We are bound to confess that we never shot a ptarmigan; and, judging from Mr Colquhoun’s account of two expeditions which he made in search of that Alpine bird, we have little inclination to follow his example. The ptarmigan, or white grouse, is only found near the summits of the loftiest mountains in Scotland; and, when roused, he has a playful habit of crossing from one peak to another, so that, if you wish to follow him up, you must ascend a second Jungfrau. Now, we have no idea of this kind of elevation; for one would require to be a sort of Giant of the Hartz, able to stride from mountain to mountain, in order to pursue such erratic game. Alpine hares are more to the purpose; and as we believe English sportsmen are not well acquainted with the habits of this animal, which, of late years, has been greatly on the increase in some districts of Scotland, we may perhaps transcribe with advantage the remarks of Mr Colquhoun.
“The white hare inhabits many of our mountains. It is not confined, like the ptarmigan, to the tops of the highest and most inaccessible, but, on the contrary, is often met with on grouse-shooting ranges, where there are few crags or rocks to be seen. I have frequently shot it on flats, between the hills, where it had made its form like the common hare; and, though I have more often moved it in rocky places—where it sometimes has its seat a considerable way under a stone—I do not think it ever burrows among them, as some suppose; for, although hard pressed, I have never seen it attempt to shelter itself, like a rabbit, in that way. Indeed there would be little occasion for this, as its speed is scarcely inferior to the hares of the wood or plain, and it evidently possesses more cunning. When first started, instead of running heedlessly forward, it makes a few corky bounds, then stops to listen, moving its ears about; and, if the danger is urgent, darts off at full speed, always with the settled purpose of reaching some high hill or craggy ravine. If not pressed, it springs along as if for amusement; but takes care never to give its enemy an advantage by loitering.
“I put up one on the 16th March 1840, when inspecting the heather-burning on my moor, at Leny in Perthshire, which (contrary to their usual practice) kept watching, and allowed me several times to come within a hundred yards. I was at first surprised, but the explanation soon occurred to me that it had young ones in the heather. I had thus a good opportunity of noticing the commencement of its change of colour. The head was quite grey, and the back nearly so; which parts are the last to lose, as well as the first to put on, the summer dress. I shot one nearly in the same stage, on the 22d November 1839. The only difference was that the whole coat of the former appeared less pure. This is easily accounted for, as in winter the creature, though recovering a fresh accession of hair, loses none of the old, which also becomes white; whereas in spring it casts it all, like other animals. Thus, by a merciful provision, its winter covering is doubly thick; while, at the same time, being the colour of snow, (with which our hills are generally whitened at that time of year,) it can more easily elude its numerous foes. The same remark applies to the ptarmigan.
“During a mild winter, when the ground is free from snow, the white hare invariably chooses the thickest patch of heather it can find, as if aware of its conspicuous appearance; and to beat all the bushy tufts on the side and at the foot of rocky hills at such a time affords the best chance of a shot. The purity or dinginess of its colour is a true criterion of the severity or mildness of the season. If the winter is open, I have always remarked that the back and lower part of the ears retain a shade of the fawn-colour; if, on the contrary, there is much frost and snow, the whole fur of the hare is very bright and silvery, with scarcely a tint of brown. When started from its form, I have constantly observed that it never returns, evidently knowing that its refuge has been discovered. It will sometimes burrow in the snow, in order to scrape for food and avoid the cold wind, as well as for security. These burrows are not easily discovered by an unaccustomed eye; the hare runs round the place several times, which completely puzzles an observer, and then makes a bound over, without leaving any footmark to detect her retreat. It is hollowed out, like a mine, by the hare’s scraping and breath, and the herbage beneath nibbled bare.
“When deer-stalking in Glenartney last autumn, I was quite amazed at the multitude of Alpine hares. They kept starting up on all sides—some as light-coloured as rabbits, and others so dark as to resemble little moving pieces of granite. I could only account for their numbers from the abundance of fine green food, and the absence of sheep; which are as much avoided by hares as by deer, from their dirting the ground with their tarry fleeces.
“An eye-witness, on whom I can depend, gave me a curious account of the tactics of a hill-hare, which completely baffled the tyrant of the rocks. Puss, as is her wont when chased by an eagle, sheltered herself under a stone. The eagle took post at a little distance, and watched long, exactly like a cat waiting for a mouse. Although her fierce foe was out of sight, the hare seemed to have a mesmeric knowledge of his vicinity, for she never would move so far from her hiding-place as to be taken by surprise. Several times she came out to feed, but the moment the eagle rose she was safe again. At last her pursuer got tired, and flew away. The white hare has always a refuge of this kind where eagles haunt.”
We may add that the Alpine hare is now most abundant in some districts of Perthshire, and that it is easily shot, by the sportsman taking post at the outlet of one of the large enclosures of hill pasture, while the ground within is beat. This, of course, is inglorious shooting; but fellows who are not up to the ready use of firearms like it; and we should be inclined to bet that even Mr John Bright would, once out of twenty-five trials, contrive to hit a hare. We shall not rashly predicate the like of his friend Mr Welford, unless the hares were taken sitting; and, even in that case, we have great doubts whether the arch-enemy and would-be extirpator of game would succeed; for we have an idea that he entertains a vague notion that the recoil of a fowling-piece is something absolutely terrific.
By the way, what has become of Welford? It is now several years since we had occasion to notice his work on the game-laws with marked amenity; but, since then, we have lost sight of that Pleiad. Is it possible that he can have been converted to our views, in consequence of his having been graciously permitted by the member for the West Riding to sport over his extensive estates? We hope so, and do not despair to see him ere long upon the mountains with a philabeg girt round his loins. Having begun such a crusade against the feræ naturæ, he ought to consummate it with his own hand. Theseus was supposed to have rid the Peloponnesus of ravening beasts—why should not Welford exterminate the objects of his wrath, and put an end to the ornithology of Great Britain?
So long as moor and loch remain—and it will be a considerable time before the one is thoroughly reclaimed, and the other thoroughly drained, in Scotland—there is little probability that any of the animals native to our country will utterly perish before the exertions of the Manchester gentry. Indeed it is worth while remarking that modern improvement, by replacing the woods, has again brought back to districts the game which for centuries had disappeared. Within our recollection, a roe-deer had never been seen by a living man south of Forth; now they are not uncommon within twelve miles of Edinburgh, and probably will soon spread to the Border, and beyond it. The roe is no great delicacy for the table—though the Germans think otherwise, and dress it with considerable skill—nor might it satisfy the requirements of an aldermanic appetite; but no one who has seen those elegant creatures bounding through a Highland wood, or stealing out at evening to feed beyond the coppice, can deny the charm which they add to the beauties of our northern landscape. We fairly confess that we never, even in the heyday and excitement of our youth, have shot a roe without experiencing a pang of regret. But roes, according to the views of Welford, must not be allowed to multiply indefinitely; and therefore we have endeavoured at times, when they became too thick, and would persevere in barking the trees, to do our duty. We shall not extract anything from Mr Colquhoun’s chapter upon roe-hunting, which we recommend to the attention of those who may shortly have occasion to try that sport; but we cannot pass over a little Highland picture in which the roe is a prominent figure.
“Day was just breaking when I crossed the river Tulla, on my way to Peter Robertson’s cottage. He was standing before his door, consoling himself for his early start by a pipe of very strong tobacco. The morning was all we could wish—calm, grey, and mild. As we passed the banks of the loch, roe-deer were quietly cropping the greensward, which sloped to the water’s edge, and now and then a fine buck would raise his head, and look listlessly over his shoulder, as if wondering what business we had to be so early astir. The blackcock, surrounded by his hens, was crooning his antics on the tops of the knolls, and was answered by the redcock, with many a cheery but eccentric call, from the more distant heights. A male hen-harrier was flitting stealthily above the heather, seeking his breakfast where it could easily be found, with small chance of human company at his morning meal. Now and then an Alpine hare would canter lazily away, or raise herself upon her hind-legs to listen, moving about her inquisitive ears.”