VI
WILD LOCH ALSH AND DARK LOCH DUICH
Outside of Portree Bay—Sunrise.
THE morning of Thursday brought a welcome change. The day opened grandly, and the good weather which then set in blessed us during the remainder of the cruise. Those who rose early, of whom our Special Artist was one, were rewarded with a splendid view of the hills behind Portree, and of the bay and harbour. We started soon after breakfast in the ‘Iolanthe’ for Strome Ferry, where several members of the party were to leave us, and where others were to take their places, while all eagerly awaited letters and telegrams.
The sail across the Inner Sound was extremely pleasant and exhilarating. Loch Sligachan slept in peace. Scuirna-gillean and Blaven still wore their nightcaps. The island of Scalpa was a blaze of rich colour, heightened by the white sails of a passing yacht. The Islands of Longa and Pabba were emeralds set in a blue sea. Broadford was a picture of self-contained repose. Off Pabba, two large whales—probably truants from the school, a thousand strong, lately reported from the Shetland seas—appeared ever and anon to plough the surface of the water, and one of our photographers succeeded in catching them (in her camera) in the very act of blowing clouds of spray into the air.
Loch Carron—from Strome Ferry.
Head of Loch Carron—from Strome Ferry.
At the entrance to Loch Carron, the parallel beaches on opposite sides of the loch were mistaken by not a few on board for railway embankments. Like the parallel beaches of Glen Roy and the other valleys of Lochaber, they are obviously old moraines, but that does not make them less interesting; rather more so. Unfortunately, we reached Strome Ferry pier just in time to see the eleven o’clock train steam out of the station, and meander along the coast of the Loch. It was rather aggravating, no doubt; but everything comes to him who waits; and our disappointed friends, who wished to go southward, were able to enjoy a drive over the crest of the promontory to Balmacarra, and to return in time for the two o’clock train.
The Coolins—The ‘Dunottar Castle.’
Loch Carron is a very beautiful sea. It cannot compare in grandeur or boldness with Loch Alsh or Loch Hourn. Its beauty is of a softer type, and a simpler character; but its charms are not less. The navigable entrance to it is narrow, owing to treacherous rocks; and the tide flows through the passage with tremendous force and speed. We pass on the one shore the ruins of Strome Castle, and on the other the handsome residence of Duncraig, and the fishing village of Plockton—a collection of weatherbeaten huts, but prettily situated on an outstanding promontory. As we emerge from the Loch, we have a very grand view of the Coolins, with the ‘Dunottar Castle’ lying under their shadow, and of the islands of Scalpa and Raasay—the latter crowned with a curious little table-mountain over which the Old Man of Storr is distinctly visible.
Later in the day, and still on board the ‘Iolanthe,’ we steamed through the narrow passage of Kyle Akin (between Skye and the mainland) into Loch Alsh. The mouth of the loch is intersected by reefs and rocks, on the crest of one of which is the ruin of Castle Maoil. Near it, on the right hand, is the pretty village of Kyle Akin, built round a crescent-shaped bay with lovely sands. One would like to pause at such a charming spot, or to visit Balmacarra, peaceful and sweet-looking, or to inspect more closely the monument, not far off, erected by Sir Roderick Murchison to the memory of one of his ancestors who heroically collected the rents of the proscribed Earl of Seaforth after the ’45; but we have to content ourselves with distant views, in the meantime at least.
In Loch Alsh—Skye in the distance.
The constant changes in the character of the scenery of Loch Alsh are perplexing. We think we have reached the head of the loch, when, suddenly, a new channel opens up in the apparently landlocked course. When King Haco of Norway found his way into this inland loch, as he did on his northward voyage after his defeat at Largs, he might very well have imagined himself to have been caught in one of his native fiords, so tortuous is the course and so difficult is the navigation.
Eilean Donan Castle—Loch Duich.
At the head of the loch, we approach the ruin of Eilean Donan Castle, which stands at the junction of three lochs—Loch Alsh, Loch Long, and Loch Duich. The castle, built on a detached island, must in olden times have been a place of strength; but the story goes that it was demolished by the guns of Cromwell. Passing the Castle on the left, we enter Loch Duich, which, though an arm of the sea, has all the appearance of a fresh-water lake, so smooth is its surface, and so soft and fertile are its banks. It attains its greatest beauty near the mansion-house of Inverinate and the village of Kintail, in the midst of rich woods on its northern shore. The prevailing green tints gleam out in the fitful sunshine with a richness and variety that are enchanting. At its head, the loch is closed in by a magnificent group of pyramidal mountains—Ben Attow, Scour Ouran, Ben Mhor, and the Saddle—all rising to a height of upwards of 3300 feet, and separated by well-defined and gloomy valleys.
The return voyage in the evening was very fine. As we emerged from Loch Alsh and crossed Loch Carron, we had again a grand view of the Coolins, cloud-capped and solemn, and traversed by the axled rays of the setting sun. We steamed in the direction of Loch Kishorn, a northerly arm of Loch Carron, where the ‘Dunottar Castle’ awaited us, and where we anchored for the night.
That night was made memorable by several incidents. In the first place, the electric search-light was got into working order, and we astonished the natives of Courthill and other solitary houses by flashing the light of day in upon them at midnight. The ship’s pinnace and other small craft on the loch appeared like lime-light pictures thrown on a screen. The submarine electric tackle, which is used in cases of accident to the screw, or to the bottom of the vessel, was also got into play; and a very striking and novel effect it produced. A number of small fishes were attracted by the light, and swam about within the halo it formed. The scene recalled forcibly the stanza which Byron completed by adding the last two lines:—
“The sun’s perpendicular ray
Illumined the depths of the sea;
And the fishes, beginning to sweat,
Cried (something) how hot we shall be.”
Most memorable of all, the Captain’s boy astonished every one by volunteering a hornpipe, while dancing was in progress on the promenade deck. Sir Donald summoned his piper to play the necessary accompaniment; but that did not suit Sammy’s steps. He required the whole orchestra of the ship’s band; and he gave them his instructions with the cool confidence of a professional performer. While he was in the very midst of his double-shuffle, Captain Webster appeared on the gangway, calling, ‘Sammy, you rascal, what are you doing there?’ Sir Donald, fancying for the moment that the Captain was in earnest, rushed forward to propitiate his wrath. It was as good as a play. If the scene had been preconcerted, it could not have been more effective. But Sam was not in the least perturbed. He continued his performance amid the applause of the whole company, until he was tired out. It afterwards transpired that the boy had been ‘on the boards’ before, probably in the part of the ‘Midshipmite’ in the Children’s ‘Pinafore.’
