A WALKING TOUR IN THE HIGHLANDS.

Clutha Leader, Volume XXXV, Issue 2125, 26 January 1909, Page 3

A WALKING TOUR IN THE HIGHLANDS.

THROUGH THE HEATHER TO BEN ALDERS AND SCHIEHALLION.

(By W.S.T.) We boarded the 7.56 train at Auchterarder, and reached Dalwbinnie—our starting point—at about 12 noon, after a somewhat tedious wait at Perth for a connection. It was shortly after 1 when we crossed tlie railway and tramped away south toward Loch Ericht, lying about a mile distant. The loch is fourteen and a-hnlf miles long, with an average width of half a mile, and is deeply embosomed in the heart of rugged mountains, which plunge abruptly down to the watet edge. 'Making for the western side we followed a road cut into the mountain side, leading to Ben Alderforest Lodge four miles down the loch. There was open country for the first mile or two, but after that the path took us through beautiful larch woods, interspersed here and there with Douglas fir, and every few minutes we were favoured with CHAKMItfG GLIMPSES through the trees of the shadowed loch below, while the towering mountains lying all around in their silent dignity and impressive massiveness appealed to the mind and imagination in a way not readily to be forgotten. When some miles on our journey, we became anxious to secure some reliable information as to Ben Alder, and, meeting a couple of natives, we endeavoured by ingratiating smiles and fair words to draw them out. With stolid looks on their faces, however, and putting us off with evasive answers, they calmly and leisurely eyed us from head to foot, and it appeared as if our efforts were to be in vain, until one of our number slyly remonstrated with them in Gaelic. The effect was electrical, the eyes flushed, and in a minute or two we had all the information they had to give. On this and other occasions we found the Gaelic was an "Open Sesame," that never failed to move the Highlander. Just before reaching the Lodge we left the loch side, angling away to the right over the hill into Ben Alder deer forest, and soon were tracking out way through the

BROWN HEATHER WASTES of a far-extending moor. After pushing on in this direction for a couple of miles, there loomed up on the south west the long craggy summit of lone Ben Alder : that mountain of a hundred traditions, with its dark corries and precipices deep in shadow, while away« to the north west the soaring pinnacle of the Devil's Scaur pierced the sky. In the immediate foreground solitary Loch Pattack lay cold and gray under threatening clouds, and ali around there was the brooding silence of the dull summer afternoon, unbroken save for the gentile sigh of the moorland breeze. As we trudged on we came by-and-bye on two men repairing a deer stalkers' track, and sitting down we indulged in a crack for a few minutes. They strongly advised us to shelter in the low country for the night, and to climb the Ben in the morning. This however, could not be done as our time was short, and we were determined to make Prince Charles' Cave on the other side before halting for the night, so bidding them "'Bennachd Leibh" we pursued the even, or rather rugged tenor of our way. About half-past 5 a halt was called, as it had become apparent that the heavy share of the day's work had yet to come. Throwing our swags aside a fire was lit, and the billy set to boil. By 6 o'clock we were ready for the march again. As we slowly WOUND OUR WAY UP THE CORRIE, we suddenly startled a few deer, truly veritable children of the mist, as they went bounding away over the rocks and boulders for a long distance before halting to gaze at the intruders who, "far from the busy haunts of men," had come to invade their lonely sanctuary. Scrambling up the loose scree to the conic, we "found it to be nearly choked with a solid mass of snow, and it was with extreme caution that we worked our way up so as to avoid loosening it or causing an avaianche of broken rock. It was slow cold work getting past tho snow and water, but ultimately the summit was gained about 8 o'clock. Covered with great naked boulders and enveloped in mist, the top presented a scene of dreary desolation. In passing, I was very pleased to have the honor of being the first of the party to mount the cairn of the summit ; and I may safely take the credit of being the first" native-born New Zealander to climb this little known Scottish mountain.

Leaving the Cairn behind, a rapid descent was made in the now fastfading light towards Prince Charles' Cave, but after hunting about for a while, and though perfectly aware we were within a short distance of it. the darkness compelled us to abandon the search, and, makin-j our way down the hill to a deer stalker's shielding close to Loch Ericht, 'we knocked him up to give us the position of the cave. Had

tfE DROPPED FROM THE CLOUDS our call at that time of night with such a request could not possibly arouse more curiosity on the part of the household. After a few words of explanation, the stalker very kindly came out on his stocking soles, and, taking a stick, he aimed it at the skyline above the cave, at the same time requesting us to look over his shoulder. This we did, marking the exact line, and then took to the hill again, carrying with us firewood and peats. Climbing up the rugged face in the gloom was trying work, and it was after 11 o'clock before the rough platform at the front of the cave was reached. This so-called cave is of no great size, being about seven hy seven by five feet high, and it is simply formed by gigantic granite boulders accidentally piled up on one another on the mountain side. Throwing our traps inside, and having satisfied the inner man, we hung up our wet stockings in the roof o' the cave to dry as best* they could in the peat reek, and then SQUATTED DOWN ON OUR HEATHERY BEDS svith our bare feet turned to the fire,

feeling at peace with all the world. Inspired no doubt by the reputed historic association of the place, the musical members of the party insisted on having a song or two before rolling over for the night. As we lay listoning to the coonings of the old Jacobite melodies with their stirring siory of a long gone by time in that dark cave, faintly illuminated as it was by the ruddy glow of the peat fire, there crowded in on the memory thick and fast the incidents and traditions of the memorable 46. Looking out into the whispering silence of the night towards the dark mountains in the south, with Loch Ericht dimly seen in the deep gloom below, one could not help under the SPELL OF THE HOUR

from indulging in a little idle speculation as to the "might have beens ' had the former princely 'occupant of the cave succeeded in recovering the throne of his father. It may be remembered that the prince stayed here for a couple of days with Lochiel in the beginning of September 174 C. Besides being in this place he was also in Clunys Cage further along Ben Alder, and in another almost inaccessible cave north of Newton moor. 1 Stevenson very picturesquely describes the cage in his 'Kidnapped," where Alan Stewart introduces Davie Balfour to Cluny at his eyrie. In connection with Loch Ericht there is a legend that the loch covers what was once dry land, which sunk in a single night with the whole of its inhabitants, and that long afterwards remaius of the old buildings could be seen at the bottom of the loch on a clear day. Next morning wo HAD A!N EARLY START, for, what with damp clothes and a black tire, we were feeling anything but comfortable. Giving ourselves a shaltj, however, we scrambled out to a mountain torrent close by, where a plunge of cold water soon wakened us up, making everyone feel a newman. After trying the guddling in the hope of getting a few trout for breakfast, we returned to camp and made the best of what we had, washing it down with hot coffee thick and strong.

Burning the refuge of the bivouac, we descended to the stalker's house, where we had a few minutes' conversation before starting for Kinloch Rannoch, our base for Schiehallion. y\c were interested to hear that, so far as was known, no person had occupied our shelter for the past thirty years. It was a fine morning, with the sun just breaking through as we took our leave and commenced threading a path away southwards over the wide moors and moss haggs stretching between Ben Alder and the head of Loch Rannoch. This part of the journey was uneventful, excepting for the magnificent view we had of the great desolate moor of Rannoch with its far-flung chains of mountain ranges to the west, beautifully defined against the morning sky. Moving od we reached Camasericht about 11.30, just in time for lunch, and in the afternoon we crossed over Loch Rannoch to Finnart, where we took the SOUTH ROAD TO KINLOCH, arriving there about 9 o'clock. On the way down we turned aside to have a look at some of the few remaining giants of the old Caledonian forest, which in early times covered this part of the country to the extent of over 2000 square miles. Taking an early breakfast next morning, we got away at 7 o'clock, travelling the Aberfeldy road until teaching Tempar farm, a mile and three-quarters out, where we struck oil up towards Schiehallion, which is about three miles from Kinloch. The towering peak of "The Hill of the Fairies" was wrapped in mist, but we hoped that as the day advanced matters would improve. Keeping away to the north-west we halted from time to time tq get a breath and also to admire Ihe view to the north. Scrambling from rock to rock, we ultimately reached the Cairn (3547 ft) at halfpast 10. The

TOP OF SCHIEHALLION, rent as it is with the storms and frosts of ages, appears as if it had been wrecked by some tremendous explosion, so shattered and broken is tiie narrow summit. It is on the slopes of this mountain that Dr ilaskelyno made his interesting observations and experiments in Yni lor the purpose of determining the mean density of the earth. The descent was begun at about 12 o'clock, and a course was shaped to catch the Aberfeldy road to the south-east. Shortly after leaving the top the weather broke and a heavy rain came on. which pelted us viciously all the way until we got to Aberfeldy. Before reaching Coshieville Inn we observed on the right the ruins of Garth Castle, the ancestral seat of the Stewarts in which the savage wolf of Badenoch was confined for a time for some of his atrocities. The interest of our walk now comes to an end, except for the pitiless downpour of rain and the steady splash, splash as we pressed on Jack regardless—through the mud puddles at a steady four miles an hour to catch the 4.40 train at Aberfeldy for the south, which was managed in good time, after having a wash-up and tea.