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Deerstalking, Hind and Calf, Highland Sheep.
CHAPTER XXII.
The Findhorn River-Excursion to Source-Deerstalking-Shepherds-
Hind and Calf-Heavy Rain-Floods-Walk to Lodge-Fine Morning-
Highland Sheep-Banks of River-Cottages.
I do not know a stream that more completely realizes all one's
ideas of the beauty of Highland scenery than the Findhorn,
taking it from the spot where it is no more than a small rivulet,
bubbling and sparkling along a narrow gorge in the far-off recesses of the Monaghliahd mountains, down to the Bay of Findhorn, where its accumulated waters are poured into the Moray
Firth. From source to mouth, this river is full of beauty and
interest.
On a bright August day, the 6th of the month, I joined a friend
in a deerstalking expedition, near the source of the Findhorn,
in the Monaghliahd. We went from near Inverness to our
quarters. For the greatest part of our way our road was over
a flat though elevated range of dreary moor, more interesting to
the eye of a grouse-shooter than to any one else. When within
a few miles of the end of our journey, the Findhorn came in
sight, passing like a silver stripe, edged with bright green,
through the brown mountains, and sparkling brightly in the
evening sun. The sides of the hills immediately overhanging
the river are clothed with patches of weeping-birch and juniper,
with here and there a black hut perched on a green knoll, dotted
with groves of the rugged and ancient-looking birch-trees. About
these solitary abodes, too, were small patches of oats and potatoes.
The mavis with its joyous note, and the blackbird's occasional
full and rich song, greeted us as we passed through these wooded
tracts. Sometimes a wood-pigeon would crash through the
branches close to us as we wound round some corner of the
wood.
Having arrived at our destination, we made ourselves as comfortable as we could, and retired to rest.
In the morning we started in different directions. I, accompanied by a shepherd, went westward towards the sources of the
river. I cannot say that I had much hope of finding deer, as the
whole line of my march was full of sheep ; and red-deer will very
seldom remain quiet when this is the case, either from a dislike
to the sheep themselves, or from knowing that where there are
sheep there are also shepherds and shepherds' dogs. With black
cattle, on the contrary, deer live in tolerable amity ; and I have
frequently seen cattle and deer feeding together in the same
glen.
I went some miles westward, keeping up the course of the
river, or rather parallel to it, sometimes along its very edge, and
at other times at some distance from the water. The hignest
building on the river, if building it can be termed, is a small
shealing, or summer residence of the shepherds, called, I believe,
Dahlvaik. Seeing some smoke coming from this hut, we went
to it. When at some few hundred yards off, we were greeted
with a most noisy salute from some half-dozen sheep-dogs, who
seemed bent on eating up my bloodhound. But having tried her
patience to the uttermost, till she rolled over two or three of them
rather roughly (not condescending, however, to use her teeth),
the colleys retreated to the door of the shealing, where they redoubled, if possible, their noise, keeping up a concert of howling
and barking enough to startle every deer in the country. My
companion, whose knowledge of the English tongue was not very
deep, told me that the owners of the dogs would be some " lads
from Strath Errick," who were to hold a conference with him
about some sheep.
A black-headed, unshaven Highlander having come out, and
kicked the dogs into some kind of quiet, we entered the hut, and
found two more " lads " in it, one stretched out on a very rough
bench, and the other busy stirring up some oatmeal and hot water
for their breakfast. The smoke for a few moments prevented my
making out what or who were in the place. I held a short (very
short) conversation with the three shepherds, they understanding
not one word of English, and I understanding very few of Gaelic.
But, by the help of the man who accompanied me, I found out
that a stag or two were still in the glen, besides a few hinds.
The meal and water having been mixed sufficiently, it was
emptied out into a large earthen dish, and placed smoking on the
lid of a chest. Each man then produced from some recess of his
plaid a long wooden spoon; whilst my companion assisted in the
ceremony by fetching some water from the river in a bottle.
They all three, then, having doffed their bonnets, and raising
their hands, muttered over a long Gaelic grace. Then, without
saying a word, set to with good will at the scalding mess before
them, each attacking the corner of the dish nearest him, shovelling
immense spoonfuls down their throats ; and when more than
usually scalded-their throats must have been as fireproof as
that of the Fire King himself-taking a mouthful of the water in
the bottle, which was passed from one to the other for that purpose. Having eaten a most extraordinary quantity of the pottage,
each man wiped his spoon on the sleeve of his coat, and again
said a grace. The small remainder was then mixed with more
water and given to the dogs, who had been patiently waiting for
their share. After they had licked the dish clean, it was put
away into the meal-chest, the key of which was then concealed
in a hole of the turf wall. I divided most of my cigars with the
men to smoke in their pipes, and handed round my whisky-flask,
reserving a small modicum for my own use during the day.
From this place to its source the river is very narrow, and
confined between steep and rocky hills that come down to the
edge of the water; varied here and there by less abrupt ascents,
covered with spreading juniper-bushes and green herbage. On
one of these bright spots we saw a hind and her calf, the former
standing to watch us as we passed up the opposite side of the
river, while her young one was playing about her like a lamb.
They did not seem to care much for our coming there ; and
having watched us for some time, and seeing that we had no evil
intention towards them, the hind recommenced feeding, only
occasionally stopping to see that we did not turn. The ringouzel, that near cousin of the blackbird, frequently flitted across
the glen, and, perching on a juniper-bush, saluted us with its wild
and sweet song.
The morning was bright, and the river sparkled and danced
over its stony bed; while every little pool wras dimpled by the
rising of the trout, who jumped without dread of hook and line
at the small black gnats that were playing about the surface of
the water. A solitary heron was standing on a stone in the
middle of the stream, seemingly quite regardless of us. But
while I was looking at his shadowy figure, which was perfectly
reflected in the water beneath him, the bird suddenly flew off
with a cry of alarm, occasioned by the appearance of a peregrine
falcon, who passed with even and rapid flight at no great height
along the course of the river, without taking the least notice of
the heron.
Beautiful in its grand and wild solitude is the glen where the
Findhorn takes its rise ; seldom does the foot of man pass by it.
It is too remote even for the sportsman ; and the grouse cock
crows in peace, and struts without fear of pointer or gun, when
he comes down from the hill-slopes at noonday to sip the clear
waters of the springs that give birth to this beautiful river. The
red-deer fearlessly quenches his thirst in them, as he passes from
the hills of Killen to the pine-woods in Strathspey. Seldom is
he annoyed by the presence of mankind, unless a chance shepherd
or poacher from Badenoch happens to wander in that direction.
Having rested for a short time, and satisfied my curiosity respecting the source of the river, we struck off over some very dreary
slopes of high ground on the north-east, interspersed with green
stripes, through which small burns make their way to swell the
main stream of the river. Not a deer did we see, but great
quantities of grouse, who, when flushed, flew to short distances,
and alighting on some hillock, crowed as it were in defiance.
A cold chill that passed over me made me turn and look down
the course of the stream, and the first thing that I saw was a
dense shower or cloud of rain working its way up the valley,
and gradually spreading over the face of the country, shutting
out hill after hill from our view as it crept towards us. In the
other direction all was blue and bright. " We must turn home,
or we shall never get across the streams and burns," was my
ejaculation to the shepherd. " 'Deed, ay, Sir," was his answer ;
and, tightening our plaids, we turned our faces towards the east.
As the rain approached, the ring-ouzel sang more loudly, as if to
take leave of the sunshine ; and the grouse flew to the dry and
bare heights, where thej crowed incessantly.
The rain gradually came on, accompanied by a cold cutting
wrind. I never saw such rain in my life; it was a perfect deluge;
and in five minutes I was as wet as if I had been swimming
through the river. We saw the burns we had to cross in our way
home tumbling in foaming torrents down the hillsides. In the
morning we had stepped across them without wetting our feet.
The first one that we came to I looked at with wonder. Instead
of a mere thread of crystal water, creeping rather than flowing
through the stones which filled its bed, we had to wade through
a roaring torrent, which was carrying in its course pieces of turf,
heather, and even large stones. We crossed with some difficulty,
holding by each other's collars. Two or three burns we passed
in this manner, the rain still continuing, and if possible increasing.
I looked round at my companion, and was only prevented from
laughing at his limp and rueful countenance by thinking that he
probably had just as much cause for merriment in my appearance.
The poor hound was perfectly miserable, as she followed me with
the rain running in streams down her long ears.
After some time we came opposite the shealing where we had
been with the shepherds in the morning. And here my companion said that he must 1 we me, having particular business
with the other men, who had come on purpose to meet him there.
He warned me to be very careful in crossing the burns, as, if I
once lost my footing in any of them, I should probably never get
up again.
Off I tramped through the sodden ground. I managed the
first burn pretty well. But the next one was wider, and, if possible, more rapid. I had no stick to sound its depth, but saw
that it was too strong to venture into ; so I turned up its course,
hoping it would get narrower and shallower higher up. Its banks
were steep and rocky, and covered in some parts with hazel and
birch. On a withered branch of one of the latter was a large
buzzard, sitting mournfully in the rain, and uttering its shrill,
wild cry, a kind of note between a whistle and a scream. The
bird sat so tamely, that in a pet I determined to try if 1 could
not stop his ominous-sounding voice with a rifle-ball. But, after
taking a most deliberate aim at him, the copper cap snapped,
I tried another with equally bad success. So I had to continue
my way, leaving the bird where he was. I could find no place
in the burn that was fordable for some distance; and I said to
myself, " If I had but a stick to sound the water with !" The
next moment almost I saw one about six feet in length standing
upright in the ground. I could scarcely believe my eyes. The
stick must have been left by mere chance by some shepherd. It
came most opportunely for me, however. The first place I tried
in the water with it (a spot where I thought I could wade), it
went in to the depth of at least five feet. This would never do;
so on I went up the hill, splashing through the wet bog and heather.
At last I came to a place in the burn, where, by leaping from
one stone to the other, at no small risk to myself, I managed to
get across. My poor hound had to swim, and was very nearly
carried off by the stream. Instead of turning down again towards
the river, I still kept the high ground, remembering that I had
to pass through two or three other burns, one of them, at least,
much larger than any I had already crossed. I had now to make
my way over a long flat, covered with coarse grass, and full of
holes of water and rotten bog. I never walked a more weary
mile in my life, sinking, as I did, up to my knees at nearly every
step. When in the middle of this, I saw three hinds and a calf
walk deliberately along a ridge not three hundred yards from me.
I had to lead the hound for some distance, as she lost all her
fatigue on coming on their scent, which she did as we passed
their track. I made no attempt on them, knowing the useless
state of my rifle. We kept on, and at last got across all the
burns excepting the largest, which was still between me and my
dry clothes and dinner. I had now got quite high up in the
barren hill, leaving every thing but rock and heather far below
me, the birch-woods not extending above half a mile from the
river. I came here to another long flat piece of ground ; and
having to make many windings and turnings to cross different
small streams, I suddenly discovered that I had entirely lost my
points of the compass. So, sitting down, I tried to make out
which way the wind blew, as my only guide. This soon set me
right; and after another hour or two of weary walking, I found
myself on the hilltop almost immediately overhanging the
Lodge, the smoke from whose chimneys was a most welcome
sight. On getting to it, I found the river raging and pouring
down through its narrow banks in a manner that no one who has
not seen a Highland river in full flood can imagine, carrying
with it every kind of debris that its course could produce.
At eleven o'clock at night, wrhen looking at it by the light of
a brilliant northern moon (every cloud having long disappeared),
we found that the water had already begun to subside, though it
still roared on with great fury. On the opposite rocks we could
see many a mountain burn as they glanced in the moonlight.
Every bird and animal was at rest, excepting a couple of owls
answering each other with loud hootings, which were plainly
heard above the noise of the waters.
The friend I was with being obliged to go home the next
day, I determined also to wend my way to the low country, and
to follow the river till I reached my own house.
We started on horseback very early. Nothing could exceed
the beauty of the morning, and everything, animate and inanimate, seemed to smile rejoicingly. The Findhorn had returned
to its usual size, and danced merrily in the sunshine. The
streams on the opposite cliffs were again like silver threads, and
the sheep were winding along the narrow paths on the face of
the rocks, the animals looking to us as if they were walking,
like flies, on the very face of the perpendicular cliffs. We saw
a flock of some thirty or so making their way in single file along
these paths: while we watched them they came to a place where
their road was broken up by the yesterday's torrents. We could
not understand what they would do. The path was evidently
too narrow to turn; and, as well as we could see with our glasses,
to proceed was impossible. However, after a short halt the leader
sprang over the obstacle, whatever it was, and alighted safely on
the opposite side. The least false step would have sent him
down many hundred feet. However, they all got over in safety,
and having filed away for some little distance slowly along the
face of the precipice, they came to a small green shelf, apparently only a few yards square, the object of all their risk and
labour. As fast as they got on this they dispersed, and commenced feeding quickly about it. We did not wait to see them
return, as we had a long day's journey before us. Behind the
house the hill seemed alive with grouse, crowing in the morning
sun. My hound came out baying joyously to see me, and we
started on our day's journey. Our road took us through birchwoods, fragrant from the yesterday's rain, and in which the
birds sang right merrily. As we descended the river we passed
the plantations at Dalmigaire and considerable tracts of cornground-the corn in this high country being still perfectly green.
Here and there was a small farm-house on a green mound, with
a peat-stack larger than the house itself. As we passed these, a
bare-headed and barelegged urchin would look at us round a
corner of the building, and then running in, would bring out the
rest of the household to stare at us. If we entered one of the
houses, we were always greeted with hospitable similes, and the
good wife, wiping a chair with her apron, would produce a bowl
of excellent milk (such milk as you only can get in the Highlands) and a plate of cheese and oatcake, the latter apparently
consisting of chopped straw, and seasoned with gravel, though
made palatable by the kind welcome with which it was given.
Frequently, too, a bottle of whisky would be produced, and a
glass of it urged on us, or we were pressed to stop to take an egg
or something warm. At Freeburn we parted-my friend to go
by coach to Inverness, and I to keep my course down the river,
which is surrounded by dreary grey hills. As I got on, however, the banks grew more rocky and picturesque, enlivened here
and there by the usual green patches of corn, and the small farmhouses, with their large peat-stack, but diminutive corn-stack.
Near Freeburn I talked to an old Highlander, who was flogging
the water with a primitive-looking rod and line and a coarselooking fly, catching, however, a goodly number rf trout. He
was the first angler I had as yet passed, with the exception of a
kilted boy, belonging to the shepherd at our place of rest, who
was already out when we left home, catching trout for his own
breakfast and that of a young peregrine falcon which he had
caught in the rocks opposite the house, and was keeping wholly
on a fish diet-and a more beautiful and finer bird I never saw,
although she had fed for many weeks on nothing but small trout,
a food not so congenial to her as rabbits and pigeons and the
other products of the low country. I bought the hawk of him,
and have kept her ever since. Below Freeburn I had to wade
the river, in order to avoid a very difficult and somewhat dangerous pass on the rocks. Frequently I met with fresh tracks
of the otter. In some places, where the water fell over rocks of
any height, so as to prevent the animal from keeping the bed of
the river, there were regularly hard beaten paths by which they
passed in going from one pool to the other. The water-ouzel,
too, enlivened the scene by its curious rapid flight and shrill cry,
as it flew from one shallow to another, or passed back over my
head to return to its favourite resting-stone from which I had
disturbed it.
The kestrel seems to abound in the rocks through which the
river runs, as I saw this bird very frequently either sitting on
some projecting angle of stone or hovering high above me.
The country here appears as good for grouse, as the hills near
the sources would be for red-deer, were they free from sheep. I
do not know a district in Scotland that would make a better
deer-forest than that immediately round and to the westward of
Coignafern, where the Monaghliahd mountains afford every
variety of ground suited to these animals, with most excellent
feeding for them along the burns and straths which intersect the
high grounds in every direction, and the most perfect solitude.
It is almost a pity that the Mac Intosh does not turn this district
into a forest.
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