A Companion and Useful Guide to the Beauties of Scotland/Chapter 4
CHAPTER IV.
In going out of Stirling, by the above described road towards Callender, I passed close by Blair Drummond; and after crossing the Forth, I proceeded through a well-wooded district near the banks of the Teith, and crossed that river by a handsome bridge, near the town of Doune, and its ruined castle, situated close on the east side of the river.—The whole drive from Doune to Callender, is in a pleasant fruitful valley, and the distant views from it are extremely wild and sublime. The fore-ground is the vale: the back-ground, the wonderful mountains of Ben Lomond, Ben Chochan, and Ben Lidi. Ben Chochan is in the middle, and is rather lower than its left and right hand gigantic neighbours. All three, at a distance from them, appear to the eye of a similar conical shape.
Callender, and the town of Killmahog adjoining to it, lie close to the River Teith, which is there very rapid. The situation of these towns is extremely romantic; Ben Lidi being to the north of them, and prodigiously high crags rising directly behind them; these crags are entirely composed of small stones, cemented in a socket of clay; and so hardened, as to be as firm as solid rock; it is called the plum-pudding stone: the towns are entirely built of it. There is a very good bridge over the Teith at Callender, and one at Killmahog, over the branch of it that comes from Loch Lubnaig. I crossed the latter bridge to see the wonders of the Trosacks, around Loch Catheine. It was a gloomy morning; the waters roared, and the mountains looked black, particularly Ben Lidi, scowling over the pass of Lennie. After crossing the bridge, I for some way kept near Ben Lidi, to my right, and soon came "in sight of Loch Van-a-choir, (the lake of the fair valley). It is thinly wooded, but fertile in corn, and bounded by high hills. It is said to be called the White, or Fair Valley, from the appearance of the corn; which, when ripe, and waving, gives a fair look to the vale, and is a fine contrast to the black craggy mountains that surround it. Before I got to the end of this valley there came on a very heavy rain, which made me despair of seeing (what I came out of my way many a mile to see); the surrounding scenes of Loch Catheine, which, I had been informed, were more romantic than any other in Scotland. I was provided for any wet that I might find on the ground; but it was needless to proceed, when it fell in torrents from the clouds; therefore I had the carriage drawn to the side of the road, and, sent the horses and men to be sheltered in a barn at a small farm near; trusting that at noon it would clear up. It did so; and I proceeded through a small cluster of huts, and mounted a very steep rough road, cut out of the mountain; and then went winding in labyrinths of crags, intermixed with patches of verdure; bogs, rushes, and some wood, with pouring torrents from every quarter; the carriage often hanging over a precipice, and the wheels every moment up and down, over large pieces of rocks and stones, in chasms, torn by the rushing waters down the sides of the crags. Though it ceased to rain, all nature was weeping when I came to the foot of Glen Finglass, with a river issuing thence; over which is a frail foot-bridge of considerable breadth, made of birch wood intertwined, and covered with sod. As I entered the ford, the scene was solemn, gloomy, and wonderfully awful.—I was alone in the chaise; but I had confidence in my faithful driver, Allen, therefore my mind was perfectly free from all sensations, but those produced by the extraordinary scenery around me. On the right, a few scattered huts, and the river roaring from the deep glen, at that part darkened almost to night, by the high towering crags of the forest of Glen Finglass covered with wood.—The river, though loudly heard, was scarcely to be seen for the abundance of large trees; some tall and straight as the pine, others spreading wide and embracing each other from bank to bank, bending over the broken flood, which was furiously advancing to the green bridge.—To the left, Loch-a-chravy, closely surrounded by hills of every shape, with the river I was crossing flowing into it.—To the head of the horses, a quick short turn from the ford to a road just the width of the chaise, cut close at the edge of the lake, on the left hand; and to the right, rocks rising perpendicularly, with branches of trees, and shrubs of all sizes and descriptions, starting from every crevice of the craggy forest.—The awfulness, the solemnity, and the sublimity, of the scene at the ford, and by Loch-a-chravy's side, to the entrance to the foot of Loch Catheine, is beyond, far beyond description, either of pen or pencil! nothing but the eye can convey to the mind such scenery:—well may it be called Loch-a-chravy, the lake of the field of devotion. When I quitted the narrow road under the rocks, by the side of Loch-a-chravy, it became amazingly jumbling and winding, amongst various shaped rocks and crags, covered with wood; and rended chasms, deep and dark on every side; no trace of man, or living thing to be seen; every sound reverberated from rock to rock, flying through the gloomy labyrinth to announce the approach of unhallowed steps. My heart was raised in awe to heaven's solemnity; whilst that of my poor man was depressed to the dread of hell. He was walking somewhat before the horses, who were step by step thumping the carriage over rocks; when he suddenly stopt the chaise, and coming to me with a long face, said, "Madam, I believe the devil is in this place! do you hear that noise?"—All was echo; the whistle of a bird, the sound of the foot of an animal, the rustling of the wind amongst the trees, the gush of a torrent, or the fall of a pebble, resounded through the solemn pass, as through a ruined cloister. I listened:—it was a sonorous deep noise—dying away; and again regularly resuming the same key. I had no fears, and bid the men advance. But the road getting worse, and the pass narrowing, I got out of the carriage, thinking it more advisable to explore it on my own legs, than shut up in the chaise: I thus became the vanguard of my servants, as the fittest person to encounter the devils, should they have taken possession of the field of devotion.
When I caught the first glance of Loch Catheine, I was astonished, I was delighted!—a faint ray of sun was just then penetrating through the mist, still resting on the tops of the surrounding mountains and crags: tinging the wood on their sides, and gleaming on the beautiful islands in the lake. The devils too, greatly added to the beauty of the fore-ground. They were in a large boat, throwing from it, upon the shore, logs of wood, which they had brought from the head of the lake. This was a very fortunate circumstance, as it enabled me to be rowed about the lake as much as I chose. It was a mere chance, but a lucky one for me, that a boat should then be at that end of the lake. Whilst the innocent devils were finishing their work, I walked up the road, cut out in steps on the crags, hanging over the lake to the north, to a high point, whence I saw the chief part of the Loch; which lies nearly from west to east. The view from that point to the foot of the lake, which is the east end, over the islands, and to the mountains on the south side of the lake, belonging to the Duke of Montrose, is beautiful; but that part of it may truly be called sublime, where the lake runs off by a river that conveys the water of it through the awful pass to Loch-a-chravy. I was very sorry I could not see the shape of Stuic-a-chroin, or the Peak of Rutting, on the south side of Loch Catheine; but it had on it an impenetrable cap of mist. At the south side of the Peak of Rutting is Loch Chroin, and Choir-a-chroin, the valley of Rutting. From the high point I was upon, I perceived my boatmen had finished their task, and were rowing to take me up. I therefore descended to the edge of the lake, and, with some little scrambling, embarked. They rowed me to the Den of the Ghost, and under the solid rock which rises two hundred feet perpendicular above the level of the lake; also round the beautiful wooded island, and to the foot of the lake. While I was sketching a few of the enchanting beauties of that part of the Loch, I perceived Allen in a wicker sheelin (a kind of shepherd's hut), very busy. I was glad to see it, as a proof that he was not ready for our departure, and therefore would bear the length of time I was on the lake more patiently than he otherwise might have done. I afterwards learnt the real cause of the bustle in the sheelin: it was Allen cleaning his horses after the following accident. As soon as I had gratified myself with the first sight of Loch Catheine, I took my servant with me, and walked on, as I have mentioned, to the high point, there to wait for the boat. As soon as I had departed, Allen loosened the horses from the carriage, and, I suppose, began to gaze at the wonders of the Trosacks (the scenery around Loch Catheine being so called), before he gave them their feed of corn:—what with the admiration of the harmless devils, and the astonishing scenery around him, Allen forgot his poor horses: they strayed, but not many yards before they were bogged, almost over their backs, and it was with very great difficulty they could be extricated. Indeed, I believe it hurt them very much, for they soon after became extremely thin and weak. It was impossible to be more wet and dirty than I was; I therefore returned through the pass on foot, picking up odd looking stones, washed from the mountains, till I came to Loch-a-chravy. I should have been saved an alarm had I continued on foot, and repassed the river Finglass by the turf bridge.—In going into the river, in order to avoid the crumbling bank, the carriage took a somewhat greater sweep, and thereby got into a deeper part of the water, and I believe off the ford; and, to mend the matter, the wheel mounted on an unseen piece of slippery rock, which was within a trifle of tipping me over. But happily the wheel slipped off the stone, and the carriage recovered its equipoise, without further harm than making our hearts jump, and a loud oh! from me. This might have proved a fatal circumstance, which roused me, for a moment, from my enthusiastic reverie at quitting the Field of Devotion.
It soon after began to rain, and all the scenes I had passed in the morning were obscured by mist and the approach of night, for it was scarcely driving light when I reached Callender. On entering the inn, I found my rooms stripped of their carpets, to cover new-made or new-making hay ricks, in order to screen them from the rain; and it was then so late as the 20th of September.
The next day I took a little boy for my guide, and proceeded (by the road that leads from Callender, over the hills, to Comrie) to Brackland Brig, and the cascades at it of the water of Kelty, or violent. I was told it was not a mile to walk thither, but I found it at least two. The glen about the bridge is extremely narrow and deep; and, until I came within the noise of the cascades, I perceived nothing that indicated the romantic horror which had been described to me. But on descending a steep field, close to the top of the falls, I found them grand and beautiful; dashing in different directions, heights, and breadths, till the water roars and foams through the deep chasm under the bridge, to the pool just below it, which is, at least, sixty feet beneath the bridge. The path to get at the bridge is about one foot and a half wide, upon the jutting sides of high towering rocks, from which sprout wood, from the depth below to the jagged tops above, in every direction, feathering down to, and hanging over, the rushing water. The only safeguard for the hardy being advancing to this awful Brig, are upright, broken, irregular pieces of rock, which form a winding natural parapet; and having the spray constantly falling upon them, are covered with moss; and fern, and all sorts of aquatic weeds cling about them. It requires some strength of head to creep round this path; the huge mass of rocks to the right is woody to the top; to the left is a precipice of perpendicular jagged rocks, at the bottom of which the rushing cascades contend with each other which shall first dash through the chasm, sixty feet beneath the spectator. After passing this winding path, of a foot and a half wide, I came to the bridge, which struck me with astonishment and admiration. The rocky bank on the other side of the bridge, is on a level with the flat projecting part of the rock, on which the path to the bridge is worn. The chasm between the two rocks, over which the bridge is laid, cannot be wider than four or five yards. Before I ventured upon the bridge, I stood trembling to gaze and admire; for I could not help shuddering, though I was highly gratified with the whole scene. Before me lay a bridge, made of birch poles, laid from rock to rock, over the deep chasm, and these poles have branches of birch laid thick across them, and turf covers the whole. On the opposite side is a beautiful rocky bank, covered with wood, intermixed with some verdure, coarse grass, rushes, fern, &c. with broken pieces of rock peeping through the stems of trees, weeds, and moss. The bridge appeared so slight, and the depth below so terrific, that I was in some doubt whether I should venture to cross it. My little guide, however, stood upon it, whistling with the utmost unconcern. I followed him; but in truth I looked not on either side, for the bridge vibrated, and the waters roared beneath, so that I was glad to skip over as fast as I could. The bridge, to look at, is a narrow, tottering green path, from rock to rock, not a bit of fence on either side, and about a yard wide.
In order to see this extraordinary bridge and cascades in every possible point of view, I crept through the wood and broken rocks, until I got upon a huge projecting tower, in front of the chasm, where the pent up water rushes through the narrowest passage. In getting, however, to that point, I was obliged to step over several rents in the rocks, of at least a foot wide, the depth of them not to be seen; but the grand beauties of the cascade, and the deep glen below, seen from that station, made me full amends for my temerity in getting to it. The bridge, on my return, was not less tremendous than when I first crossed it; and I was glad to reach my first situation on the side of the rock, with a solid parapet before me.
On returning to Callender, the view from the hill I descended, over the fruitful vale, was charming; though the wild frisks of the Kelty, I had just quitted, pleased me far better.
The next day I admired the Pass of Lennie, through the Grampions, and the fine cascades of the Teith, running from Loch Lubnaig. This pass is as romantic as any through the Grampion mountains, and is particularly woody; which forms a striking contrast with the black sides of Ben Lidi, or Ben-le-Dia, the hill of God; which is 3009 feet perpendicular above the level of the sea. It is in form conical; and its appearance, through the pass of Lennie, is truly black and gloomy. In some parts it is craggy, but mostly it is covered with coarse verdure and heath, where sheep, however, will feed. Innumerable springs are found all over the great mountains, which gender them always wet and boggy. Somewhat short of the top of Ben Lidi, is a small lake called Loch-an-nan-corp, the small lake of dead bodies. So named from the catastrophe that happened to the attendants of a funeral, from Glen Finglass to a kirk just to the north of the pass of Lennie. I suppose the corpse was a person of consequence, as the chief part of the people of the glen attended the funeral, amounting to near two hundred. The lake was frozen and covered with snow; whether that circumstance deceived the procession, or that the ice on the lake was not sufficiently strong to bear the weight of so many people, is not known; but it is asserted, that the whole number sunk in the lake, and never were heard of more.
In approaching to Loch Lubnaig I saw, towering to its north-east, Benvorlich, Mealfourwich, and Morben, on the south side of Loch Earn.
On the west side of Loch Lubnaig (the crooked or winding lake), about the middle, rises perpendicularly from the water, a tremendous rock, called Craig-na-coheilg, the rock of the joint hunting. The Forest of Glen Finglass, formerly covered with the deer of the kings of Scotland, is in the neighbourhood of the rock of the joint hunting. On the east side of Loch Lubnaig is a house, called Ardhullary, nearly opposite to Craig-na-coheilg; in this house, and in this sequestered region, the Abyssinian Bruce arranged his papers and finished his account of his Travels to the source of the Nile. He could have had no interruption in the desert of Hullary, where nothing is to be seen but high mountains on every side; a winding lake, with dashing rivers issuing from it, and entering into it; and the lofty Ben Lidi, occupying an immense space. From Loch Lubnaig to Loch Earn Head, is not more than seven miles. The inn, and that the only house at Loch Earn Head, commands a fine view of the lake nearly to its foot. On the south bank, and near the head, stands Eden Ample, a white castle-looking building, surrounded by trees. Glen Ample is deep, between a tremendous range of mountains; a rapid stream runs through it from Benvorlich, forming, I was told, fine falls in its course. Eden Ample must be a beautiful spot, and the wood near the house greatly ornaments it. The road to the north of the inn leads to Killin and Tyndrum, through Glen Ogle; one of the fine passes of the Grampion mountains, of eight miles. Loch Earn is beautifully surrounded by hills and crags, and at the foot of the lake the eye is charmed with a small island of a beautiful shape, covered with wood; and on the south side, the high towering crags, and tops of Benvorlich, Mealfourwich, and Morben, where eagles breed, astonish the sense of sight. Again, on the north side, high enchanting rocks, covered with wood, under whose delightful shade the traveller takes his winding way, without fear or danger, for seven miles; having the lake, the outline of which is truly picturesque, all the way by the road's side. In short, the whole scene is delightful. About two miles from the foot of the lake, by a road beautifully variegated with wood, mountains, and the winding Earn river, I came to the most singular spot, I believe, in the world; singular to a degree, by nature, and made beautiful by a little assistance from art. The old name was Movey, (which, I was told, signifies the mouth of hell); now it is called Deneira, and is in the possession of the minister, Mr. Dundas, in whose hands it has been only about fourteen years. The house he built; it is modern, and extremely comfortable; it is whitened over, and erected on a very small plain, in the shape of a large round table, encircled by mountains and pieces of rocks, jumbled together in a most extraordinary manner; they are of all forms and dimensions, and mostly covered with wood. The round space on which the house stands is perfectly level, and is a grass-plat of rye and clover, neatly kept. The road to and from this insulated habitation, sweeps round the fairy lawn to the right and left, and is quickly lost to the sight, entering into labyrinths of rocks leading to the high road. A shallow burn bounds the lawn to the west, issuing from a very steep, thick wooded, narrow glen; and this burn, at about a mile above the house, rushes through branches of trees, over broken rocks of considerable height, forming a very picturesque fall. The rustic bridge, and the walks to and from this fall, are very judiciously executed. With some fatigue I continued the walk, from the fall of the burn to the top of the mountain, whence I had a view of the lake, and the majestic mountains surrounding it. It was like coming up out of one world, to give a peep down into another on the contrary side of the mountain. The way back to the green round table is winding, steep, and rocky: most of the rocks, when I was there, were covered with heath in full bloom, beautiful and fragrant; others shaded by vast plantations that have flourished amazingly, forming a delightful shade; and through the branches of the trees are heard, unseen, the murmurs of the falling rills. To see all the beauties of Deneira, requires far more time than I had to spare; I did, however, see sufficient to make a very lasting impression on my mind, particularly of its singular situation. Indeed the whole of that part of Strath Earn, from Drummond Castle to Loch Earn Head, for rich picturesque and sublime scenery, is equal, if not surpassing any other scene in Scotland. On leaving Deneira, I crossed the Earn to the south side of the river, where the Strath rather widens, and came to Dalchonzie, pronounced Dalwhonie, and Aberuhill, both beautifully situated amidst towering and craggy mountains; notwithstanding which there was round the houses very fine natural meadow grass, (a rare article in Scotland) verdant and luxuriant. The mountains on both sides of the river are skirted with wood; and noble forest trees, such as elms, ash, oak, and other trees in abundance were all around, particularly at Aberuhill, situated near the base of Morben. At Comrie I again crossed the Earn, where I joined a scene of mirth and gaiety, it being the fair. The young lasses were decked out for the show, but their head-dresses struck me as very unbecoming. Their hair was snooded up; that is, bound up with a snood, or band of three-penny breadth ribbon, tied plain round the fore part of the head, leaving the long hair loose and flowing behind; which, in most parts of the Highlands, where it is simply snooded up, is very pretty for young girls; but at Comrie, they added a great bunch of a chusion, in the shape of a potatoe, put low on the forehead, and the front hair turned plain over it, which gave the appearance of a smooth, shining, solid lump of hair, stuck on close over the eyebrows. The small town of Comrie is finely situated, and beautifully romantic: for some years past it has been visited with very frequent shocks of earthquakes, which at first greatly frightened the people of Comrie, and the surrounding inhabitants; but when I was there, they were so accustomed to the shocks, and had so far lost all dread of them, that they were actually going to build a town on the convulsed spot, which will probably, one day or other, open and form a lake; as the noise under ground is like the gushing of water, making a fresh passage through rocks. The shock has at times been sufficiently strong to displace shovel, tongs, and poker from a fire-place in a room, at Ochtertyre, five miles from Comrie.
The next place I noticed was Lawers house, on the north bank of the Earn, well wooded, and surrounded by many noble old trees. On its back-ground are very fine rising hills, which, at the time I was there, were rendered strikingly gay and beautiful by a great quantity of whins or furze, and broom, in full luxuriant bloom, intermixed with plantations, and large masses of rock. Through the whole of this district the houses of the lower class of people are remarkably neat; and I was pleased to see potatoe stems in blossom on every bit of waste bank. To do justice to the beauties of Ochtertyre, two miles from Crieff, requires a far abler pen than mine:—but thus far I can say, the approach to it is lovely; and by the variety of ground, woods, lake, and western boundary of the sublime and picturesque hills around Loch Earn, it is rendered one of the most enchanting spots in Britain. In the woods are two falls of the water of Turret, from Loch Turret. The first and the highest fall is rendered the most beautiful by the scenery about it, which is strikingly picturesque; in short, every thing, both within and without the elegant and hospitable mansion of Ochtertyre, fixes the heart and eye; for the family which that excellent house contains is as superiorly amiable, as its surrounding scenes are beautiful, beyond almost every other part of Scotland.