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"We will, fair Queen, up to the
mountain top" (Shakespeare). There are several ways of
reaching Cairngorm from Speyside. One is by the
Rothiemurchus road; another is by the Slugan of
Kincardine, and a third is from Nethy-Bridge. Each has its
advantages. We prefer the last. Without dwelling on
details, we will note some points of interest by the way,
and some of the outlying nooks of the hill worth seeing.
Half-a-mile above Nethy-Bridge is the Iron Mill Croft,
celebrated by Sir Thomas Dick Lauder. At the Dell the
Nurseries may be looked at, with the Summer Seat, the
ingenious work of Mr Stephen, which is built up of 112
different kinds of wood. The road runs through the woods
for about two miles, and then turns to the left, joining
the old Glen Road a little above the Forest Lodge.
Rhynettan (1325) affords a fine view of the course of the
Nethy from the dark gorge of the Garvault, down through
deep clefts in the drift, and winding ways among the muirs
and mosses. Between the Cromalt and the Nethy, the
roofless house of Inchtomach stands, sad and solitary, on
its sunny knoll, bearing witness, like Rinuigh, Rinirich,
Rivoan, and other abandoned homesteads, to the days that
are gone. Inchtomach was long held by the Andersons, and
the last tenant was Donald Anderson, a tall and handsome
Highlander, who used to carry the Abernethy Standard at
the Castle Grant Gatherings. A little beyond Rivoan is
Loch-an-Uaine. This romantic lochan lies in the "Slugan"
or throat of Glen More, at the entrance from Abernethy.
The hills rise steeply on each side, but with more breadth
on the right, where the road passes. The hill on the right
is called Creag
Loisgte (the Burnt Hill), and that on the left Creag nan
Gall (the Lowlander’s Hill). These names are descriptive,
and, doubtless, refer to forgotten incidents of the past.
The lochan is oval in form, and about 600 yards in
circumference. It has neither inlet nor outlet, but is fed
from underground sources. The water is of a delicate green
colour and exquisitely clear. Looking down from the bank,
some 10 or 12
feet, one can watch the tiny
trout swimming about, and wonder at the strange gathering
of logs and roots, the relics of ancient forests, that
lies in the bottom. Between the banks and the water there
is a strip of ground which in an August day may be found
gay with violets, bluebells, and St John’s Wort, with here
and there thistles, dandelions, and wild strawberries. If
the day be calm, all above and around is reflected on the
surface of the water with wondrous beauty. The tufts of
grass, the patches of purple heath, like clots of blood,
the pines standing singly or in clumps, the ledges of
rock, with the masses of loose stones sloping downwards
from the cliff, the clouds, the blue sky, and the glorious
sun are all there—
"For not a
feature in those hills
Is in the mirror slighted."
So sings Wordsworth
of St Mary’s Lake. Scott has a similar passage; so has
Shelley in his poem, "The Recollections," but with a
subtlety of thought and felicity of expression beyond
either of the others. When one looked, as Coleridge has
it, "with head bent low and cheek aslant," the beauty of
the scene was marvellously enhanced. The colours took a
more delicate tint, the sun shone with more chastened
radiance. Things were in a manner transfigured. It became
difficult to distinguish between the seeming and the real.
The mind itself was caught as if in a spell. Fancy ruled.
Now the thought was of our rude forefathers, and we
listened as if for the horn of one of the old barons of
the glen, or the wild shouts of the caterans as they drove
their prey through the pass or turned fiercely on their
pursuers. Anon, other thoughts arose. The scene seemed a
glimpse of fairyland, and we felt as if it would have been
no surprise to have heard the fairy maidens lilting "Crochailan"
as they milked the deer, or to have seen "Donald More"
himself with his elfin band sailing their skiffs on the
lake or holding gay revels on the green. The question is
often asked—-What causes the greenness of the water? In
the "Survey of the Province of Moray" (1798) it is said :—"The
rocky banks rise around to a great height, and are closely
clothed with the ever-verdant pine, by the reflection
of which the water is always seen of the deepest green
colour in every possible situation." It is strange
that a man so shrewd and intelligent as the Rev. Mr Leslie
should have committed himself to such an opinion. The
explanation is not a bit better than the old belief that
the water is green because the fairies washed their
clothes in it! Some twenty years ago Sir Robert Christison
gave his opinion, as the result of enquiry, that pure
water was colourless, but Tyndall and Aitken have proved,
by
various experiments, that this is a mistake. The colour of
distilled water is blue-green. At the same time, owing to
matter held in suspension or solution, the colour may be
greatly varied. The Lake of Como is of a deep blue; the
Maggiore is greener. Brodick Bay takes a green hue from
the grains of yellow sand, whereas Loch Lomond is of a
brown colour. In Australia a gum tree cast into the water
will soon tinge it of a fine blue. It may be well to
notice that there are three other "green" lochs in the
Cairngorm district. One is on Ben Muich Dhui, another on
Cairn Toul, and the third on Cairngorm of Deny. The latter
is the one referred to by William Smith, Rynuie,
Abernethy, in his fine hunting song (Gaelic) "Allt an
Lochain Uaine."
From Rivoan there are two routes to
Cairngorm— one by the Garvault, the other by the Garbhchor.
The latter is the better. The way by the Garvault is long
and dreary, cramped and confined;
but on the hill there
is freedom and openness, bracing air, and a delightful
play of light and shade. We feel the truth of Stevenson’s
saying, "There are days when thus to climb out of the
lowlands seems like scaling heaven." At Eag-Garbhchor in a
sheltered hollow, may be seen the remains of a shepherds
bothy. A little beyond is a huge boulder, which is said
one stormy winter night to have shifted its position, and
to have moved higher up! Doubtless it has been a great
traveller in its time, and this may have been only one of
its erratic turns. Foxes haunt the Garbhchor. When driven
from there, they used to cross by Cor-na-spreidh to Bynack,
and when they found no rest there, they sought refuge in
the impregnable fastness of
Caochan-na-Saobhaidh,
near the Glasalt. The Eagle’s Cliff (Stac-na-h’
Iolaire) is a bold, roughly channeled cliff on the
south side of Maim Suim (2395),
facing Cairngorm. Eagles have built there from time
immemorial. Once when passing we observed some goats
feeding near the foot. Our collie barked at them, when
they took refuge among the rocks, bounding from ledge to
ledge with wonderful agility. They soon reached a height
from which they could look down, as if with contempt, on
the dog leaping and barking harmlessly far below. The
scene called up Coleridge’s line
"Ye wild goats sporting round the
eagle’s nest;"
and Wordsworth’s beautiful picture, "The Eagle’s
Birthplace
" —
"Familiar
with forgotton years that shows
Inscribed, as with the silence of the thought,
Upon its
bleak and visionary sides
The history of many a winter storm,
Or obscure records of the path of fire."
Near this, at Glaic-bhothain, is
Archie’s Cairn. Some eighty years ago, two men, Archie
Fyfe and Sandy Fraser, commonly called "Foxie Fraser,"
were watching a fox den. Archie’s gun went off
accidentally, and he was mortally wounded. There were
suspicions of foul play on the part of his comrade, but
without good reason. The gun was regarded as unlucky, and
the party carrying the corpse to Sleighich threw it into
Loch-ghobhlach. As you ascend the hill, two curious
effects may be noticed. One is the altered appearance of
Ben-meadhon. At a distance, the paps on the top seem quite
close together, but now they not only look larger, but
seem to have drawn farther apart. The other is, that the
higher you rise the more you come into sight and
companionship of the great Bens. Those who seek may find a
lesson in this. The path is now for some distance along
the watershed. At one place there is a pretty steep bit of
climbing, where the rocks rise like crow-steps on an old
Scottish gable, but for the most part the ascent is easy.
The chimneys of the Cath-no (Mudachan Chadha-no),
lie a little off the track, but should not be passed by.
These are huge masses of granite seamed and worn so that
they resemble chimney stalks. They stand at the top of the
stupendous cliffs that rise wall-like from the deep bed of
the Garbh Alit,
"Precipitous, black, jagged rocks,
For ever shattered, and the same for ever."
At one time there were four or more
"stalks." Two are said to have fallen in the great
earthquake of 1816, and at the same time the others lost
something of their height.
Another interesting point is Margaret’s
Corrie (Cisd Mhearad) This corrie lies on the south
east shoulder of the hill, away from the sun. It is
notable as one of the places where snow lies longest. Even
in the hottest summer it does not altogether disappear. A
small stream runs in at the top, and gradually wears a way
for itself. From the force of the water below, and the
melting of the snow above, the channel is widened, till a
sort of tunnel is formed some ten feet in height and more
than a hundred feet in length. Once when there in the
month of August, we were able to enter at the bottom, and
pass up and out at the top. The gloom and the chilliness
and the closeness of the overarching snow gave quite a
sepulchral character to the place, corresponding to its
name of "Margaret’s Coffin." Who Margaret was is not
known. One story is that the corrie was the haunt long ago
of some wretched hag who had been driven from society for
her crimes, and that here she herded a flock of goats and
found a grave. Another legend connects the place with the
Witch of Moy, commemorated in Moritt’s Ballad. It is
curious that there is a corrie in Badenoch with the same
name and similar traditions. The path beyond this is
covered with smooth, elastic turf, pleasant to walk on as
a Turkey carpet. Further on there are reaches of coarse
sand, channelled here and there by the snow torrents. Then
there are loose masses of granite lying about in wild
confusion. The vegetation is scanty. Here and there are
tufts of grass and dwarf willow, with patches of thrift
and sometimes broad carpets of moss campion gay with its
pretty purple blossoms. This is the favourite haunt of the
ptarmigan. They may be seen running about among the rocks
and boulders, and if started, they shift to some other
part of the hill, or make a splendid flight across the
Garbhault to Bynack or Benmeadhon. Sometimes there comes a
sudden change of temperature. Snow or hail falls, and the
effect of the sunshine on the glittering slopes is very
beautiful. Or mist may gather, boiling up white and
sulphurous from the corries, and wrapping the mountains in
gloom, while now and again the peaks of Carn-toul and
Bynack stand out like giants glaring fiercely at the
strangers who invade their territories. We remember
Wordsworth’s saying "I would not give the mists that
spiritualise our mountains for all the blue skies of
Italy." Sometimes under favourable circumstances the
Spectre of the Brocken is seen. Sir Thomas Dick Lauder
describes such an appearance ("Edinburgh New Philosophic
Journal, 1831.") "On descending from the top (of Ben Muic
Dhui) at about half-past three P.M., an interesting
optical appearance presented itself to our view. We had
turned towards the east, and the sun shone on our backs,
when we saw a very bright rainbow described on the mist
before us. The bow, of beautifully distinct prismatic
colours, formed about two-thirds of a circle, the
extremities of which appeared to rest on the lower portion
of the mountain. In the centre of this incomplete circle
there was described a luminous disc, surrounded by the
prismatic colours displayed in concentric rings. On the
disc itself, each of the party (three in number), as they
stood about fifty yards apart, saw his own figure most
distinctly delineated, although those of the other two
were invisible to him. The representation appeared of the
natural size, and the outline of the whole person of the
spectator was most correctly portrayed. To prove that the
shadow seen by each individual was that of himself, we
resorted to various gestures, such as waving our hats,
flapping our plaids, &c., all which motions were exactly
followed by the airy figure. We then collected together,
and stood as close to one another as possible, when each
could see three shadows in the disc; his own as distinctly
as before, while those of his two companions were but
faintly discernible." The Marquis’s Well is a favourite
place for luncheon. The behaviour of people at the top of
the hill varies greatly. Some are quiet, others noisy.
Some are disappointed, while others seem as if they could
not be satisfied with seeing. The deeper feelings of the
soul in such a scene are strikingly described by
Wordsworth
"Sound needed none,
Nor any voice of joy; his spirit drank
The spectacle.
. .
No thanks he breath’d, he
proferr’d no request;
Rapt into still communion that transcends
The imperfect offices of prayer and praise,
His mind was a thanksgiving to the Power
That made him; it was blessedness and love."
With a clear sky, the view from
Cairngorm is wide and varied. In the north sparkles the
Moray Fifth, with the Ord of Caithness, Ben-Bhraggie in
Sutherland, and Ben-Wyvis in Ross-shire, rising proudly
beyond. To the west the peerless Ben-Nevis is dimly
visible. From the east southwards there is a
"multitudinous show of mountains," among which Loch-na-gar,
Cam Toul, Ben-Macdui and in the far distance Ben-y-Gloe
are notable. Ben-Macdui is about four miles south. It is
connected with Cairngorm by a broad, grassy ridge, dipping
in the centre, abounding in springs and brooks. Once when
passing the savage conies of Cor-an-t’ Shneaehdaidh and
Cor-an-lochan with a friend, we had a curious experience.
We had stopped to "roll the stone, in thunder down the
mountain," when we were surprised to hear the sound of a
pipe. We looked, but could see no sign of life. "Where
should this music be? I’ the air, or the earth?" The
strain went on. At last we discerned a figure perched on
the opposite ridge, just on the sky-line, seemingly a mile
off.
"This is above all strangeness,
Upon the crown of the cliff, what thing was that?"
‘We whistled loud and shrill, and waved
our hats. The musician bowed in return, and then went on
with his music. By far the grandest sight at Ben Macdui is
"The grisly rocks that guard
The infant source of Highland Dee."
"The vicinity of some of these summits
(Cairn Toul and others) to Ben Muic Dhui," says Mr Hill
Burton, "has something frightful in it. Standing on the
western shoulder of the hill you imagine that you might
throw a stone to the top of Brae Riach. Yet between these
two summits rolls the river Dee; and Brae Riach presents,
right opposite to the hill on which you stand, a mural
precipice, said to be two thousand feet high—an estimate
which no one who looks on it will be inclined to doubt.
Brae Riach, indeed, is unlike anything else in Scotland.
The object that at a distant view it most resembles is
Salisbury Crags, near Edinburgh, which may serve for a
model of the mighty mass, such as one sees of a mountain
in a Dutchman’s garden" "Seldom is the cleft between the
two great summits free of clouds, which flit hither and
thither, adding somewhat to the mysterious awfulness of
the gulf, and seeming in their motions to cause certain
deep but faint murmurs, which are in reality the mingled
sounds of the many torrents which course through the
glens, far, far below." The Queen in her "Highland
Journal" has expressed similar sentiments, with Her
Majesty’s characteristic simplicity and naturalness.
"Never shall I forget this day, or the impression this
very grand scene made upon me; truly sublime and
impressive: such solitude!"
The descent to Loch Avon may be made
from Ben Macdui by the Garbhuisge, or from Cairngorm by
the Coire domhain burn, or other of the torrent beds. On
the Feith Buidhe there is a narrow gully, broken by ledges
and falls. On the left side, among the shelving rocks,
there is a hole or "pot," about six feet deep, in which
the late James Grant, Rivoan, found quite a treasure of
Cairngorm stones. When Grant discovered the "pot," it was
full of sand and the debris of granite and spar. On
clearing this out he obtained great spoil of crystals of
all sizes and degrees of purity. Amongst them was one
stone of enormous size, upwards of 50 lbs. in weight,
which was afterwards purchased by the Queen for £50.
Sometimes, especially after heavy rains, crystals may be
picked up on the surface of the ground, but these, though
good as specimens, are seldom of any value. The best
stones are got by digging and blasting. Experts can tell
from the kind of rock and the veins of quartz where they
are likely to be found. Various places are pointed out,
such as the Garten and the Sleighich quarries, where
valuable finds have been made. There is a strange story
told about the finding of a beryl or aqua marine stone.
Some sixty years ago a certain woman, who was called
Cailleach-nan-Clach, "The Carlin of the Stones," came
to Abernethy from the Lowlands of Banff. She said she had
dreamt of finding a precious stone in the hill. Perhaps
she had heard the legend of the crystal that shepherds had
sometimes seen sparkling brilliantly in the cliff above
Loch Avon. Be that as it may, having had her dream, she
could not rest; so one summer she set out for Cairngorm.
Long she sought, but in vain.
"Time pass’d on, while still her lonely
efforts found
No recompense. Derided, and at length
By many pitied as insane of mind."
But, strange to say, her quest was at
last successful. She found a splendid beryl. It was about
the size of a wine glass, and of rare beauty. Through the
good offices of the parish minister, a purchaser was
found, the late Mr Winsloe, Coulnakyle, and the widow’s
purse was filled, and her heart made to sing for joy. But
the finding of the crystal took such hold of her mind that
the searching for stones became a passion. Year after year
she returned, making her home at one of the nearest
crofts, and often passing nights alone in the Shelter
Stone. It was a surprise to tourists and visitors to come
suddenly on this weird woman digging at the foot of some
precipice, or searching the bed of some winter torrent.
Once the late Lord R. and a party fell in with her in Glen
Avon. Lord R. said he wondered she had courage to go about
in such a wild place alone. She answered, "Why should I be
afraid? I never see anything worse than myself, and God is
as near me here as in the plains." This reply recalls the
famous saying of Howard: "The way to heaven is as near
from Grand Cairo as from England," and the sweet words of
Monica. Augustine’s mother, when dying at Ostia, far from
home and her own people: "Nothing is far from God." The
Cailleach found many stones, but never again one like the
beautiful beryl. One summer she was missed from her
accustomed haunts. Let us hope that she had found "the
pearl of great price," and entered into rest.
Loch Avon is the glory of Cairngorm. It
lies in a deep dark hollow in the mountains, and is about
1 1/2 miles in length, and little more than a furlong in
breadth. "Loch Avon," says Hill Burton, "is like a
fragment of the Alps imported and set down in Scotland."
The Shelter Stone ("Clach dhion") is at the upper
end of the loch. It consists of a huge block, that falling
from the Sticil, the bastion crag above, had rested on two
other stones, and thus formed a sort of cave beneath. The
stone is about 44 feet in length, 21 feet in breadth, and
22 feet in height. It is calculated to weigh 1700 tons.
The space available for shelter is small, and can
accommodate only five or six persons. Cordiner says "It
chills one’s blood to enter it." But it is much frequented
in summer, and is fragrant with the memory of Hogg,
Wilson, Dick Lauder, and many other distinguished men.
Once we found it a welcome retreat. It was a calm sultry
day in July. About noon, when entering the Glen at the
Diald (saddle), we heard the rumble of distant thunder.
Gradually the peals became louder and more distinct.
Looking back from the loch side we saw a dense black cloud
which filled the valley of the Avon. It came up slowly and
majestically, the lightning flashing forth now and again
and the thunder following fast. We stood a while awed and
entranced. Then we made haste for the Shelter Stone. Just
as we reached our haven the storm overtook us. The thunder
cloud seemed to dash and break against the massive
beetling brow of the Sticil. The gloom and the turmoil
became fearful,
"From peak to peak the rattling crags
among
Leaps the live thunder,
Not from one lone cloud,
But every mountain now has found a tongue."
The rain fell in torrents. We
remembered the words of the Psalm, "The voice of the Lord
is upon the waters, the God of glory thundereth. The voice
of the Lord is powerful. The voice of the Lord is full of
majesty." By and by the rain ceased. The air grew sweet
and calm, and the lake gleamed in serene beauty. But still
"The cataracts blow their trumpets from
the deep,
I hear the echoes through the mountains throng."
The return from Loch Avon may be by the
Lang. The Barns of Bynack, huge granite masses, resembling
barns or granaries, are well worthy of a visit. They bear
testimony to the tremendous denudation and changes that
were wrought in ancient times by the combined agencies of
frost and fire and the waters of primeval seas. About
Bynack, often in the moor between Big and Little Bynack,
and lower down by the Nethy herds of deer may be seen. It
is a pretty sight to watch the movements of a herd when
started —first their outlook, then their clustering
together, and then their gallant flight, with a loud
clattering of hoofs and horns, led by the antlered monarch
of the glen. Some might be inclined to moralise like the
melancholy Jaques as "the herd jumps along by him and
never stays to greet him." "Ay, sweep on, you fat and
greasy citizens. ‘Tis just the fashion: Wherefore do you
look upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?" Then says
the second Lord to the Duke—
"Thus most invectively he pierceth
through
The body of the country, city, court,
Yea, and this our life, swearing that we
Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what’s worse,
To fright the animals and to kill them up
In their assign’d and native dwelling-place." |
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