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 HERE
is no more desolate region in all Scotland than that extending
northwards from Kinloch-Rannoch to Loch Laggan. Once it was a vast
primaeval forest broken only by the bare mountain summits, and wherever
the surface of the moor is broken, bones of the departed woodland are
exposed to view—skeletons of trees lying in inextricable confusion as
they fell in a long-forgotten past, embedded in the all-prevailing wet
peat. Many theories have been propounded to explain the disappearance of
the forest, and the still more obscure cause which prevents trees, when
planted now, thriving where millions of them once occupied the ground.
The most probable explanation is founded upon a change in meteorological
conditions; a cycle of centuries with moderate rainfall, favourable to
tree-growth, having been followed by a cycle of centuries with excessive
rainfall, encouraging the growth of moss and sphagnum to a degree
destructive to higher forms of vegetation, thus causing the total
disappearance of forest at about 1000 feet above sea level.
Now as the whole of the
district referred to lies above the 1000 feet level, and the only
vestiges of the primaeval woodland that remain are a few patches of
stunted birches and rowans, this might be considered the least likely
situation for successful horticulture. So far is this from being the
case that, in the very heart of this wilderness, at the unpromising
elevation of 1250 feet, there has been created one of the most
interesting and effective flower gardens with which. I am acquainted.
Its prosperity seems to be evidence in support of the theory that it is
the excess of rainfall and consequent growth of moss, not low
temperature, that destroyed the ancient forest and prevails against all
attempts to restore it. Rain falls faster and in greater quantity than
evaporation and surface drainage can remove; the soil becomes
waterlogged, and moss overwhelms all except such plants as heaths, which
are structurally adapted to endure extremes of drought and moisture,
heat and cold.
But, it may be argued,
the rainfall on the moor of Rannoch and the surrounding mountains is not
greater than in many other districts where trees grow vigorously—the
English lake district, for instance. The answer is that altitude must be
taken into account. At high levels, cloud prevails much oftener and for
longer periods than at lower levels. A few hours of sunshine removes
from the earth by evaporation an enormous weight of water, which, under
a cloudy sky, can only find escape by gravitation. Consequently, the
first requisite in creating a garden in a waterlogged region like
Corrour is special provision of rapid drainage. Sir John Stirling
Maxwell kept this wisely in view when he chose a site for his shooting
lodge at the foot of Loch Ossian. The old lodge, now pulled down, stood
1723 feet above the sea, too high for the growth of the potato, although
rhubarb, a true alpine, flourished vigorously in the patch of kitchen
garden. The site of the new house is 500 feet lower, built on a terminal
moraine, which, by damming back the streams in the strath, has created
Loch Ossian, a beautiful sheet of water between three and four miles
long. Even at this lower level, corn never ripens, though oats are sown
to supply green fodder; whence it may be understood that the creation of
a flower garden here was an experiment of no small uncertainty.
Advantage was taken of
every natural facility in the ground. The moraine whereon the house
stands consists of a vast jumble of granite boulders, ice-borne from the
neighbouring mountains. Many of these boulders having crumbled into
coarse sand after the peculiar habit of granite, the whole mass was
porous, although thickly coated with a mantle of wet peat. That mantle
having been got rid of, and a terrace formed along the south front of
the house, it was easy to establish a thorough system of drainage, and
to maintain it by timely removal of sphagnum. Below this terrace, on the
knolls between it and the lake, has been created an alpine garden of the
most delightful description.
In alpine gardens and
rockeries the effort of make-believe is almost always distressingly
obvious. Individual plants may be beautiful and interesting, but the
whole effect is unsatisfactory and out of keeping with the environment.
But it is otherwise at Corrour. No need to pile rocks in laborious
imitation of a ravine; they lie here naturally in profusion as they were
thrown down ages ago by the retreating glacier; and as for environment,
let the broad flanks and towering crests of Carn Dearg, Beinn Bhreich
and Beinn Eibhinn suffice for that, with the fair expanse of Loch Ossian
at their feet. To turn this into an alpine garden little more has been
necessary than to root out the heather and wild grasses from certain
pockets and hollows, fill them with good soil and plant choice
bell-flowers, globe flowers, primulas, saxifrages, speedwells, dianthus,
and a rich variety of other flowering herbs. It is remarkable to see
Incarvillea Delavayi, not usually considered patient of excessive wet
and cold, flourishing here as luxuriantly as anywhere, spreading into
large patches and bearing quantities of its large, gloxinia-like
blossoms.
Along the lake margin of
yellow sand, iris, spiraea, and other water-loving plants make a
charming fringe; while shelter is provided by masses of Pines montana,
planted on exposed ridges among the heather. This hardy mountaineer, of
dwarf stature but luxuriant foliage, thrives vigorously under
conditions of exposure
and soil which are fatal to other trees. It revels in as much wind as it
can get, and is able to digest the humic acid in peat, which is so
unfavourable to the health of most trees.
All this part of the
ground may be termed wild garden, inasmuch as flowering exotics appear
to be growing spontaneously among the native heaths and grasses. But
similar effect could not be obtained so easily at a lower altitude than
Corrour, where the native herbage has none of the rank exuberance of
lowland growth. It is subalpine in character, and is composed of many
plants exceedingly ornamental in themselves, such as the various heaths
and moorland berries, the field orchises, the dainty little cornel (Cornus
$uecica) and the lovely and fragrant wintergreen (Pyrola intermedia).
With these are blended in the most natural manner lowly thickets of the
Himalayan Andromeda (Cassiope) fastigiata, with terminal racemes of
snow-white or flesh-tinted blossoms at the end of every branchlet of
intense green. Beside the granite stairs which climb the steeper banks,
the great Norwegian saxifrage (S. cotyledon) tosses its great cloud of
white blossom with a luxuriance that I have never seen equalled
elsewhere. The branching sprays and delicate blossoms seem so fragile
that one dreads the effect upon them of the first rough breeze; but the
stems are so tough and wiry that the display is not marred even by a
long Highland gale. Globe-flowers, among which our native Trollies
europceu holds the palm, crowd the hollow moist places in beautiful
contrast with such bell-flowers as Campanula rhomboidalis.
The terrace itself, the
terrace wall, and the stone borders flanking a. granite-margined
fountain, are more formal in character. The alpines clothing the wall
with a many-coloured mantle seem to display brighter hues than they ever
do when cultivated at lower altitudes. Some of them undoubtedly spread
more luxuriantly than they do elsewhere. For instance, most gardeners
find the Himalayan Cyananthus lobatus somewhat difficult to
establish—somewhat prone to disappear even when established. Here it may
be seen in masses a yard and a half across, covered with shining blue
flowers. The matchless turquoise of Myosotis rupicola gleams from chinks
in the granite stairs in charming contrast with the pearl white of
Oxalis enneaphylla, the vivid rose of Dianthus neglectus, the shining
gold of Waldteinia trifoliata and the profound blue of gentianella. This
little forget-me-not, not often seen in private gardens, is the choicest
of the whole family for wall decoration, for it is compact in habit,
growing in dainty tufts, asking only for a narrow, deep crevice, with
grit and loam to keep its roots cool, and free space overhead to allow
it to enjoy the sunshine.
Notable among scores of
pretty herbs on this wall and terrace are wreaths of Campanula G. F.
Wilson, a hybrid between C. pulla and C. carpatica, a plant of
extraordinary merit owing to the abundance of its dark blue flowers ;
Edriantbus (Wahlenbergia) pumilio, with a profusion of purple blossom
produced from cushions of glaucous, needle-shaped leaves; Acantholimum
glurnaceum spreading into large prickly pillows of green, starred with
rosy sprays; the Pyrenean Globul aria nana; Oxalis enneayhylla, a dainty
woodsorrel from the Falkland Islands with waxy-white flowers; the
beautiful Pyrenean gromwell, Lithospermum Gaston, with sky-blue
clusters, and the rare Gentiana Frcelichi from Carinthia, with
vase-shaped flowers of the same colour.
Spring lags late in these
high places; the first snowdrop may not hang its head till its brethren
on the seaboard have grown lank and green; but when the frost relaxes
its grip and the snow-wreaths sink out of sight, growth comes with a
rush, and the profusion of blossom is such as has to be seen before it
can be realised.
Gardeners and amateurs
owe much to Sir John Stirling Maxwell for having shown by example both
at Corrour and Pollok what excellent results may be obtained in
decorative horticulture under the most discouraging and apparently
prohibitive conditions. |
