. Its
legs are yellow, of quite a different colour to those of the

169

The La7id of the Hills and the Glens

turnstone, with which it might perhaps be confused, and
its reddish bill is black at the tip and light riear the base,
while spread over its sombre plumage is a slight tinge of
purple.

When the wind blows softly so that the swell on the
sands is not too heavy, I have watched bar-tailed godwits
at their feeding. In appearance they are as miniature cur-
lews, excepting that their plumage is of a lighter colour and
the bill, instead of being in a downward curve, has a slight
upward tendency. But in their feeding they are far more
active than their larger relatives, and constantly probe the
soft ooze with their sensitive bills as they walk restlessly
about. They seem remarkably resistant to the cold, for I
have seen a large flock of them asleep, on a midwmter's day
with a cold wind blowing, with the water up to their thighs.

Whereas curlew and godwit frequent the mud flats,
sanderling, and to a lesser extent dunlin, keep to the firm
sands in their feeding. Of the two latter species the sander-
ling is the more confiding, specially when he first arrives
from his Arctic breeding-ground. In winter plumage he
has the breast and underparts of a snow-white colour, so
that when the sun shines on the sands a flock of these birds
as they stand around resemble, at a distance, miniature
sea-gulls. Their great enemies are the black-headed and
common gulls, and usually one or two gulls may be seen
standing amongst a flock of sanderlings on the feed. When-
ever one of the latter birds has secured a morsel and is
preparing to eat it, one of the gulls spies him, rushes up,
and forcing the small bird to flight, chivvies him here and
there in his efforts to make him drop his rightful portion.
But the sanderling is an excellent flier, and is much more
clever than the dunlin in eluding the tyrant, so that the
latter has often to confess himself beaten and retire from the
chase.

There is a certain Ross-shire bay where, sheltered from
the North Atlantic swell by outlying islands, great northern

170

Winter Birds o?i the Shores of the Minch

divers, along with the red-throaled divers, are busy at
their fishing of a winter's day. No bird, I think, remains
under water for so long a period as the true divers. On
an average they remain submerged between sixty and seventy
seconds, and in that time often progress more than a hundred
yards beneath the surface. And with what grace do they
dive, making no sound and scarcely a ripple as they go
down, nor is it often that they will come to the surface
without carrying in their bill some fish or crab — which latter
they have at times difficulty in swallowmg. Sometimes
of a winter's day I have seen the great northern diver, or
"loon," as he is sometimes called, flying high and rapidly
as he changes his fishing-grounds, and his flight at such
times is in marked contrast to his laboured splashings as
he attempts, after a heavy meal, to raise himself from the
surface of the sea.

There are certain Scottish lochans where the red-throated
and even the black-throated divers breed undisturbed, but
the great northern diver has never been known to nest in
the British Isles, though as late as June 24 I have seen a
pair in full breeding plumage in a Hebridean bay.

One of the most interesting birds to watch at its feeding
is the turnstone, a wader of about the same size as the red-
shank, and with legs fully as red as those of the latter bird.
In build, however, the turnstone is more plover-like : its
legs are shorter, as is the bill also, and its plumage is more
variegated, so that the two birds should never be confused.

Turnstones during the winter are sociable birds, and are
generally seen feeding in flocks of considerable numbers.
I think I am right in saying that they are almost the only
shore bird that feeds independently of the tide. Curlew,
godwit, knot, sanderling, dunlin — to name only a few —
remain quietly grouped together in some secluded part of
the coast-line during the hours of high water, and return
to their feeding-grounds only when the mud flats have been
left bare by the receding waters. The turnstone, on the

171

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

other hand, searches actively for food among tlie seaweed
which has been left at high-water mark, so to him the state
of the tide is often a matter of supreme indifference. In
his feeding the habits of the turnstone are distinctive, and
he is well worth watching. The birds generally feed in
flocks, hunting with restless activity amongst the "wrack "
for the "sand fleas " which lurk therein. They are adepts
at turning over the weed, shoving energetically at a heavy
mass until they succeed in heaving, it over, and then rapidly
picking up the prizes that lie exposed. After the passing
of the turnstones a line of sea wrack has the appearance
of newly-turned hay, for the birds are nothing if not
thorough, and search the weed most carefully. Sometimes,
though less frequently, they overturn stones; hence, I
imagine, their name.

The peregrine at all times haunts the shore lands of
the Minch, for his prey is varied here. I remember one
winter's day making my way along the rocky coast leading
to the remote crofters' settlement of Meal an Udrigil. Mist
lay on the hilltops and from time to time grey squalls of
driving snow swept across from Ben Airidh Char and the
big hills about Loch Maree. Suddenly there passed me,
flying at great speed and wildly scattered, a fiock of rock
pigeons, and after them in hot haste a peregrine, grim of
aspect and eager in the chase. The thing that seemed to
me most remarkable in this fleeting picture was the fact that
a few of the pigeons, lagging somewhat behind the rest, w-ere
actually flying at their utmost speed behind the peregrine,
as though endeavouring to overtake him. Evidently they
had completely lost what little sense they ever had, but it
looked ridiculous to see them deliberately courting disaster.

From this wild headland it is good at such times to sit
in the shelter of some rocky hollow and view the great ex-
panse of ocean and hill country which unfolds itself. Great
waves roll in with deep roarings to the high caves, hollow-
sounding reports issuing from the caverns as the rush of

172

Winter Birds on the Shores of the Minch

waters penetrates to thein inmost reioesses. Long-tailed
duck and scaup ride buoyantly on the rough waters, diving
quickly at times to escape the overfall of an extra huge
wave.

A few miles out to sea lie the Summer Islands, and near
them Eilean a Chleirich, or the Island of the Priest, where
many sea birds have their homes.

Across the waters of the Minch there stand the hills
of Lewis, and there can be seen the entrance to Stornoway
Harbour, a good forty miles distant, with the rounded hills
that guard the port. Away beyond the entrance to the two
lochs — Loch Broom and Little Loch Broom — there stands,
perhaps twenty miles to the northward, the wild headland
of Rudha Stoer, with its lighthouse, built high above the
waters of the Minch. Even at this great distance one can see
through the glass of a clear winter's day the spray rising
high on the rocks as the swell from the north-west breaks,
with the full force of the Atlantic, on this exposed head-
land.

With the coming of spring the winter population of
birds leaves these shores and makes its way northw^ard, but
in its place there come many migrants from the south.
Oyster catchers rear their young on the sandy shores of
the Minch; ringed plovers accompany them, and the sea
swallows make the sands re-echo w-ith their shrill cries.
Then to grassy islands there come the puffins, guillemots
and shearwaters, while in the rocky islets the storm petrel
has its home and the shag and cormorant rear their broods
in the strong summer sunshine, where is wafted the scent
of the sea thrift and of the young fresh grass.

173

CHAPTER XXXI

THE KELP INDUSTRY IN THE HIGHLANDS

During the winter months heavy gales, mainly from the
west and south-west, force great rollers across the Atlantic,
and these, breaking- on the outlying reefs and shores of the
western islands of Scotland, tear off large quantities of
laminarian seaweed. These seaweeds grow mainly just
below the limit of an ordinary low tide — though at low
spring tides some of their growing fronds are just visible
— and fasten themselves to the rocks by means of special
root-like attachments known as "haptera " or "holdfasts."
The stem of the seaweed varies in thickness, but a good speci-
men approaches the thickness of a man's wrist, and measures
from six to seven feet in length.

This weed, at two distinct seasons of the year, is gathered
and burnt, and from the resulting ash, by a chemical pro-
cess, iodine, potash, soda and other products are extracted.

The history of the kelp industry in the Western Highlands
is an interesting one. In many places where to-day it no longer
survives great quantities of the ash were formerly produced.
For instance, it is said in the statistical account of Argyll-
shire that on the Island of Ulva, near Oban, one hundred
tons of kelp ash were produced annually less than one
hundred years ago. To-day not a single ton is made. The
Ulva kelp had the reputation of being of excellent quality,
and there is an old Gaelic saying to the effect that the Island
of Ulva has a harvest of gold about its shores. This saying
is now taken as referring to the harvest of kelp which the
island formerly provided.

174

The Kelp Imhtsiry in the Highlands

During- the Napoleonic wars in the early part of the
nineteenth century, the price of kelp, as will be shown
later, rose to a very high figure, and at that time quite five
hundred tons of the ash were produced on the Island of
Mull alone. Gradually the industry declined on the latter
island till a few years ago no seaweed at all was burnt there.
The work is now being revived to a slight extent, and the
Bangle is being gathered in a few places in the Ross of
Mull, and also on lona; the western shores of this island
retaining large quantities of weed after a storm.

It may be of interest to give an account of the introduction
and growth of the kelp industry in these islands.

It appears that as early as 1688 it was realised that the
shores of the Orkneys produced "plenty of tangle, of which
in other places is made kelp for the making of soap." It
was not, however, till 1722 that the first kelp was produced
in Scotland, the initial attempt being made in Orkney.
At the very first there seems to have Been strong opposition
on the part of the inhabitants, who considered that the new
industry drove off the fish from the coast, and was detrimental
to agriculture, in that it deprived the fields of their supply
of seaweed manure. The industry was introduced to the
Hebrides about 1730, and at first the price obtained for the
ash was a very low one — from i8s. to ;^i per ton. The
value of the product gradually rose, however, reaching the
average of over £2 per ton between 1740 and 1760. About
this time the industry spread to the Inner Hebrides. It
was begun in Tiree in 1745, in the time of the third Duke
of Argyll, but the price at first was trifling. It spread to
Coll — where, by the w^ay, the industry has entirely died
out — in 1754, and was started on Mull in 1768, when the total
production of the western coast generally was about five
thousand tons. Even at this early period the ash fetched
as much as £^ los. per ton at the glass manufactory of
Newcastle. During the remainder of the eighteenth century
the price varied considerably, but always with a tendency

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

to rise. The renewal of the war with France had a most
far-reaching effect on the kelp market. At this time kelp
ash was used in two trades — namely, in the manufacture
of soap and glass. The one substance which rivalled kelp
was "barilla," the ash of a marine plant called "Salsola
soda," and this was imported in great quantities from Spain,
since it was of considerably more value than kelp ash.
But during the war above referred to the supply was uncer-
tain, and kelp secured the monopoly of the market. The effect
of this on the supply of the home product will be realised
when it is stated that the price obtained during the three
years 1807-9 was four times as great as that realised during
the decade 1791 — 1800.

During the three years above mentioned (1807-9) the
great price of ^20 per ton was reached, and taking the
average of all ash produced in the Highlands a price of
;^i6 per ton was secured. Estimating the total production
as 12,500 tons of ash — that is, roughly, no less than 250,000
tons of the wet weed — the sum of ;^2oo,ooo was realised
by the workers during these three years — truly an enormous
figure. Largely as a result of this great and profitable in-
dustry there ensued a marked increase of population in
those districts where kelp making was carried on. For
instance, the population of the northern and north-western
counties — Shetland, Orkney, Caithness, Sutherland, Ross
and Cromarty and Inverness — was 220,411 in 1795. By the
year 1831 the figure 287,903 was reached, an increase of
67,492 inhabitants in thirty-six years. The increase was not,
it is true, entirely due to the kelp industry, for the expansion
in potato cultivation was to a certain extent responsible, but
it is noteworthy, nevertheless. In the case of Lewis, Harris
and North and South Uist, where much more kelp was
burned than in the north and north-western counties, the
figures are much more remarkable, for between 1755 and 1831
the increase in the population was no less than 139 per cent.,
the figure rising from 12,475 iti ^755 to 29,934 in 1831.

176

GUILLEMOTS BROODING THEIR EGGS.

GUILLEMOTS AND YOUNG, IN LATE JULY :
Just Before they Left the Nesting Ledge for the Sea.

The Kelp IndiLstry in the Highlands

Although the three years 1807-9 witnessed the height of
.the kelp industry, it was not until 181 2 that there was any
marked decrease in the prices obtained. From 1815 to 1820
the ash still averaged £\o per ton, but after this date the
price began to decline rapidly, largely owing to the reduction
of the import tax on barilla. This in 1819 was as high as
£\\ per ton, but by 1823 no more tlian ;^5 per ton was
levied. The effect of this on the kelp market was very
marked, for by 1828 the prices obtained by the home pro-
duct were less than £^ per ton, and in 1834 as low as £Z'

It was not until the middle of the nineteenth century
that tangle-ash came to be used for the production of iodine,
so it is interesting to realise that during the height of the
industry this ingredient, of recent years the most valuable
obtained from the ash, was as yet unknown, or at all events,
its possibilities were not realised. This new factor steadied the
prices somewhat, but so unprofitable had the industry be-
come that by 1875 North Uist had entirely ceased any pro-
duction, although only some thirty years earlier the
neighbouring island of South Uist produced no less than
1,600 tons in a single season. The suspension of so much
labour hit the island very hard, and accounted for not a
little of the emigration w'ith which the nineteenth century
is associated.

In the kelp-making industry as it is now, there are two
distinct harvests, the one dealing with the stem, the other
with the frond, of the tangle, or laminarian seaweed.
That dealing with the stem is the better known and more
lucrative of the two. At the approach of winter heavy storms
of wind tear from their moorings great numbers of laminarian
plants, which are thrown up on the shore. The crofters
gather them, and breaking off the fronds, which would merely
rot during the long drying process, place the stems in care-
fully constructed layers on suitable rocks or on stone dry-
ing places made for the purpose. These stones should
be no more than two feet from the ground, and should sup-
M 177

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

port a tangle layer two feet in thickness. Great care must
be taken not to allow the tangles to rot during the winter,
and for this reason the layers are constructed so that as
far as possible the rain water drips off the drooping stems.
It is important also that the tangle heaps should be formed
out of reach of the spray, and that the stems should be
gathered as soon as they appear along the shore. In the
choosing of drying places for the tangle stems perhaps the
most important thing to be borne in mind is to place them
far removed from any stretch of sand.

A well-known chemical company, in more than one of
its circulars issued to kelp-makers, prints the sentence,
"Avoid sand like poison." It is likewise important that
during the burning no sand should become mixed with
the ash, for there is nothing that so lowers the price obtained
as this impurity. The period of the year during which most
tangles are gathered varies considerably, depending as it
does entirely on the state of the weather. For instance, dur-
ing a recent winter there were areas of shore on Tiree
where not a single tangle had been gathered even as late as
the month of January, owing to the exceptionally quiet
conditions which had prevailed during the early winter
months. On the other hand the workers on lona had col-
lected a considerable harvest by the opening days of Decem-
ber. All through the winter and at times even during March
and April the tangle stems are gathered. As the power of the
sun strengthens the stems gradually lose moisture, until by
the end of April or the beginning of May — earlier if the
conditions are favourable — they have become hard and
shrivelled.

Previous to this time, usually during the early part of
March, the stems are removed from the stones where they
have lain through the winter and are gathered into heaps in
order to protect them from the rain. Here they remain till
the first spell of fine weather, when they are burned.

Cattle at times do very considerable damage to the drying

The Kelp Industry in the Highlands

stems. On one occasion on lona I examined a large pile
of tangles which had been gathered at various times during
the winter, and quite a quarter of the total number had
either been eaten or rendered useless by the trampling of
the animals. At the time I was at the spot some half-dozen
beasts were engaged in chewing the stems, of which they are
extremely fond. It was interesting to note that they did
not confine their attentions to the fresh weed, but consumed
with equal relish stems several months old, which appeared
to the human eye to be far from palatable. It must be dis-
heartening to the workers to see the results of their pains-
taking labours rendered useless in this way.

The fire is set alight with shavings, and perhaps a
sprinkling of paraffin, and once started the withered stems
burn easily, giving off an intense heat. The fire is care-
fully fed every few minutes, as the heap should not be
allowed to burst into flame, and with each armful of fresh
weed a thick, blue smoke with curious pungent smell is
given off. On a fine summer evening these fires dotted
over an island appear singularly picturesque, the blue smoke
curling upwards and being wafted gradually out to sea.
Fine weather is of the utmost importance during the burn-
ing operations, as a fall of rain would seriously impair the
value of the ash.

This retains its heat a good twenty-four hours after
burning, and when thoroughly cool is placed into sacks.
These are collected and placed in a situation where no rain
can reach them, to await the arrival of the steamer which
will carry them to the works of the chemical company,
where the ash will have its more valuable products extracted
from it. About twenty tons of wet tangle stem, or "stamh,"
as it is known in the Gaelic, are needed to produce a ton of
tangle ash.

As regards the dividing of the shore among the popu-
lation for kelp gathering, in Tiree the Duke of Argyll
regulates this by allotting a piece of the shore in each

179

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

township to anyone who wishes to make kelp. For this
privilege the kelp-maker does not pay anything. The com-
pany who purchases the kelp pays a small royalty per ton
to the proprietor.

The second part of the kelp industry is the collecting
and burning of the fronds of the tangle. Every spring a
new frond is produced by the parent tangle plant. It has
its growing point at the base of the existing "leaf," and, as
it grows, pushes the old frond forward until it separates
from the plant. This takes place in April or during the
first fortnight in May, and if a period of breezy weather
is experienced during this time, great numbers of the fronds
are cast up by the tide. The tangle frond is known to the
islanders as the "Barr dearg " — the red top — and is gathered
as it makes its appearance on the shores. It is carried
beyond high-tide mark and is spread over the grass to dry,
being "turned" periodically in the same manner as new-
mown hay. If the weather remains fine and dry — and this
is an all-important factor — the fronds should be sufficiently
dry for burning on the third day after gathering. They
are then collected in "coles " and burnt on the grass in
the same manner as the tangle stems.

Formerly "kilns" sunk in the ground were used for
the burning of the "barr dearg," but on Tiree, at all events,
these are no longer worked, as it is considered that they
produce a temperature so high as to destroy a portion of
the iodine. Since iodine is the most valuable product in
the ash, it is important that this should be preserved as much
as possible. As a result of careful analysis it has been
determined that kelp burned in kilns and so formed into
a hard slag, gives from ten to fifteen pounds of iodine per
ton. Against this the weed burnt in the open fields yields
from twenty to twenty-five pounds per ton, and even up
to twenty-eight pounds — a striking difference.

180

The Kelp Industry in tlie Highlands

On Tiree the fronds are burnt in long strips from twelve
to fifteen feet long and two feet wide. The burnt products
from the "barr dearg " take at first the form of molten
liquid, and care must be used to prevent this liquid from
spreading over the surrounding ground. This is effected
by burning the fronds in a slight hollow, and along the side
of the strip is placed a layer of the wet fronds to keep the
liquid within bounds. On cooling, the ash assumes the form
of a hard cake, and when broken up reveals many-coloured
crystals of great beauty. It is this substance, and not,
properly, the ash of the tangle stems, that is known to the
workers as kelp.

The ash, then, of both "stamh " and "barr dearg " having
been collected and put into sacks, which are provided by
the company buying the ash, awaits the coming of the
steamer. This vessel is generally a "pufifer," which has
arrived at the island with a cargo of coal, for "puffers," on
account of their construction, are able to put into almost any
bay and lie on almost any beach; and such a boat, having
discharged its coals, may visit several parts of the island in
turn, receiving the cargo of ash from each district.

It is an interesting fact that the industry of kelp-making
from the bladder-WTack or "kelp-wrack," as it is sometimes
called, has disappeared entirely at the present time in Scot-
land, though still persisting along the west coast of Ireland.
For instance, the hundred tons of kelp which were at one
time produced on Ulva were extracted almost entirely from
the bladder-wrack; now the industry is a memory only.
The same thing applies to many of the sea lochs and
sheltered sounds of Argyll. Here the laminarian weed
grows sparingly, and the swell is never sufficiently heavy
to cast it up on the shore, so that the kelp ash
formerly made w^as produced entirely from the bladder-wrack.
In the Craignish district, for example, a considerable amount
of the kelp-wrack ash was formerly produced, and also on
some of the more land-locked lochs of Mull, as, for instance,

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

Loch Spelve. The labour entailed in gathering the bladder-
wrack, or Fucus, was greater than that necessary for the
collecting of the tangle. The wrack was not cast up by the
sea in sufficient quantities for the requirements of the in-
dustry, and had to be cut as it floated in the water, the
workers using boats for the purpose. It is, therefore, a
fact of no little interest, and one which must be borne in
mind when the revival of the kelp trade is under discussion,
that the weed which was almost entirely used when the
industry was at its prime, one hundred years ago — the Fucus
or bladder-wrack — is now held to be of so little value that
it is no longer worth exploitation. It will readily be seen
that this affects the revival of the industry along the more
sheltered parts of the coastline, where the tangle is uncommon
as compared with the kelp-wrack of earlier days. The reason
for this change in the material used is the fact that the pro-
ducts extracted from the kelp ash a hundred years ago have
now been superseded in the manufactures in which they
were formerly used. During the height of the kelp boom,
as was pointed out above, the ash was mainly employed in
the making of glass and soap, seaweed being then practically
the only source of soda, which is necessary in the manu-
facture of soap. But the discovery of the Leblanc process
of making soda and the repeal of the salt tax with the lower-
ing of the import duty on barilla, caused the disastrous fall
in the prices which, it was thought, would at one time
cause the industry completely to die out.

The prices obtained, even over a small area, vary con-
siderably, so much so that the natives sometimes draw lots
for the best "beat." Thus the tangles washed up on sandy
beaches fetch, may be, no more than one-third of the price
obtained from the weed gathered from rocky or shingly
shores not more than a hundred yards away, on account
of the grit which attaches itself to them and which later on
contaminates the ash.

A point to be remembered is that the industry is one

182

The Kelp Indies try in the Highlands

which can be profitably combined with small holdings, of
which many have been established of late on the islands.
The season of the tangle gathering is when work on the
croft is light, and the burning of the weed can be held over
until after the spring crops have been put in. With regard
to the collecting of the fronds, these, perhaps unfortunately,
are washed ashore usually at the season when the small-
holder is busy with the land, but at that time of the year the
days are long, and there should be little difficulty in gather-
ing a considerable quantity of this part of the weed also.
The price obtained from the ash of the "barr dearg " has
not risen proportionately to that of the tangle stems during
the last few years, so that the latter form the main industry.
Although it is to be feared that the islands will never
again see the record prices of a century ago, the present
time is undoubtedly one during which the resources and
capabilities of the industry should be strengthened in every
possible way, so that kelp making in the Highlands and
Islands may be put on a prosperous footing, and the supply
be so good that it may be able to hold its own against
foreign competition.

iSj

CHAPTER XXXII

SPRING IN -THE WESTERN HIGHLANDS
I. — MARCH

March came in this year with bitter cold, carried down by
a strong north-easter. Even on the sea-girt islands the
ground was frost-bound, and the lochans, even where full
open to the wind, were frozen across. Below the snow-line
the heather and hill grasses were remarkably dry, and heather
fires, some of great extent, were everywhere to be seen.

On March 9 a raven's nest in a small east-facing rock
was visited. The birds w^ere in possession, but I do not
think any eggs had been laid. The ravens sailed round,
flying so close as almost to touch one another. One of
them called frequently in a high note, resembling more the
call of a full-grown young raven than the usual deep croak
of the adult bird. On March 18 a raven's nest, built in
a cliff only a few yards from high-water mark, contained
no fewer than seven eggs, and the nest referred to in the
first instance also contained eggs at this time.

The common gull, though found along the western sea-
board through the winter, is largely a summer visitor, in
that those birds breeding along the West of Scotland spend
the winter in more southern latitudes. These birds arrive
in large companies, and for some weeks keep together, haunt-
ing the ploughed fields in the vicinity of the sea lochs and
following the plough, before withdrawing to the isolated islets
where they nest. On March 17 I saw the gulls for the first
time, and their loud cries as they wheeled together over the
land like a shower of driven snow, were good to hear after
the winter's quiet. It is not until the early days of May

184

spring ill the Weslern Highlands

that the common gulls commence their nesting, or even later
should wintry weather continue.

Lapwing are for the most part still going in flocks as I
write (April i), and the dunlin have not yet paired, nor have
they left the sands for their inland nesting haunts. A small
company of about a dozen purple sandpipers which have fre-
quented the rocks throughout the winter and which seemed to
have disappeared towards the end of February have again
been seen throughout March, the last occasion I noted them
being on the 27th. On the 12th I saw one deliberately walk
into deep water and swim from one rock to another a distance
of at least fifteen feet. About the same time I saw a turn-
stone do the same thing, but as far as my experience goes
it is very rarely that either of these birds deliberately goes
out of its depth. Mergansers have increased during iJie
month and are now common. On March 19th 1 saw three
greenshank feeding on some soft ooze, and in the mud their
movements seemed strangely laboured. On the 23rd I visited
a favourite shore resort of curlew, and although the weather
was summer-like, the birds were not uttering their spring
call. This, I think, seems to show that they must be birds
which nest much farther north than Britain, for the local
birds were already on the moorlands and using their full
spring notes. Large flocks of knot still frequented the mud
flats, the sunlight glinting on their plumage as they swerved
and wheeled in restless but well ordered flight. Near them
were more than fifty shelduck, perhaps resting on their
northward migration. In flight they are heavy and resemble
geese rather than ducks. During most of the time I had
them under observation they dozed in the warm sun, but
occasionally took short flights as they changed their feeding
grounds. The ringed plover were all pairing.

By the end of the month gannets were numerous in the
waters surrounding their nesting rocks and guillemots were
moving in from the deep waters.

March 26 was the most wintry day of the whole season.

185

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

Snow fell in dry powdery flakes, accompanied by a gale
from the west, and much drifting took place on the hills,
so that the road at the head of the glen was blocked for some
days. The next day was clear and sunny, and I saw the first
wheatear, looking cold and uncomfortable.

2. — APRIL

By the first of the month quite a number of wheatears had
arrived at their nesting-grounds. The weather was now
mild and sunny, and indeed throughout the month there were
few wintry spells, although a good deal of rain fell and there
were strong winds from a westerly quarter.

On the first of April I visited a raven's nest built on a
ledge of rock not more than fifteen feet from the ground on
a heather-clad hillside sloping away from a sea loch. The
nest was facing north-east and was in an exposed position,
but this notwithstanding, the young were just hatching
out. I was unable to look right into the nest, but with
a stick could feel the soft bodies of the chicks and the
remaining eggs. One would have imagined that the parent
birds would have displayed great anxiety at such a time,
but they appeared singularly indifferent, and did not ap-
proach anywhere near when I was at the nest. I noticed one
bird apparently feeding the other on a knoll a few hundred
yards away.

That evening I visited a dipper's nest built in a niche
of rock above a waterfall. The nest was fully built, but I
could not tell whether the bird was sitting, as it was
impossible to approach the nest itself.

On the third, the fine weather continuing, I crossed to
one of the islands, and for the first time this year saw numbers
of Manx shearw^aters gliding wnth picturesque flight above
the surface of the sea. No puffins, apparently, had arrived
as yet, but the common gulls were everywhere, and the green
plover were commencing to nest.

i86

YOUNG GOLDEN EAGLE IN THE EYRIE.

The Hindquarters of a Hare lie in the Foreground.

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spring m the Western Highlands

On the titth the curlews in the big glen were uttering
their spring call, and by this time, too, stags — the more for-
ward of them — were commencing to shed their horns.
Thrushes and blackbirds are late in commencing to sing
along the western seaboard, and it was not until April 8
that they were in really full song.

Much burning of tangles for kelp was done during the
fine spell, tlie pungent odour of the smoking weed travelling
far across the islands.

In the early mornings the blackcock were fighting regu-
larly and industriously, and also to a lesser extent after
sunset. Over the birch woods many w^oodcock flew of an
evening' with curious bat-like flight, uttering from time to
time their grunting cry and their sharp hissing note, '' chis-
sick, chissick." The hen birds are at this time brooding
their four speckled eggs — for the woodcock is one of the
earliest of nesters — and this evening flight seems to be
undertaken by the cock birds only and may be a kind of
display.

Much heather was burnt during the first week of
April ; and, taken all through, this spring has been an excep-
tionally favourable one along the western coast for this
purpose.

A pair of redshank nesting amongst some tussocky grass
near the sea were much in evidence about the tenth of the
month. The eggs had not yet been laid, and the birds w-ere
courting, the male flying up into the air and sailing earth-
wards, continuously uttering his flute-like whistle. Curlews
about this time were everywhere on the hillsides uttering
their trilling cry, especially before rain.

By the thirteenth of the month the larch woods in the
more sheltered situations were budding, the rich red flowers
showing in profusion. Missel thrushes were sitting, and
stonechats also had eggs by this time.

On several occasions I noticed about this time a barn
owl abroad and hunting in full daylight. I believe he had

187

The Land of the Hills a7id the Glens

his nest in a neighbouring wood, but 1 did not succeed in
discovering it.

On April 21 I visited a small island on which a large
colony of common gulls nest. A few nests appeared to be
completed, but I did not see any eggs, for it was somewhat
early for these. The solitary eider duck, which usually
nests on the island, had not as yet arrived, nor had any of
the red-breasted mergansers.

On April 22 I visited a heronry and found young birds
in one or two of the nests — one brood being at least ten days
old. The weather this day suddenly changed from very
clear and sunny conditions to heavy squalls of rain and
sleet, which fell as snow on the high grounds. On the 27th,
with little warning, the weather turned quite summer-like.
On this day 1 saw the first sandpiper, common tern, swallow
and sand martin, and heard a willow warbler in song. On
the 29th whimbrel were passing over, and on the 30th I
heard a whinchat in song. The temperature on the last
two days of the month exceeded 65 degrees, and the snow-
fields rapidly dwindled even on the higher hills. Every-
where the birches were budding and the air was filled with
the sweet aroma from their young leaves.

3. — MAY

The cold and unsettled conditions prevailing during the
earlier part of the spring having come to a close with almost
bewildering suddenness during the last days of April, sum-'
merlike weather prevailed at the opening of May.

Blackcock still fought regularly at their chosen grounds
at the beginning of the month, and on the morning of May
2, between four and five o'clock, I watched for some time a
number of these birds.

I saw the first puffins on the morning of May 2. These
birds seem to be already paired when they arrive at their

188

spring m the Western Highlands

summer quarters, and it is a curious fact that, although
numbers of them are thrown up dead on the beach after a
winter storm, I never once saw a specimen at sea from
September till the opening days of May. On j^^Iay 2, also,
numbers of white wagtails were feeding on the short grass
above the high-tide mark, and for the next week were present,
though it is possible that the earlier arrivals were suc-
ceeded by later migrants during this period. The white
w^agtail does not nest in this country except in one or two
isolated localities, and the migrants which are seen along
the western coast line during the early days of May are
probably on their way to Iceland.

On May 3 I saw the first whimbrel, and in the after-
noon of the same day watched a flock of these charming
birds coming in from the sea. Their course was from the
south-east, and I think there is little doubt they were on
migration. For the first part of the month they remained on
the island, and as late as May 20 stragglers were still with
us. When first they arrived they permitted a near approach,
and were reluctant to take Aving unless obliged to do so.
Their behaviour thus contrasted strongly with that of their
wary relatives, the curlew. Apart from their smaller size,
there is little to distinguish the whimbrel from the common
curlew, but the call note at once determines the species. The
usual call note of the whimbrel is a couple of short, sharp
whistles, quickly repeated and sounding something like
" teiy, tety, tety," the notes being more abrupt and jerky than
those of the curlew\ Besides their common call whimbrel
utter a long-drawn, plaintive whistle like a curlew's, and
also a vibrating call resembling that of the curlew, only
more subdued, and, I think, more liquid. It does not
nest with us except as a straggler, but farther north it
largely replaces the curlew, being common in the Faroes
and Iceland.

Up to the middle of May dunlin and sanderling still
frequented the coastline, the dunlin in some cases having

189

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

assumed the full breeding plumage. The dunlin nests on the
island of which I write, but those seen along its coast in
May are making their way to northern nesting-grounds,
perhaps within the Arctic Circle. Though a bird, during the
nesting season at all events, of similar habits to the common
snipe, the dunlin does not lay her eggs till the snipe's young
are active birds. Indeed, on May 4, when I visited some
boggy ground where quite one hundred pairs of dunlin nest
every season, the birds, except for one or two individuals,
had not even arrived, much less commenced the duties of
rearing their offspring.

Golden plover were still here in flocks during the early
part of May, on their way to their northern breeding-
grounds, the birds strikingly handsome in their full nesting
plumage.

The peregrine falcon is a bird which suffers such perse-
cution at the hands of keepers that I was glad to dis-
cover on May 8 a nest of this handsome hawk containing
three eggs. The nesting site was the summit of a high sea
cliff, and the male peregrine, at my approach, betrayed the
fact that he had a mate near by flying off his perch on the
rock and uttering his harsh note of alarm repeatedly. The
hen bird then emerged, mingling her cries with those of her
mate, and I was able to reach the nest, somewhat unex-
pectedly, with little or no climbing. The eggs were laid
under a stone just on the top of a sheer cliff, and at my visit
the young birds were chipping the shells.

It was on May 3 that I saw and heard the first corncrake,
an early date for this migrant. There was as yet little or
no grass, so the bird had perforce to hide itself in a clump
of gorse bushes. By the end of the month the fields of
growing grass resounded throughout the night with the
grating notes of many corncrakes.

Curlew and redshank commenced to brood during the
first week of May, and one nestful of curlews hatched out
on May 29. Though the eggs were chipped as early as the

190

spring in the Western Highlands

26th, the young birds did not fully emerge till three days
later. In a country where grey crows and gulls abound
every bird has to keep a watchful eye on her eggs, and
the parent curlews in this case attacked with ferocity any
winged marauder venturing in the neighbourhood of their
nest.

Oyster catchers, most regular birds in their nesting, had
eggs about May 10, which was, I should say, from two to
three days later than the previous year. One nest I found
contained two eggs which were quite remarkable. They were
not more than one-half the usual size, and indeed closely
resembled the eggs of the common tern, except that the
shells were rougher and thicker. Unfortunately the eggs
disappeared — they were, I think, eaten by gulls — so it was
not possible to observe what manner of chick emerged from
such abnormal eggs. Another oyster catcher had an un-
pleasant experience. Last season she laid her eggs and
hatched her young in a field of young oats fringing a sea
loch. This year the field was under potatoes, so I was
surprised to see that she had again chosen it as a nesting-
site and had laid her eggs on the crown of a furrow. The
field shortly afterwards was harrowed, and in the process
one of the eggs was broken and the other two thrown to the
bottom of the furrow. It says much for the devotion of the
parent bird that she continued to brood on the couple of
mud-encrusted eggs in their new situation, though she made
no effort to make a nest around them.

Terns were, I think, rather later than usual in arriving.
As late as May 15 I passed an island which is a specially
favoured nesting-site, and not a single tern had arrived. It
was not until May 19 that I saw the first birds. The night-
jar, perhaps the last of our summer migrants to arrive, was
heard for the first time on the evening of May 24, and the
following evening I had an excellent view of the bird as
he sat on one of the fence posts just outside the window, utter-
ing his low and curious call note. This may be likened

191

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

to a loud, low-pitched purring of a cat, only on two
notes.

On May 31 a severe storm of wind and rain visited the
Western Highlands and brought the rivers down in great
flood. Young grouse were hatching about this time, and
in all probability numbers succumbed.

192

RAZORBILL APPROACHING HER EGG.

RAZORBILL BROODING.

Her Egg is on an Exposed and Narrow Ledfe— an Unusual Situation.

CHAPTER XXXIII

SUMMER IN THE WESTERN ISLANDS
I . — ^JUNE

During the month of June the weather was almost uniformly
cold, and from midday on the ist till the 21st of the month
the wind blew steadily from the north. For the first thirteen
days the shade temperature did not once reach 60 degrees,
and on the 12th the northerly wind reached gale force. For
fully ten days Ben Nevis was covered with an unbroken coat-
ing of fresh snow, an unusual event so late in the season.

On June i the majority of the curlew had hatched out
their young and the oyster catchers were sitting hard. It is
interesting to notice how conservative this latter bird is in
the choice of a nesting-site, returning each season to the same
stretch of shingle and laying her eggs within a few feet of
the site occupied by her the previous year. On June 2 I saw
what seemed to be a pure white oyster catcher fly past, accom-
panied by its mate. On that day I watched for some time a
starling energetically searching for food amongst the sea-
weed. Her nest of youngsters was among some "scree"
up a very steep hill face, and I noticed that the bird on her
journeys back to the nest with food did not fly straight up
the hillside, but followed a zigzag course.

On June 6 I again visited the peregrine's eyrie. The
young falcons were now about twenty-seven days old. Origin-
ally there were three eggs, but only two young were reared.
These, at the age of a month, were fine heavy birds, with
some of the white down still adhering 10 them. During the
time I was at the vicinity of the nest both parent birds kept
up a continuous screeching. Although there was no fresh
prey in the eyrie, the bones and mummified remains of many
N 193

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

birds were lying around, yet kittiwakes and cormorants
brooded on their nests on the rocks, paying no heed to the
agitated peregrines soaring overhead.

During the first week of June Arctic skuas still fre-
quented a stretch of shore some distance from their breed-
ing-ground, the continuous north wind probably retarding
their northward migration. On one occasion I saw a tern
being hotly pursued by a skua, while the tern's mate was
in its turn attacking the aggressor. As late as June 8 I saw
a flock of dunlin in full breeding plumage frequenting the
shore, and about this time noticed a small island crowded
with eider drakes. These birds are not by any means model
husbands, for they leave their wives when the latter begin
to sit, and take no further interest in their families.

At the beginning of the second week in June the young
of numerous tree pipits and whinchats were hatched out, and
at this time most of the oyster catchers had chicks, betray-
ing great anxiety when their nesting-haunts were approached.
Ptarmigan are few and far between in the Western High-
lands, and it is not by any means easy to locate one of
their nests. On June 14, the first warm day of the month,
I was on the high ground, and at a height of a little over
two thousand feet a cock ptarmigan rose. A few yards from
where he had been sitting the hen bird rose from her nest,
containing four strikingly beautiful eggs of a rich red colour.
The eggs were freshly laid, and judging from the smallness
of their number and the late date — ptarmigan usually begin
to brood during the third week in May — I think this was a
second laying. Rather later in the day, just over the hill-
top and sheltered from the wind, I watched a ptarmigan with
a fine brood of eight chicks only a few days old. On becom-
ing suspicious the old bird called to her family with a
strong, high-pitched cry, when they immediately ran to
her, scrambling ludicrously over the stones and following
her at top speed over the brow of the hill.

A surprisingly large number of gulls were to be seen

T94

Summer in the Western Hiohlands

on the high grounds on this day. Common gulls, herring
gulls, black-backed gulls — all passed overhead, and it seems
noteworthy that any ptarmigan is able to preserve her eggs or
young intact when so many enemies are abroad. Once a
golden eagle soared past me not many yards away, seeming
incongruous among the company of sea-birds, and later I
saw it mobbed by a gull and some species of hawk.

Plant life of the hills suffered from the continuance of the
high and cold wind. The cushion pink (Silcne acaulis) did
not bloom before mid-June, and at that time even the violets
were still in flower on the higher ground.

On June 15 a pair of wood warblers had baby young m
an oak wood by a burn-side, and about this time a family
of dippers left their nest in the cleft of a rock overhanging
a waterfall. Red-breasted mergansers — the latest of the
duck tribe to nest — commenced to brood about the 15th, and
on one small island I counted three nests.

Right up to the end of June curlew continued to make
use of their musical vibrating cry, and on June 20, a day
of mist and gloom, I heard them calling more strongly
and wildly than I ever remember. And there are few cries
so full of pathos and feeling, and the spirit of the wild
places, as the call of the curlew.

2. — JULY

The cold northerly type of weather experienced almost
continuously throughout June was again prevalent during
the first fortnight of July, but after the 17th of the month
winds from a southerly quarter prevailed, with some very
warm weather from the 21st to the 28th.

Perhaps the most noticeable feature of bird life during
the month was the complete disappearance of the terns from
islands where last season they nested in their hundreds.
Their absence is to be regretted, for of an evening com-

195

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

panics of terns fishing round the shore Hne are always of
considerable interest to the bird lover.

During the early days of July a colony of Arctic terns
had laid their eggs along a stretch of shingle, yet at the
close of the month, when I repassed the locality, not a single
bird appeared to have young. The majority of dunlin had
hatched off their young by the first week of July, and dis-
played their usual anxiety for their progeny, uttering their
rasping cries, and at times feigning injury in their efforts
to draw off the intruder from the vicinity.

Red-necked phalaropes were still brooding their eggs
during the first days of the month.

After a succession of dull, misty days during the middle
of July, the morning of the 21st broke with a dense white
fog lying thickly over the water and the lower grounds.
Above this blanket the hills rose with fine effect, appearing
as islands rising from the mist-sea, and, topping them all,
Ben Nevis showed more clearly than I ever remember.
As the sun increased in strength the vapour was dispelled,
and the day was the warmest experienced up to this time
during the summer. For a week the weather continued
intensely warm, with a shade temperature verging on 80°,
and the sun shining with great power.

On July 25 I crossed a favourite nesting-ground of the
lapwing, and although the great majority of the young
birds were strong on the wing, certain nestlings were still
being tended by their parents, who showed considerable
alarm when their nesting-ground was invaded. Although
dunlins had eggs as late as the commencement of July, a
search through two breeding-places on the 25th and 26th
revealed the presence of only one Hunlin which showed any
anxiety when approached, and not a few of the birds were
already frequenting the coast-line in flocks. At the end of
the month I saw what I took to be a full-fledged young
phalarope, able to fly without much difficulty.

I have always felt that in their nesting the common and

196

Si4mjner in the Western Highla^ids

Arctic terns are the most unfortunate of birds; many of
their first clutches of eggs are stolen from them, either by
gulls or hooded crows, or else by the hand of some small
boy. As late as July 25, on visiting a small colony of
Arctic terns on the shore of an inland loch, I saw four nests,
each containing a single ^gg, and I doubt much whether
the colony had, up to that time, succeeded in hatching off a
single young bird. On the same day I somewhat unex-
pectedly came across a colony of perhaps twenty pairs of
lesser terns, on a stretch of shingle running down to the
open Atlantic. As I neared the colony a company of grey
crows, feeding on a carcase thrown up by the tide, passed
close to the terns in their flight from me, and instantaneously
the small terns gathered in a body round their deadly
enemies, swooping furiously at them until the crows were
away from their neighbourhood. Some of the lesser terns
still had eggs, others newly hatched young, and the parents
of these latter stooped angrily at me, uttering chattering cries.
During the last week of July very few meadow pipits still
tended their young, but oyster catchers and sandpipers showed
great anxiety over their broods, and the young of the mer-
ganser were even then in the downy stage. Isolated corn-
crakes still called from the now luxuriant fields of hay, and
at least one pair of curlew had young small enough to cause
them acute anxiety when I strayed on to their nesting-
ground. On July 27 I crossed a stretch of boggy moorland
where numbers of Arctic skuas nest every year. Some
of the birds must still have had young but they were
noticeably silent. Indeed, only twice did I hear an indi-
vidual call.

The gannet, or solan goose, was late this season in mak-
ing its appearance on this part of the western seaboard, on
account, I think, of the cold weather and consequent tardy
appearance of the mackerel and other fish, but is now
plentiful. While at sea I passed a solan sound asleep, and
so gorged that it quite failed in its efforts to rise from the

197

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

water, calling angrily at us in its helplessness as we passed.
One rarely sees a solan mobbed by other birds, but recently
I noticed one whose flight took it past a stretch of coast
marked out by a greater black-backed gull as its own domain.
The gull pursued the solan a considerable distance out to sea,
and when it gave up the chase the solan alighted on the water
as though exhausted.

Towards the end of the month large flocks of curlew had
arrived from the north, and while at sea on the 25th a
swift passed us going south, but not till next month does the
full tide of bird migration set in southwards.

3. — AUGUST

During August, wild life is not so evident as in the
preceding months. Most of the birds have reared their
broods ere now, and are in process of moulting, so that they
avoid human observation as much as possible.

One of the earliest birds to reach us from the far north is
the purple sandpiper. Unlike most of the waders which
appear in flocks, this sandpiper is usually seen singly or in
pairs, and is usually a bird of silence, uttering no alarm note
as it flies stealthily away. Dunlin and golden plover arrive in
their hundreds along the mud flats, and curlew from the
north now take the place of the home nesting birds, which
in their turn move on southwards. The common gulls,
which nest so plentifully on the grassy islands of the West
Coast, disperse from their nesting sites, and they, too, pass
south. The common sandpiper is one of the first of
the summer migrants to depart, for it remains on only till
its young are strong on the wing. During, the first week
in August these birds leave quietly and unobtrusively — one
does not see their going, but one day their graceful forms
are no longer to be seen flitting across the water, and it
is realised that they have started off on their long journey.
In the opening week of the month oyster catchers in some

198

Summer in the Western Highlands

instances had comparatively small young, though these must
have been the result of a second brood, and eider duck still
had young in the downy state.

Most variable weather conditions were experienced during
the first ten days of August. On the ist there was a heavy
rainstorm and wind from the south-west, and from the 4th
to the nth there was thick fog almost daily. On land the
mist usually disappeared about midday, but over the sea
it remained in the form of a dense white cloud, on which
the sun shone brightly. Shipping was much interfered with
during this period, and on the western coast this fog was
held to be the most dense and persistent experienced for many
years.

Stonechats were tending their second broods through
August, showing the usual symptoms of alarm when their
"beat" was approached. A certain pair of buzzards were
still feeding their young in the early days of the month,
in the face of a rock on a wild plateau over one thousand
feet above sea level and overlooking the Atlantic. On the
lOth I put up a snipe with a young bird beside her, scarcely
able to fly. These very late broods of the snipe are not
unusual, for they seem, like the woodcock, to rear a second
brood when the summer is well on.

Willow warblers, after their silence in July during their
autumn moult, were in song again in early August, though
as a rule their vocal efforts were feebler than earlier in the
season. The last I heard was on August 19, and his song
was strong out of the ordinary for so late in the
summer. On that date, too, I saw a migration of missel
thrushes and ring ouzels, the birds resting on the banks of a
hill burn on their journey south. Even as late as the last
week of the month some of the merganser broods still
consisted of quite small birds.

The last days of August were remarkable for their
wonderful clearness and for the contrasts in light and shade
which they produced. In some districts tropical showers fell,

199

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

but cleared away soon, and never do I remember seeing the
hills so strikingly beautiful, with their slopes bathed in
sunlight, while on their summits great black clouds hung.
Bird life revelled in the clear fresh air, and at one time
I saw a family of three buzzards and four or five kestrels
wheeling and dashing madly through the air above a giant
cliff overlooking the broad Atlantic.

Such days as these are rarely experienced and live long
in the memory.

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CHAPTER XXXIV

AUTUMN IN THK WESTERN HIGHLANDS
I . — SEPTEMBER

Throughout the whole of September an unsettled type
of weather conditions prevailed. The month was ushered
in with a gale from the west and a heavy sea, and strong
winds from every quarter continued almost uninterruptedly
till the closing days of the month. The harvest was late on
the West Coast, though the crop as a rule was excellent,
and it was not until the end of the month that the bulk of it
was secured.

During September solan geese were more plentiful
around the sea lochs than at any time during the summer,
and on the i8th, during an exceptionally heavy gale from
the north-west, I noticed them fishing in a little land-locked
bay, into which they do not venture under ordinary con-
ditions.

In the first fortnight of the month many sea birds were
migrating. I saw flocks of kittiwakes far out to sea, wheel-
ing and fluttering above the waves, and strikingly white did
they look as the sunlight glanced on their plumage, con-
trasting strongly with the dark blue of the waters beneath
them. Great shearwaters, with their lesser brethren the
Manx shearwaters, were going south about this time, and
a few fulmar petrels were to be seen. Flocks of phalaropes,
with swift, swallow-like flight and twittering cries, were
also on migration. A certain number of grey crows visited
us at this time, though the flood of their migration strikes
rather the East Coast than the West. But then on the
West Coast there is always a large resident population of

201

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

these birds, so that it is not easy to mark an additional
influx of migrants.

Ravens are always present along the high cliffs*
which border the Atlantic, and even during September one
saw them turning over on their backs in mid-air — a per-
formance which is associated with the first months of the
spring rather than the early autumn. There is nothing, I
think, that birds of powerful flight — raven, peregrine, buz-
zard— like so much as to soar against a breeze, moving
just above the top of a high cliff, and using the uprushing
current of air to their own advantage. The same pair of
birds may time and again make their way along the same
route, wheeling, off when they have reached a point where
the wind no longer assists them, and returning on a different
line.

Towards the end of the month the lapwings of a Hebridean
island where thousands breed had to a certain extent
collected into flocks, but many were to be seen in pairs, and
I frequently observed such birds wheeling and dashing across
the fields in that wild, buoyant flight which is characteristic
of their mating season. They also practised their spring
notes, and somersaulted in the usual mating fashion. I
have not known them to do this before at the autumn season
of the year.

This island is the home of many birds. It is never
quiet, for at all times of the year the birds rest on its shores,
and fill the air with their cries. During the last days of the
month the wind blew from the east — not a favourable wind
for migration — yet the shores of the island were already
thronged with waders from the far north. There were bar-
tailed godwits — birds of slender build and reminding one
of a whimbrel — which were more confiding than the curlew,
and searched for food among the sea wrack, flying off when
approached too closely, with shrill, piping cry. One saw
flocks of ringed plover with a few dunlin among them ;
but, curiously enough, not a single /?ocfe of dunlin was

202

AtiUimn in the Western Highlands

observed. Sanderlings there were in plenty ; they had kept
together in large flocks, usually haunting the water-line,
but at times feeding on the grass above high tide. Knot
were scarce, and I saw these birds on two occasions only.
They were with dunlin and ringed plover, and their larger
size and flight, somewhat like that of a golden plover, made
them easily recognisable.

Where seaweed-covered rocks broke the continuity of the
sand turnstones were to be seen, and on the fields fringing
the shore the plaintive whistle of the golden plover was
usually to be heard. Once I disturbed a greenshank from
a boggy creek, and he flew ofif, uttering that wild note of his
which cannot be mistaken for that of any other bird, and which
always recalls to the mind wide moorlands and pine woods,
where the bird makes his home in the season of nesting.

A few wheatears remained at the close of the month,
but the majority had gone south. Twites were in flocks,
and the forerunners of the hosts of widgeon had already
arrived on the lochs. The last days of the month were beauti-
fully fine and calm, and one afternoon I watched starlings
in their hundreds acting as flycatchers, and soaring into the
air after the many insects that were disporting themselves
in the sunlight. On the 28tfi I was surprised to see a
turtle dove feeding on a stubble field — surely this bird must be
an uncommon visitor to the Hebrides — and that same day
I saw a peregrine swooping down on some lapwings which
were migrating.

The last evening of the month brought a sunset of won-
derful beauty, the sun sinking behind an unrippled sea, and
even the distant islands appearing close at hand. One
felt the touch of autumn clearly on this day, but summer
lingers long beside these islands of the Atlantic, and will not
finally leave them for some weeks to come.

203

The Land of the Htlls and the Glens

2. — OCTOBER

October has been a month with an unenviable record,
for it brought with it weather which, for its wildness, has
not been equalled during living memory. And yet its open-
ing day was of midsummer warmth, with a sky of deep
blue and flecked with white fleecy clouds, and not the veriest
trace of a swell on the surface of the Atlantic. I remember
this day well, for duty took me to a remote island, sunbathed
in fine weather, but drenched with sea spray during wild
storms, and I thought that never at any season had I seen
it so altogether quiet and peaceful. As I crossed the sound
the wild, spirit-like call of a greenshank on migration
awaked the echoes, and on my way I passed buzzards
and ravens sailing contentedly in the sunshine. But
that afternoon a ring of rainbow colours was formed
round the sun, and it is rarely indeed that this is seen
unless it be to herald a coming storm or a spell of unsettled
weather.

The weather broke on the third of the month, and strong
winds, with rain, were experienced almost daily till the
15th, when a spell of more settled weather set in. During
the first period the wildest night was that of iith-i2th,
when a torrential rainfall, with thunder and lightning, and
accompanied by a gale from the west, visited the whole of
the western Highlands. A rainfall of 4>^ inches was
measured at Fort William during a period of little over
twelve hours, while at Achnasheen, in Ross-shire, over
4.60 inches of rain fell during the same period. On the
1 2th I saw numbers of Arctic skuas, both adult and im-
mature birds, sheltering from the storm in a quiet arm
of the sea where I had never before seen them. They had
apparently been on their southward migration, and had
been blown too far in to the east, for I should think that
their usual line of flight must be considerably to the
westward of where I saw them. There were many gulls

204

Autumn in the Western Highlands

and a few kittiwakes fishing here, and the skuas were, in
their usual freebooting manner, pursuing any gull that had
captured a fish, till he was forced to disgorge.

Fishing in company with a number of gulls, it was a
pleasant surprise to see a tern. I have never before seen
one in Scotland so late in the season. Evidently this wan-
derer was a migrant from the north and blown out of his
course by the weather.

This storm was succeeded by one day of fair, though
showery weather, during the evening of which the glass
commenced to fall rapidly, and this fall was continued the
following morning, when very heavy rain fell, though un-
accompanied by wind. Without warning, shortly after
midday, a whole gale sprang up from the south-west,
approaching hurricane force about i p.m., when the barometer
stood at 28.7 inches. Every burn was overflowing its
banks, several railways were blocked by bridges being washed
away, or by landslides, and important roads were rendered
impassable for weeks. On the 15th, with a wind which had
shifted to north-west, the hills were snow-covered, and a
considerable quantity had fallen at an elevation of three
thousand feet. On the i6th the snow line was lower, snow
lying at the side of the road at an altitude of a thousand
feet above sea level, and stags were driven down to their
winter quarters, where many fine beasts were shot — a good
ending to an indifferent season. As the heather this year
was later than usual in coming into bloom, the unusual
sight was witnessed in October of heather plants in full
blossom, with snow covering the ground near by.

Following the spell of wild weather, more settled conditions
were experienced up to the end of the month, enabling the
crops to be secured in fairly good order, but on the 30th
the glass again fell, and strong winds and rain marked the
closing days.

Of migration I saw little in October. During one
or two dark nights I heard the calling of ringed plover,

205

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

and from time to time, notably on the 22nd, flocks of red-
wings and fieldfares were passing.

The closing week of the month was eventful in one West
Highland loch by reason of the great shoals oi herring which
arrived from the open sea in their millions.

3. — NOVEMBER

As yet no really wintry weather has visited the western
seaboard. Much of the month was remarkable for its mild-
ness and the only continued cold spell was felt about the
middle of the month. On the 17th a heavy gale of easterly
wind swept the whole of the west coast, and in certain
districts was the most severe for a number of years. The
gale lifted the surface of the water from the sea lochs,
hurrying the spray before it in clouds, so that, looking
against the sun — for the sun shone brightly throughout the
gale — there appeared a layer of haze lying on the top of
the water.

Flocks of redwings and fieldfares kept coming in through
the month, and numbers of blackbirds with them. A
few corn buntings were also on migration, and I heard
one in song on the 14th. The prevailing winds — south
and south-west — were against bird migration, and the number
of migrants observed was comparatively few.

On the 4th the barometer stood very low — 28.5 inches —
with a gale from the south. On that day I made an ex-
pedition over some wild hill country fringing the coast.
Even at this date the stooks of oats in certain cases still
stood out in the crofters' fields. Drenching rain squalls
accompanied the gale, and although the wind was off-shore,
a swell rolling in told of heavy weather out to sea. Haunt-
ing the shore, grey crows were eagerly searching for any
edible morsel — and they are not particular — cast up by the
tide, and little grebes were diving in the shallow water.
The hill burns were in spate, and the noise of rushing

206

Autumn in the Western Highlands

waters mingled with the roar of the wind as it struck the
rocks on the bare hill faces. On the highest tops a thin
coating of snow lay, and made one think of the ptarmigan
on the wind-swept plateau, already assuming their winter
plumage of white.

Where a sea loch runs several miles inland a small
company of birds, seven or eight in number, were con-
spicuous. They were immature specimens of the red-
throated diver, probably from tiie sub-arctic latitudes, on
their w'ay south. As they moved and dived the white
plumage of their under parts showed up clearly against
the dark water. At the head of the loch I passed through
a sheltered wood of Scots firs. Here no wind penetrated,
and the bracken, long and luxuriant, was still untouched
by the frost, its green fronds a pleasing feature to the eye
on this grey November day. From here the road led
rapidly upwards, and the gale met one with full strength.
Birches fringed each small hill burn. Less than a week
previously they were resplendent in hues of orange and
russet, but the gale had stripped them of most of their leaves,
and even as I passed, these were caught up in swirling clouds
and hurried overhead. A few rowans mingled with the
birches, their leaves a subdued red or flaming crimson,
and there is no tree that shows more beautiful tints than
the rowan or mountain ash. Reaching an elevation of
over one thousand feet the road crossed a stretch of boggv
moorland, dev^oid of a single tree, but showing abundant signs
of an ancient forest in the jagged stumps protruding from the
peat. Here the gale was so powerful that progress against
it was difficult, and the only life to be seen w-as a covey of
grouse which rose suddenly and flew down wind at express
speed.

With the coming of darkness the moon show-ed herself
at intervals from behind scurrying clouds, and the weather
cleared somewhat. Deer — stags and hinds — had come down
to the glen to feed and crossed the road before me, one stag

207

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

in particular making an enormous bound in his excitement.
On reaching my destination the moon was commencing to
dip towards the horizon to the south, and I saw the unusual
phenomenon of a perfect lunar rainbow, every colour ghostly
but complete, spanning the northern sky.

There are probably few people other than bird lovers
who have ever heard the song of the dipper or water ouzel ;
he is so exclusive in his singing, and chooses such an
unlooked-for season for his song. Yet his voice is of the
sweetest, and, indeed, is surpassed by few birds. The
dipper usually sings standing on a stone in the middle of
a rushing hill burn. Sometimes he sings on the wang also.
His notes are unlike those of any other bird. I have some-
times thought that his song a little resembled that of the
wren, but in it there is much more music and melody than
in that of the wee bird I have mentioned. The song is
commenced early in November, and there is a certain dipper
of my acquaintance which has been singing regularly during
the past month just where a hill burn empties itself into
a sea loch. I do not know whether w^ater ouzels can be reck-
oned as migratory in the true sense of the word, but there
is no doubt that they leave the uplands at the commencement
of winter, and remain at the estuaries of streams and rivers
and also along the margins of sea lochs during the cold
season. On such a loch one morning I saw more than half
a dozen of these birds feeding close together, their companions
being turnstones and redshanks.

With the close of each nesting season a common gull
has for the past seven years taken up his quarters on the
lawn of a certain house in the Island of Mull. Every
season he leavjes his winter friends towards the end of
March when, I imagine, he returns to his nesting-grounds.
He can readily be identified, for he has only one leg, yet
he is surprisingly active despite this handicap. He is known
by his benefactors as "Gully," and to this name he readily
responds. Each morning the inmates of the house share

208

Autumn in the Western Highlands

their porridge with him, and when called he comes con-
fidently to the doorstep to receive his ration.

One season he returned to his winter quarters as early
as July, but it is generally August before he arrives. He
may be considered a remarkably fortunate bird in having
an assured and plentiful food supply throughout the months
of winter.

aoQ

CHAPTER XXXV

WINTER IN THE WESTERN HIGHLANDS
I . — DECEMBER

Although during the month that has just closed there were
many wild and stormy days, December will be remembered
for a spell of magnificent calm and frosty weather which
opened on the 12th and continued till the evening of the
20th. During the whole of this period the weather was calm,
and latterly a light fall of snow covered the ground. The
glass was low — 29.4 inches or thereabouts — and this seems
to bear out the fact that in winter, at all events, the finest
weather is accompanied by a low, or comparatively low,
barometer. At midday on the 20th, a ring appeared en-
circling the sun, and a thick blanket of cloud overspread
the sky from the south, bringing wind with it at sunset.
Cold, unsettled weather continued till the 28th, and the hills
were heavily covered with snow. On the 28th, with a gale
from the south-west, the temperature exceeded 50° Fahr.,
remaining high till the close of the month. On the 30th
a strong gale blew from south-west, veering to the west, after
heavy squalls of hail and rain, this being, I think, the
heaviest wind experienced throughout the month.

Purple sandpipers have frequented the shore during
December. On the i6th I noticed three purple sandpipers
and two turnstones feeding together. It was interesting to
watch the different methods by which they gained their food.
The sandpipers confined themselves in their search to the
immediate water's edge, whereas the turnstones were not
so particular. In feeding, the sandpiper's movements re-
sembled those of dunlin or sanderling, the bill being thrust
down into the seaweed with great rapidity, reminding one

Winter in the Western Highlands

of the action of an hydraulic riveter. All the while they
were feeding they kept up a twittering cry, pleasant to the
ear. The turnstones fed at a considerable distance from
the water, and were actively engaged in turning over stones
in their search for food — thus fully justifying their name.
They covered a greater range in their feeding than the sand-
pipers. The purple sandpiper is a northern nesting bird,
and is found far into the Arctic Circle during the summer
months. There is a belief that it may sometimes nest in this
country, though its eggs have not so far been found. Young
birds scarcely able to fly may have been seen on the Fame
Islands.

Black-headed gulls were with us in large numbers. On
the 17th I saw an individual which had already assumed the
black head of the nesting season — a very early date. About
this time I watched a young herring gull of the year which
was showing considerable ingenuity in its feeding. Standing
on a flat-topped rock, just awash, it was endeavouring to
catch numbers of the wily limpet. Limpets begin to feed
directly they feel the water over them, and as each
wavelet broke over the rock the gull made quick rushes
to grab the limpets as they moved, and before they had time
to re-fasten themselves to the rock. I could not see what
success the bird was having, but admired its ingenuity.

At the end of the month red-throated divers were
numerous. I saw one emerge with a crab In its bill. A
herring gull swooped down. Like a flash the diver sub-
merged, but in the excitement of the moment must have
lost his hold of the crab, for the gull pounced triumphantly
and carried it to a boat, where it proceeded to peck it at
its leisure. In the meantime the diver dived once more,
and was not long in reappearing with another crab of about
the same size. Profiting by its unpleasant experience, the
diver made desperate efforts to swallow the crab whole, and
at length, by the help of copious draughts of water, suc-
ceeded in doing this, even while tlie gull was having great

211

The Land of the Hills ami the Glens

trouble with its stolen crab, and had by no means managed
lo dispose of it.

A shag was diving near, and it was interesting to compare
its methods with those of the red-throated diver. When
diving, the shag, and the cormorant also, thnows itself
out of the water with neck outstretched. It is this that
causes the splash. The diver, on the other hand, stretches
out his neck as he dives, but does not raise himself in the
water. The result is that the dive is noiseless and scarcely
a ripple is made to disturb the surface. When swimming
the diver is normally higher in the w-ater than either the
shag or cormorant, and the neck is not so outstretched, so
that in appearance it rather resembles a large duck. The
red-throated species is the smallest as well as the most numer-
ous of British divers, and is plentiful during winter on most
parts of the coast.

2. — JANUARY

The month of January was uniformly cold, with an almost
entire absence of south-westerly gales of wind. Breezes
from some easterly point were prevalent, and on the 12th and
13th there was a whole gale from the north north-east, with a
high sea. Much frost was experienced towards the end of
the month, and snow lay deep on the higher grounds.
Many birds frequented the sheltered bays and sandy beaches
of the shore line.

Long-tailed duck were numerous. Even on the first of
the month some of them were going in pairs, but it is a
common occurrence for birds of all species to be led into
mating prematurely following upon a spell of mild weather
in mid-winter, such as was experienced during December.

Onastill dayearlyin the month I hadagood viewof several
grey plover feeding quite near me. Their breasts and under
parts were pure white, so that when facing me they seemed
almost as white as seagulls. As is the case with several

212

Winter t?i the Western Highlands

waders, they liave a strip of white feathers extending over and
behind the eye, and seem to have some white on the fore-
head also. They resemble in size the golden plover, but are
more handsome and conspicuous in their winter plumage.
In their feeding the grey plover frequent the mud fiats,
often consorting with flocks of smaller waders, whereas the
golden plover seem to prefer the green fields adjoining the
sea.

Many herring gulls were busy breaking the shells of
mussels by dropping them from a height, so that they might
feed on their luckless owners. Several excursions into the
air were often necessary before the shell was broken, and one
gull that I watched dropped its mussel no fewer than a
dozen times without result, and succeeded in breaking it only
at the thirteenth effort.

On the i6th, a clear, frosty day, with two inches of snow
on the ground, I watched a pair of red-breasted mergansers
courting. With much bowing and outstretching of the neck
the drake circled round the duck, both birds swimming very
near together. On the 24th a large fiock of godwit and knot
performed wonderful evolutions in the strong wind before
alighting to feed. A number of great northern divers are
meanwhile distributed along the coast. I think I am right
in saying that this diver remains under water longer and
moves farther during submersion than any other bird. A
dive of ninety seconds' duration is not unusual, and during
this time the bird is all the while moving rapidly beneath
the water.

3. — FEBRUARY

The month was not many days old when a severe storm of
wind and snow swept from the north-east across the Western
Highlands. At the entrance to the lonely sea loch a heavy sea
was running, so that the spray broke in clouds over the little
rocky island where the storm petrel has her home in summer.
All day and through the night the wind raged, but at day-

213

The Land of the Hills and the Glens

break the sky cleared and the wildness of the storm had
passed. Towards afternoon I made my way to a rocky head-
land, holding concealed a small clachan, and also a beautiful
sandy beach. Many curlew were feeding there. Every now
and again one heard their clear whistling, and once or twice
an individual would utter that trilling cry which is associated
in the mind with days of spring and early summer. A heavy
sea was still running, and on the beach masses of tangle weed
were lying. Leaving the beach and proceeding towards the
headland, one comes to a point where, high above great rocks
and jutting reefs, one can watch the seas roll »'n with thunder.

One notices and is impressed by the great contrast
between the waters of the Atlantic and those of the North
Sea during these winter months. The Atlantic is green or
blue, perhaps, even after a heavy gale, while the North Sea
is repellent and muddy under similar conditions. Out to
sea, perhaps a hundred yards from the shore, a small flock
of long-tailed ducks were riding on the heaving waters. They
caught the sunlight, the drakes especially, with their hand-
some black and white plumage. They w-ere feeding at the sea
bottom, and at short intervals dived down one after the
other.

One could see through the glass that the drakes and ducks
were calling to each other, but the rush of the waves drowned
their cries. Near them were guillemots, and a solitary scoter
drake — jet black against the waters — made its way out to sea.

At the headland there arises a sharp and steep hill sheer
from the surface of the sea. Here one catches the full force
of the wind, and a wide view meets the eye. No craft of any
kind was in sight on this day, but a great stretch of waters,
desolate and reflecting the cold light from the clear sky
above them. Perhaps twenty miles to the northward one
could see plainly the white towers of the lighthouse on Rudha
Stoer. Even the spray from the Atlantic rollers could be
made out, through the glass, breaking high in the air over
the dark rocks. The sun sets early these February days, and

214

Winter in the Western Highlands

soon he sank behind the hills to the south-west, and the wa'ers
took on a steel-blue colour. North-westward one saw the un-
dulating outline of one of the Outer Hebrides, the higher
ground snowbound. And so the winter night descended
apace. The wind, too, died down, and with the darkness
the frost descended on the western coast and bound the land
in its firm grip.

On the nth of the month I watched a large flock of
green plover apparently migrating north. The wind was
against them, and they were flying high and making slow
progress. On the 24th I visited a nesting site of the raven.
The day was a grand one, clear and sunny, with the sea
as calm as a hill loch on a breezeless day. A three-mile
row brought me to a narrow rock-girt gully running down
from the heather-clad hillside above, to where the surf
grinds the smooth, rounded pebbles at its entrance. The
gully is full open to the south, and when a south-westerly
gale blows, great rollers thunder in, so that at times the spray
is borne even to the sheltered ledge on which the raven has
her nest. One of the Gaelic-speaking fishermen who rowed
me informed me that on the previous day he had seen four
ravens leave the rock, but it was not until I had landed
and stood almost beneath the nest that the owner flew cut.
Apparently she was already sitting, but I was not able to
see into the nest, as this was built in a position inaccessible
except with the aid of a rope. For a time the raven
flew round restlessly, then disappeared; but a few minutes
later at least three birds flew quickly past. It is unusual
for several of these birds to be seen together during the
spring of the year, and it may be that on this occasion
the two parent birds were engaged in expelling, or attempt-
ing to expel, one of their offspring of the previous season.

These rough notes may be of interest as showing the
remarkable contrasts in weather and the variety of bird life
to be met with during an average year in that Land of the
Hills and the Glens adjoining the Atlantic.

215

INDEX

Aberdeenshire, ptarmigan in, 41

Achnasheen, rainfall at, 204

Adder, St. Columba and, 44

Ailsa Craig, 48

Alder, black dye from, loi

Allosurus crisfus, 2

Allt a' Mhuilinn, Corrie of, 4

An Teallach, 130

Applecross Hills, 109

Ardnaraurchan, 21 et seq., 106, 108, 164

lighthouse on, 23, 86
Argyll, Duke of, and kelp industry,

179
Aurora, 105
Awe, River, 86

Ballephuill, 161
"Ban-sith," legend of, 145
Barnacle goose, 10, 17

legend of, 12-13
" Barr dearg," 48, 180
Barra Head, 21, loi, no

lighthouse on, 86
Beinn a' Ghlo ("Mountain of the

Mist "), 4
Beinn an Aonidh, 141
Beinn Buie, Mull, 82, 167
Beinn Fada, 166
Beinn Hough, 162
Beinn Talaidh, 167
Ben Airidh Char, 151, 172
Ben Alder, 4

Ben Cruachan, 4, 34, 40, 42, 85
Ben Hynish, 161
Ben More (Crianlarich), 85
Ben More, Mull, 40, 46, 82 et seq., 107,
108, no, 118, 119, 120, 139, 161,
166

ptarmigan on, 85

snowfields on, 120

temperature on, 84

Ben Muich Dhui, i, 3

Ben Nevis, i et seq., 43, 82, 85, 1O5

snowfields on, 4, 43, 85, 193

temperature on, 84
Bidean nam Bian, snowfield on, 5
Black Mount, Forest of, 43
Blackbird, 187, 206

mountain (Ouzel, ring), 8
Blackcock, fighting of, 122 et seq., 187,

i88
Bladder-wrack, 181
Bog myrtle, 55, 90

yellow dye from, 101
Borreray, 166
Braeriach, 3
Bunessan, 143, 164
Bunting, corn, 206
Bunting, snow, 5, 63, 68, 85
Buzzard, 10, 13, 21, 32-33, 84, 91, loi,
102, 104, 117, 141, 146 et seq.,
199, 200, 202, 204

flight of, 33

nesting site of, 147

young of, 148

Cairn Tool, 3, 65

Cairngorm Hills, 2, 3, 4, 65, 82, 159

cushion pink on, 84

ptarmigan on, 38, 39, 40

temperature of, 84
Cairns of Coll lighthouse, 86
Calgary, 108
Calliach Point, 109, 121
" Calm of the Birds," 140
Canna, Island of, 23
Cape Wrath, 98, 152
Carex, 4
Carraigean, 143
Carsaig, 140

Cat, wild, on Ardnamurchan, 21
Ceann a' Bharra, 159, 167 et seq.

117

Index

Chough, red-billed, 47

Clais an-t-sabhail, corrie of, 3

"Cleg," 141

"Cock's Nest," 134

"Coilleach dubh " (blackcock), 122

Coll, cairns of, 24

Coll, Island of, 21, 95, 101, 118, 140,

herons on, 75

kelp industry on, 175

mail boat to, 105 et seq.
Colonsay, Isle of, 91, 144

lighthouse on, 86
Coolin Hills, 2, 163
Conger eels, 116
Cormorant, 23, 35, 53, 116, 121, 173

green, 14, 77, 80, 120, 160, 212
Corncrake, 120, 166, 190
Craignish, kelp burning at, 181
Craignish Point, 162
Craignure, 106
"Creith leag," 141
Crianlarich, 85

Crotal, brown dye from, loi, 144
Crow, grey, 38, 39, 47, 61, 190, 197,
201, 206

nesting site of, 47
Cruisgean, 167
Cuckoo, 54, 163

Curlew, 26, 35, 42, 'i,i, 71, 83, 85, 119,
164, 166, 170, 171, 185, 187, 190,
19I5 193. 197. 198, 202, 214

call of, 35, 54, 102, 189, 195

lesser, 119 {see Whimbrel)
Cushion pink, 4, 42, 84, 195

Deee, 68, 83, 84, 87, 207.
hand-fed, 36
on Island of Mull, 33

Denmark, Kings of, buried in lona, 44

Dipper, 83, 186, 195, 208
{see Ouzel, water)

Diver, black-throated, 171

great northern, 121, 171, 213
red-throated, 25, 207, 211, 212
red-throated, haunt of, 90 */ seq.,

Duart Point, 23, 42

Dubh Hirteach, 153, 161

lighthouse, 86, in et seq.
Duck, eider, 188, 194, 199

long-tailed, 168-69, 173, 212, 214

scaup, 173

scoter, 214
Dun da Ghaoithe, Mull, 38, 82, 167
Dunara Castle, 49

Dunlin, 97, 114, 154, 156, 159, 164,
166, 170, 171, 185, 189-90, 194,
196, 198, 202, 203
Dunvegan, 130
Dunvegan Head, Skye, 109
Dyes made by Mull people, loi

" Each lisge," legend of, 145

Eagle, 42, 43, 60, 62, 67, 68, 71, 83
and ptarmigan, 62, 68
flight of, 94, 146, 148
Gaelic name for, 60, 61
golden, 21, 38, 55, 62, 91, 195
nesting site of, 6 et seq., 32
sea (white-tailed eagle), 21, 104

Eaglet, plumage of, 8
flight of, 62

Eigg, Island of, 2, 23

Eilean a Chleirich, 173

Eilean aon Reithe, 49

Eilean GLas, lighthouse on, 43

Eilean nam Ban, 47

Elder, black dye from, 101

Eorsa, Isle of, 118

Erne (white-tailed or sea eagle), 21

Ernisgeir, Isle of, 77
puffins and, 78, 79

Erraid, Isle of, 139

" Eun Sith " (cuckoo), 163

Ewe, Isle of, 151

" Ewen of the Little Head," legend
of, 167

"Fairy Bird, the" (cuckoo), 163
Fairies, charms against, 57

of Skye, 144

of Tiree, 167

on Ceann a' Bharra, 161

on "Headland of the Caves," 103

on Ross of Mull, 144

aiS

hidex

Fame Islands, purple sandpipers on,

,^11
" Feadagan " (golden plover), 149
Field mice, tame, 63
Fieldfares, 58, 206
" Finnocks " {sea trout), 52
Fionphort, 45, 46, 47
Firth of Lome, 85, 89
Flounders, in Sound of lona, 48
Fort William, rainfall at, 204
Fossil Tree, 104
Fox, 38, 130
Foxglove, yellow dye from, loi

Gannet [see Solan goose)
Garbhchoire Mhor, 67
Geese, migration of, 12, 121

flight of, 152

white-fronted, 149 et seq.
" Gille Bridghe" (oyster catcher), iiR
" Glastig," the, 167
Glen Coe Hills, 85
Glen More, Mull, 32 et seq., 79, 83,

102
Glen of the Sea Pool, legend of, 57
Glencoe, 43

Goatsucker [see Nightjar)
Godwits, 159, 170, 171, 213

Bar-tailed, 170, 202
Gometra, 44, 46, 78
Gott Bay, Tiree, 105, 107
Grebe, little, 206
Green Loch, 67 et seq.
Greenshank, 121, 185, 203, 204
Grey Islands, 106
Gribun Rocks, 78, 85
Grilse, 34, 159

Grouse, 85, 102, 131, 191, 207
Gruinard Bay, 130, 132
" Guilbinneach " (Whimbrel), 134
Guillemot, 23, 119, 120, 140, 160, 173,
185, 214

black, II, 12, 79, 120; winter
plumage of, 17
Gull, black-backed, 113, 166, 198

black -headed, 27, 96, 97, 170, 195,
211

Gull, common, a6, 72, 87, 96, 170, 186,
188, 195, 198, 3oJ8; nesting of,
184-185
greater black-backed, 14, 17, 143
herring, 26, 143, 166, 195, 211, 213
lesser black-backed, 36, 14 j
Gulls, and herons, 75
Gunna, Sound of, 95, 165

Harris, 149

kelp industry on, 176
"Headland of the Caves," ic»
Heather, bell, 141

green, as adornment of eagle's nest,
8; on Mull, 82; ptarmigan and,

41
Hebrides, kelp industry in, 175

Outer, old name for, 118

terns' nesting site, 97
Heiskeir lighthouse, 86
Hekla, 2

Hermit crabs, 80
Heron, 22, 188

bird enemies of, 75

eggs of, 73

flight of, 75

food of, 75

nesting site of, 71 et seq.
Herons, glen of the, 71 et seq.
" Herring birds " (Puffins), 78
Herring fishery, Tiree, 162
Hill of the Two Winds, 38, 41
Hoodie crow, 13
Horseman's corrie, Braeriach, 3
Hyacinth, wild, 33, 161

Inch Kenneth, Isle of, burial grounds

on, 117, 118, 120
Innistrahull lighthouse, 86
Iodine from tangle-ash, 177
lona Cathedral, 44
lona, island of, 44 et seq., 88, 103
legends of, 48, 49, 144
origin of name of, 45
Sound of, 45, 114, 139; floundert
in, 48; kelp industry on, 175,
178

'19

Index

Ireland, Kings of, buried in lona, 44
Tris, yellow, 88
'Island of Storms," 49
Island of the One Ram, 49
"Island of the Priest," 173
I slay, 121
hills of, 102
lighthouse on, 86
Isles of the Sea, beacons of, 86

Kelp industry, 174 et seq., 187

Kelp-wrack, 181

Kentra, 46, 48

Kestrel, 7, 61, 200

" Kidnapped," Stevenson's, and

Erraid, 139
Kilchoan, 106, 108
Kilt, disappearance of, 35
Kittiwake, 80, 201, 204
Knoidart, hills of, 2
Knot, 171, 185, 203. 213

Laminarian seaweeds, 103, 174 et seq.

"Land of lona," 158

Lapwing, 185, 196-202, 203 {see
Plover, green)

"Larder of lona," 158

Larig Ghruamach, ptarmigan in, 41

Larks on Tiree, 166

Lewes, the, 149

Lewis, hills of, 173

kelp industry on, 176

Lighthouse, Ardnamurchan, 86 ; Barra
Head, 86 ; Cairn of Coll, 86
Colonsay, 86; Dubh Hirteach
86, III et seq.; Eilean Glas, 43
Heiskeir, 86 ; Innistrahull, 86
Isles of the Sea, 86 ; Lismore
43, 86; Rudha Mhail, 86
Rudha Stoer, 173, 214 ; Scarin-
ish, 86; Skerryvore, 86, 101, iii
et seq., 159

Linnhe Loch, 5, 43, 86

Lismore, Island of, 23, 42, 86
lighthouse of, 43, 86

Livingstone, Duncan ("Donnachadh
nam Blar "), Song of Mull bv,
82

Loch Airdglas, Mull, 32

Loch an Eatharna, Coll, loS

Loch Awe, 34

Loch Broom, 173

Loch Buie, 89

Loch Eil, 5

Loch Etive, 86

Loch Ewe, 149, 151, 168

Loch Maree, 172

Loch na Keal, 117

Loch nan Ceall, 77, 80, 84, 85-89, 107,

115 et seq.
"Loch of the Burying Grounds," 117
"Loch of the Round Gravelly Bluffs,"

118
Loch Scridain, 46, 77, 79, 83, 84, 87,

100, loi, 102, 103, 143
Loch Spelve, kelp collecting in, 182
Loch Tuadh, 89, 121
Lochaber, 25, 43
Lochalsh, 151
Lochan Uaine, 67 et seq.
Lochnagar, 3
"Long Island," 118
"Loon," 171
Lord of the Isles, and legend of Ernis-

geir, 77, 78
Lough Swilly, 102
Lunar rainbow, 208
Lythe (Pollack), 140, 141, 162

Macbeth, burial place of, 44
MacDonalds, burial place of, lona, 44
MacKinnons, burial place of, lona, 44
" MacKinnon's Cave," legend of, 80, 85
MacLeans, burial place of, lona, 44

spectre of, 167
MacLeod's table, 130
MacLeods, burial place of, lona, 44
MacQuarries, burial place of, lona, 44
Mackerel, 121
Macleod, Fiona, and Gaelic name of

eagle, 60
Malin Head, 102, 167
Mallaig, 140
Mallard, 131
•' May birds," 134
Meal an Udrigil, 172

220

Index

Merganser, red-breasted, 57, 142, 185,

188, 195, 197, 199, 213
Minch, the, 132, 149, 151, 159

winter birds on, 168 et seq.
Morvern Hills, 43

eagle in, 42
Mountain finch (twite), 50
"Mountain of the Mist," 4
Mull of Cantyre, 102
Mull, Island of, 21, 22, 25, 44, 52, 71,
108

Ben More, 40, 46, 82, 84, 85 ct seq.,
118, IK), 120, 161, 166

blackcock on, 122

Duart Point on, 23

Gaelic name of, 82

Glen More, 32 et seq.

"Headland of the Caves" on, 100

heronry on, 75

kelp industry on, 175

ptarmigan on, 38

rainfall on, 39

tame gull on, 208
Mull, Ross of, 88, 103, 139 et seq., 162

immunity from adders in, 44, 47

kelp industry on, 175

"Pot-i " on, 158
Mull, Sound of, 23, 28, 38, 41, 42, 43,
83, 85, 105, 106, 141, 167

blackcock on shore of, 124

terns' nesting site in, 96

Nightjar, 33, 54

call of, 191
Norway, Kings of, buried on lona, 44

Oban, 85, 140
Observatory, Ben Nevis, 5
Orkneys, kelp industry on, 175
Ouzel, ring, 5, 9, 35, 83, 199

water, 35, 208
Owl, barn, 56, 187
Oyster catcher, 10, 13, 47, 55, 118, 120,

173. 197. »99
love-song of, 133
nesting site of, 191, 193

Pansv, wild, 42

Parsley fern, 2, 87
Passage of Tiree, 108, 161
Peat bogs, 162

Peregrine, 14, 38, 68, 104, 117, 141
160, 166, 172, 202, 203
and rock pigeons, 172
fiight of, 141, 142
nesting site of, 49, 190, 193
Petrel, fulmar, 201; flight of, 112

storm, II, 51, 173
I'halarope, grey, 114, 201

red-necked, 114; nesting of, 153 el
seq., 196
ripit, meadow, 5, 83, 103, 197
rock, 112
tree, 54, 194
Plover, and herons, 75

golden, 85, 102, 149, 190, 198, 203,
213; love song of, 133; migra-
tion of, 163
green, 52, 166, 186, 215; call of, 54

(see Lapwing)
grey, 212

ringed, 166, 173, 185, 202, 203, 205;
nesting of, 133 et seq.
Port a' churaich, St. Columba's boat

at, 45
I'tarmigan, 54, 71, 84, 85, 87, 133
et seq., 194, 207
and eagle, 62, 68
enemies of, 38, 39
life of, 38 et seq.
male call of, 39
origin of name of, 41
scarcity of, in West, 41
•' Ptarmigan of the waves " [see

Plover, ringed)
Puffin, 119, 121, 140, 173, 188
Highland name of, 78
migration of, 11, 22
Puffins on P3rnisgeir, 78, 79

"Queen of the Islands,'" 77 et seq.

Rainfall at Fort William, 204

on Mull, 39
" Raineach " (bracken), i6i
Rainstorms, salmon and, 55

221

Inde

?x

Raven, 2, 11, 12, 13, 21, 32, 38, 42, 47,

49; /'» 73' ^) 9'' '°'' ^°2' ^^7'
141, 160, 202, 204

Gaelic legend of, 142

nesting site of, 142, 184, 186, 215
Razorbill, 23, 140, 160
Redshank, 187, 190

call of, 54
Redwing, 58, 206
Reidh Eilean, 51
Rhum, Island of, 2
Rock pigeons and peregrine, 172
Rudha a' Choinn, rocks of, 151
Rudha Mhail lighthouse, 86
"Rudha na h'uamha," 100 et seq.
Rudha Steer, 152

lighthouse, 173, 214

"Saint Bridget's Lad" (oyster

catcher), i iS
St. Columba, and lona, 44
St. John's Wort, 141
St. Kilda, 166
Saithe (" Piocaich "), 162
Salen, 106

Salmon, 34, 52, 55, 83, 109
Salmon nets, log
" Salsola soda," 176
Sand martin, 188

Sanderling, 159, 164, 170, 171, 1S9, 203
Sandpiper, 9, 87, 188, 197

purple, 159, 169, 185, 198, 210, 211
Saxifraga azoides, 7

hy-pnoides, 2

nivalis, 84

stellaris, 2, 4
Saxifrage, mountain, 42, 84, 87

starry, 2, 4, 87
" Sea pheasant " [see I^ng-tailed

duck)
Scarinish lighthouse, 86
Schiehcdlion, 4
Scottish Kings, burial place of, in

lona, 44
Sea swallow {see Tern), 33, 49, lao,

173
and herons, 75

222

Sea swallow, food of, 95

migration of, 98, 99
tribe of, 94 et seq.
Seal, brown, 120

grey, 13, 77, 112, 113, 120

breeding grounds of, 16 et seq.

dose time for, 16
Sea thrift, 55, 87, 94, 173
Seaweed, giant, as manure, 48
"Seven Sleepers," the, 163
Sgeir Mhor, in
Sgor a' Mhaim, 4
Shag, 17, 80, 173, 212

(See Cormorant, green)
Shearwater, great, 113, 140, 17? 201

Manx, 23, 79, 113, 186, 201
Shelduck, 185

nesting place of, 119
Silene acaulis, 4, 42, 84, 117, 195
Skerryvore, 98, 153, 159, 161

banks, 140

lighthouse, 86, loi, \\\ et seq., 159
Skua, 159, 194

migration of, 31

tradition concerning, 31
Skua, Arctic or Richardson's, nesting
of, 25 et seq., 197, 204

photographing of, 28-29

piratical habits of, 30-31

plumage of, 29
Skye, Island of, 109, 130

fairies of, 144

fire on, 108
Slieve Snaght, 102
Snipe, 13, 189, 199
Snowfreld on Ben Cruachau, 34

on Ben More, 120

on Ben Nevis, 4, 43, 85, 193

on Bidean nam Bian, 5
Snowfields in the Garbhchoire Mhor.

67

Solan goose, 47, 48, 79, 121, 140, 143,
159, 163, 165, 1S5, 197
flight of, 94, III, 113, 197, 198, 201
Solan goose, nesting site of, 48
Staff a, 120

Stags, 7, 33, 34, 42, 58, 68, 83, 84, 187,
205, 207

Index

Stags, fights between, 6i

hand-fed, 36
Stalker, Highland, 59 et seq.
Starling, 203
Stonechat, 55, 58, 83, 199

one of "The Seven Sleepers," 163
Stornoway, 168, 173
Sulair (see Solan goose), 47, 140
Summer Islands, 173
Swcillows, 94, 188
Swan, Bewick, 125 ei seq.

whooper, 129 et seq.
Swans, wild, 121

flight of, 163

tribe of, 125 et seq.
Swift, 94

Tangle-ash, uses of, 177, 179
" Tangles," 140, 175 et seq., 187
Tar mac h, Gaelic name Ptarmigan, 41,

52
"Tarmachan" (jif^ Ptarmigan)
" Tarmachan na Teinne," 133
Tern, 42, 112, 118, 159, 194, 195, 205

migration of, 98, 99

nesting site of, 191

varieties of, 94
Tern, Arctic, 94, 95, 96, 97, 196, 197

common, 94, 95, 188

lesser, 94, 95, 197

roseate, 94

sandwich, 94
Thrush, missel, 53, 187, 199

song, 166, 187
Tides in Hebrides, 136
Tiree, Island of, 23, 50, 95, 115, 118,
143, 158 et seq.

Gott Bay, 105, 107

kelp industry on, 175, 178, 179, 180,
181

lighthouse on, 86

mailboat to, 105 et seq.

sands of, 168

Tobermory, mailboat from, 22, 105,

108, 164
Torran rocks, in, 139, 143
Traigh Bhagh sands, 159
Traigh Bheidhe sands, 159
"Traigh Gheal," 139
Traigh Mhor sands, 159
Treshnish, Islands of, 44, 104, 107,

120, lai
Trout, introduction to Lochan Uaine

of, 69, 91
sea, 34, 52, S3, 55, 56, 159
Turnstone, 13, 159, 171, 185, 203, 210-

211
Turtle dove, 203
Twite, 148, 203

nesting site of, 50

UlSGEAN, Ross of Mull, 139, 140
Uist, loi

kelp industry on, 176, 177
Ulva, Island of, 44, 108, 115

kelp industry on, 174, 181

Sound of, 89, 115, 121

Violet, 42, 195

Wagtail, 71

white, migration of, 163, 189
Wheatear, 8, 42, 61, 83, 94, 102, 188,
203

one of " The Seven Sleepers," 163
Whimbrel, 97, 119, 188

call of, 189

migration of, 134, 163, 189
Whinchat, 55, 83, i88, 194
Widgeon, 121, 203
Willow warbler, 7, 54, 188, 199
Wind, Tiree folklore of, 164-5
Witches, legend of, 160
Wood warbler, 56, 195
Woodcock, 118, 187, 199
Wren, 8

223

Prinied by

Cassell & Company, Limited,

La Belle Sauvage, London, E.C 4

10, 1 120

&_o>

AMNH LIBRARY

100115426