Right in the centre of the view stands Craig an Dubh Loch, or the "black loch crag," a bare precipitous mountain, whose white front at once catches the eye and unifies the wide-sweeping view. On both sides of this central point there extends a semi-circle of mountains, a splendid range of rocky masses,—those to the right, pointed and craggy; those to the left, more rounded and sloping, and grassed to the summit. The striking peak farthest to the right is Beinn Aridh Charr, "the ben of the rough shieling." It presents a front of steep precipice, two thousand feet in height, and has a cairn of immense blocks at its base, called the Cairn of the Caves, till a few years ago an eyrie of the golden eagle. The hill next it is Meall Mheannidh, or the "middle mountain," so named as lying between it and the grander mass beyond. That is Beinn Lair, or "the ben of the mare," which rises right from the widest part of Loch Maree. From the left of the central Craig an Dubh Loch stretches a series of mountains with different trying names. The fine peak next to it bears the pretty title of Maighdean, "the Jungfrau, or Maiden." The highest is Beinn a Chaisgean Mor, and the farthest to the left is Fhridh Mheallan. This long mountain screen is singularly varied in outline and aspect, being both precipitous and rolling, peaked and rounded, and greatly diversified in contour and colouring. The hills are separated from each other, especially those to the right, by deep narrow glens, which afford passage across the range, and increase their picturesqueness.
On the right hand, the loch is separated from the steep mountains by a narrow stretch of rough heathery moorland, containing many small lakes; to the left, the hills swell right from the water in green rounded slopes. At the lower end, the lake divides into several sinuous branches, with numerous tributary lochans, and its waters are discharged by a stream, a few miles in length, which falls into the sea at the head of Gruinard Bay.
It is nigh twenty years since I first visited this romantic spot, along with some scientific friends, intent on geologic and scenic pursuits; one of whom, Dr James Bryce, has since perished in the pursuit of science, near the Fall of Foyers, where a monument, subscribed by his admirers, marks the tragic spot. We followed the wild mountain track between Beinn Aridh Charr and the lake, up to its head, and had a glorious day.
Many years after I paid the scene a second visit, accompanied by other friends; one of these, the proprietor, Mr Osgood Mackenzie, whose unrivalled knowledge of the country, and especially of its birds, completed our enjoyment.
The morning was lovely, the sky blue and flecked with light fleecy clouds, though the air was electrical, with threatening masses of raincloud which darkened part of the day. The colouring was unusually fine, the shadows transparent, the sunshine warm and mild, and the sheen on the water such as our artist declared could be painted only by Alfred W. Hunt. The severity of the retreating winter was revealed in July in several patches of snow, which gleamed in some of the corries, chiefly in the group at the head of the lake. Everything was favourable to high influence and happiness,—the threatening possibilities of storm only adding new elements to the scene.
Embarking at the pier, we rowed slowly up the smooth lake, enjoying the scenery and passing several islands, the haunts of some of our rarer birds. Reaching a sandy bay, about half-way up the loch on the right, we landed beneath a projecting cliff called Rudha Dubh, or "the black cape," which bears a singular resemblance to a Highland bonnet, a perched block on its crest appropriately completing the likeness by way of tassel. We ascended till we came in sight of two other lochs with islands, called Lochanan Beannach, or "the lakelets of the bens." There we rested for lunch, in view also of the Fionn Loch and its opposite hills, and beneath the crags of Beinn Aridh Charr. From this point the nearest of the peaks of this Beinn presents a perfect natural dome, which at once suggests a gigantic St Paul's. The pass between this peak and its neighbour, the Middle Hill, is unusually low, some two thousand feet under the enclosing mountains. It forms a grand inverted curve, almost as fine in sweep as the hollow of Glen Rosa in Arran, with the peaks of Beinn Eay and Liathgach on Loch Torridon, visible through it in blue distance.
The situation was simply charming, and luncheon there amidst such surroundings, with genial friends, pure pleasure. Its interest and beauty were increased by watching two black-throated divers (Colymbi Arctici) on one of the lakelets below, a very rare sight in this country. They had a pair of tiny babies, just hatched, whom they tended with pretty care, keeping them between them as they quietly oared themselves onwards, circling round them at times, and gently leading them to greater effort, and wider range,—altogether a pretty group of nature's nurslings.
Taking boat again and rounding the Black Cape, we left our artist and his wife at the next rocky point, which charmed them, there to sketch the remarkable mountains round the Dubh Loch, while we explored the upper reaches of the lake. The precipitousness and grandeur of the hills increased with nearness. Fresh peaks rose into view, and the old took new and more striking forms with each new point of sight. Many tops, unseen before, opened up to the left of the Maiden,—the Ruadh Stac, or "red peak," so called from its red Cambrian strata, a fine contrast to the Carn Bhan, or "white cairn," in front of it, formed of bare glistening pegmatite; and a remarkable hill called Scuir a Laocainn, which means either "Scuir of the calf-skin," so named from some ancient legend or fancied appearance, or, according to one of my friends, the "Scuir of the heroes."
We landed in a flat bay called Poll Fraochainn, or "the heathery pool," on the right of Craig an Dubh Loch, in order that I might reach the precipices of Beinn Lair. The way to them, through a narrow pass right ahead, is steep and trackless, but the reward is well worth the toil. It skirts the base of a high cliff on the right, where you are greeted by the mountain sorrel, last seen on Ben Nevis, with its bright green and russet leaves, which will refresh your parched throat; the rare Cornus suessica, or dwarf dogwood, occurring also near the big Ben; the beautiful European globe flower; and by abundant oak fern and other charms for the lover of wildflowers.
With stout heart you soon reach a green platform between two valleys, where a wonderful scene at once bursts on your sight,—a straight, narrow, long-drawn glen stretching for miles before you, with Loch Fada at its farther end, skirted all along its right side by a continuous wall of gigantic cliffs, which are the back of Beinn Lair. These cliffs are practically vertical, forming a sheer precipice above fifteen hundred feet in height. They are singularly barren of vegetation except on the ledges of the rock, and strangely mottled in colour, with grey lichen on dark rock. They are scarred and fissured with countless deep vertical cracks running from base to summit, which, by carrying the eye upwards, increase the apparent altitude. Their crest is jagged, pointed, domed, and battlemented, in a wonderful serrated edge. Seen from this point the long cliffs stretch down the glen in splendid succession, rampart behind rampart, which are separated by the vertical fissures of the gneiss. The whole is clothed in sombre deep purple, tending to black. Except for the trickling runnels from the rock, the scene is solitary and silent even to sadness, with a powerful grandeur which becomes painful from its impressiveness. In a thunderstorm it must pass conception. The Honister Crag, near Borrodale, in Cumberland, magnificent as it is in a dying sunset, is narrow and poor in comparison.