A TRIP TO THE MOUNTAINS ; A FEW WORDS ON HIGHLAND-LAKE TROUT FISHING; WITH A FEW MORE ON THE BRIGHT PROSPECTS OF THE BY HAWTHORNE. "D'ye like, brother sportsman, the hills wild and free, "Lands may be fair ayont the sea, But Highland hills and brooks for me." It was on a bright and glorious day in the leafy month of June, in this year of grace '52, that we left our peaceful home on the banks of the rapid running Almon, to penetrate far, far into the land of mountain and of mist; it turned out, too, a trip of the most pleasing description, accompanied as we were by a pleasant companion, and right good sportsman from the "modern Babylon" of merry England. In a few short hours after our departure we were progressing through the front range of the Grampians-through the romantic and solitary glen of the Almon. This glen itself is dreary, desolate, and wild. In one part of it, where lofty and impending cliffs on either hand make a solemn and perpetual gloom, is the "Clack-na Ossian," or stone of Ossian, supposed to mark the burial place of the gifted son of Fingal. About three miles on in the "Corrie vair-lich," or Glen of Thieves, is a large cave known by the name of Fians, or Fingal's Cave. Newte, who travelled through this district in 1791, says, I have learned where 'Ossian's stone was moved, and the coffin containing his supposed remains discovered. It was intended by the officer commanding the party of soldiers employed on the military road to let the bones remain within the stone sepulchre in the same position in which they were found until General Wade should come and see them, or his mind be known on the subject; but the people of the country venerating the memory of the bard rose with one consent and carried away the bones, with bagpipes playing and other funeral rites, and deposited them with much solemnity within a circle of large stones on the lofty summit of a rock (sequestered) and of difficult access, and where they might never be disturbed by mortal feet or hands, in the wild recesses of the Western Glen Almond." The poet Wordsworth thus expresses himself on this dim tradition 66 "Does then the bard sleep here indeed, Was moved, and in such way expressed A convent-even a hermit's cell But something deeper far than these; Is of the grave, and of austere, But we must leave the wilds of Glenalmon and on to the Corrie, where we arrived before sun-down, fishing the lake in the evening, and killing four brace of prime yellow trout, average weight, over one pound. My friend from the sunny shores of the south was delighted with the sport, and being a true knight of the angle, he was soon au fait with the fly at lake fishing. On the morrow we rested from our labourssweet and pleasant labours as are Highland-lake trout fishing-it being the sacred Sabbath; this, moreover, the sacramental Sabbath of the country, we prepared to attend the church situated in this lonely part of the mountains. The day was lovely, and my friend beheld for the first time a hill-side preaching." There is something very solemn in the worship of the great Giver of all mercies by the mountaineer, with nothing but the canopy of the heavens about him : 66 At these preachings we met with many keepers and shepherds from the various glens in the district, and to all our inquiries about the "grouse family," were answered that a more numerous and healthy stock of birds had not been seen on the mountains for very many years. The remainder of this day we spent in a long ramble among the mountains, seeing many numerous and fine broods of the moorgame, and at sundown returned to our inn, where a good dinner awaited us; which, with a moderate quantity of dew from the mountain, sent us comfortably to rest. On the morrow we were up with the lark, and soon on the move for a famed lake some three miles distant. This lake is famed for its bright- speckled trout; they are not very largeabout herring size; but very plentiful and capital eating. Here we enjoyed ourselves right merrily, and returned to our inn with fifty brace of trout, my funny friend from the far south having basketed two brace of trout more than friend Hawthorne; such is fate in these fast times. On the following day we were again on the move by early dawn, and had a long, but pleasant, drive through the country. Our route lay over mountains covered chiefly with heath, but occasionally on the one hand displaying sides and summits of naked rock, the other exhibiting a dress of lovely green verdure. Then, again, at short intervals you have chains of mountain ridges, and even solitary heights; in forms of every variety, from the precipitous and pinnacled acclivity to the broad-based and round-backed ascent; in general, however, they are sharp in outline, but savagely grand in feature. Having penetrated many a glen, forded many a torrent, and crossed many a moor, we found ourselves, late in the evening, at the base of that mighty mountain, named "Schiehallion"; the altitude of whose summit is some 3,600 feet above the sea. Here we took up our quarters for the night; though before retiring we mounted our fly-rod and killed two brace of trout in the adjoining river. Once more at early dawn, we were on the move for the wilds of the west "The land I like best" resulting in some most famous sport on a far-famed mountain lakethe two panniers containing thirty brace of trout when brought to bucket in the evening. Next day found us again on the beautiful lake, and with equally good sport; but, alas! kind reader, matters were not all of so "pleasing a nature," for the inn, or cabin, where we domiciled was one of a most wretched description, and the provender of the most queer providings. The boiled beef, as my friend remarked, was a bad cross between a pine log and granite boulder; while the very mountain dew itself was but "dirty stuff." On the morrow, fortunately, we had arranged to fish some lakes far away on the moors, and had accordingly provided ourselves with ponies, gillies, &c., for the foray. No words of mine can give a truer picture of these wilds than the beautiful description of the mighty minstrel of the north A while their route they silent made, Where safety more than pleasure led. Thus many a waste I've wandered o'er, Clombe many a crag, crossed many a moor, But, by my halidome ! A scene so rude, so wild as this; Yet so sublime in barrenness Ne'er did my wandering footsteps press And wilder, forward as we wound, Were the proud cliffs and lake profound; Afforded rude and cumber'd track. For from the mountain hoar, Hurl'd headlong in some night of fear, And some chance-poised and balanced lay, The evening mists, with ceaseless change, Now left their foreheads bare; And round their skirts their mantle furl'd, Or on the eddying breezes whirl'd, And oft condensed, at once they lower, And when return the sun's glad beams, Here we roamed as free as the " Red Knight" of Black Mount Forest, though our labours were not rewarded by any great havoc amongst the finny tribe. The elements declared against us; we were overtaken by the thunder and lightning of Heaven, and forced to retrace our weary wanderings to the uncomfortable cabin on the verge of the moors. In passing Loch Lyden, we killed some ten brace of trout-merry little fellows; but our grand object on this day was to achieve a "Brach-More" (Scottish for muckle trout), in which, weather not permitting, we were doomed to disappointment. Still our wanderings among the "wilds" on this day shall never be forgotten. 66 On the following day we had moderate but fair sport on another lovely lake, killing six brace of trout; and as my friend, however, had ate little or nothing for the last three days, we now prepared to depart from our cabin of "peat smoke," "muddy waters," and moor mess." On the same evening we reached the "Tummel Brigg," where the creature comforts of this life were most thankfully received and more than usually enjoyed. Next day, Sunday, gave us another rest, and on the following we fished the romantic and far-famed Loch Tummel, with great and glorious success; once more, be it recorded, the "southern" came off the victor, but only by one brace of trout. In this lake a fish of small size is seldom caught. At the inn, in the evening, we met with an “ American skipper, a most intelligent fellow, who had travelled all over California. He gave a fearful description of that land of money and murder, and indeed seemed himself, weel acquaint" with the use of the 'revolver and bowie knife;" no doubt he has had seen some "wild work" in those quarters, and not many years ago either he owned to having left California some twenty months. Next morning we crossed the rapid running Lyon; but not tarrying to fish that lovely river, got domiciled for the night at the "Corrie Inn," one of the very best hotels in the Highlands for man and beast. Here our fishing tour terminated, and two days thereafter we began a pilgrimage among the moors, in order to obtain ocular demonstration" as regards the plentifulness of grouse on the front range of the Grampians; and in all our wanderings since that period up to this date (13th July) has the former testimony of the keepers and shepherds been fully borne out. We can truly say that a more beautiful supply of birds-of game of all sorts-has not been known among the hills for many years, perhaps not since the ever memorable season of 1846, when grouse were as plentiful as blackberries. With such bright and glorious prospects before us, we will 66 bring these stray remarks to a close, sincerely wishing good sport to all who may penetrate the far north in the approaching season. Banks of the Almon, July 13th, 1852.1 P.S.-Since writing the above, we have had another week among the mountains, and have rented a large tract of grouse shootings; further experience but increases the promise of sport. Most of the broods are strong on the wing, and will require strong and straight powder to kill them; in all our wanderings we have only seen one brood of chirpers. Many of the packs are large in numbers, and average from 8 to 10 birds in each; several, indeed, which we put up reached 12 birds of course including the parent birds in our statement. We may also add that the grouse are now past all danger from the weather; and if the moors are properly guarded, there can be nothing to spoil a glorious campaign. Let us, however, warn the shooter who may rent or have a good moor, to look well to it, for of late years too many birds have found their way to market long before the opening of the season. This disgraceful practice ought to be stopped; and with proper vigilance that injured man, the sportsman himself, may do much to diminish it. LITERATURE. BROOKLANDS: A SPORTING BIOGRAPHY. By Major Byng Hall. Newby, Welbeck-street. יין Our readers have already had a taste of this work, although it is considerably extended in the volumes before us. The career of an English country gentleman, his happy position at home, with his feelings and doings as a sportsman, wherever he may be quartered, are very attractively set before us by our gallant contributor. He has got the great secret for this kind of thing-of being thoroughly at home himself in every scene he gives you. And he is no ways squeamish, either, in telling the story just as he himself thinks it over. It is absolutely res freshing, in these days of "universal progression" and "hurrah for everybody to find any one standing up so manfully for old times→→→→ the good old days when "everybody" knew his proper place; when the old squire was the greatest man alive; and farmers were farmers, and nothing more; and clerks didn't go a-hunting; and lawyers were thieves, as a matter of course; and railways infernal inventions, and as infernal innovations. Certainly, for a gentleman who devoted a good-sized volume to writing up the Great Exhibition of 'Fifty-one, the Major does maintain his respect for our ancient institutions and customs as heartily as we could expect. And we don't blame him, either-far from it, indeed. His "Squire Western" picture is as true a one as any we have seen for many a long day, and is none the worse for the evident admiration and sympathy the author has with his subject. There are many a lad, and many a lass too, will get a glimpse of home out of Brooklands, and be all the better for the "auld lang syne" it may recall. If any thing, the romance of the book is too much in the Minerva-press style: |