Rona Island—Lewis and Harris in the distance.
FRIDAY, September 5th, was perhaps the most enjoyable day of the whole cruise. We started, in magnificent weather, with the intention of steaming up the west coast to Cape Wrath, and thence eastward along the north coast to Thurso. We steered up the Inner Sound, between Raasay and Rona on the one hand, and the rugged coast of Applecross on the other. We crossed Loch Torridon, at the head of which Ben Liugach rose in calm and majestic splendour. Opposite Gairloch, we had a fine view of Ben Slioch, which overlooks Loch Maree. Still finer, however, was the view backward, where the Coolins frowned even in the sunshine—the solemn pyramid of Blaven asserting itself in presence of loftier peaks. From this rugged background the rocky ridge extended northward by the Storr rocks and the Quiraing to the extremity of the island. Toward the west, the misty outline of Lewis and Harris broke, but scarcely broke, the regularity of the horizon.
Then we crossed Loch Broom, with its Summer Isles, and the point of Rhu-Coigach, and Enard Bay, and Loch Inver, and we began to recognise the peculiar character of the Sutherlandshire mountains. They rise abruptly to a considerable height from wide intervening valleys, and they frequently assume the sugar-loaf shape. That is the case with Suilven, ‘the sugar-loaf’ par excellence, and also with Canisp, and Ben Stack, and Foinaven near Loch Laxford.
The whole coast is rugged and forbidding. Close to the Point of Stoer is the Rhu-Stoer, a detached columnar rock resembling the Old Man of Hoy in Orkney. Several other stacks of similar formation were seen as we passed northward, conspicuously ‘The Shepherd’ between Loch Inchard and Cape Wrath. As we approached the latter, we felt once more the Atlantic swell, and the ship pitched and rolled somewhat, though she was as a rock in comparison with the smaller coasting steamers that ply habitually in these waters, two of which we saw labouring heavily; and some of us, at least, felt thankful that we were not as they.
Cape Wrath, now seen by many of us for the first time, is really a splendid headland. The name in its modern interpretation may be appropriate enough, considering the wild seas that roar and bluster around it; but in point of fact it has no connection with the English word ‘wrath.’ It is a corruption of the Norse ‘Hvarf,’ which meant ‘the turning-point of the land,’ and might have been more correctly Englished ‘Cape Warp.’ The lighthouse stands on a cliff 370 feet above the sea, beneath which there is a succession of jagged points, or needle-rocks, stretching seaward, perforated at their bases with several openings, through which the surf breaks and spends itself in spray. A more perilous point for shipping in a dark night it would be hard to conceive. As we passed the Cape, the cold, rainy squalls which had followed us for some time cleared off, leaving behind them, however, very striking effects of sea and sky.
The north coast, east of Cape Wrath, partakes of the same rugged character as the promontory. There are castle rocks, and detached rocks, and dark ‘cletts,’ too numerous to mention. There are isolated mountains of considerable height about the dark Kyle of Durness, and Loch Erribol, and the Kyle of Tongue. The coast-scenery, however, becomes rapidly tamer. Ben Hope and Ben Loyal are the last prominent peaks that stand out from the undulating plain.
Beyond Strathy Point, we reach the lowlands of Caithness. Green meadows and yellow corn-fields sloping down to the golden sands become common. Around Brims Ness and Holburn Head, the coast is as flat and level as the shores of Fife and the Lothians. Near Holburn Head, however, there is another huge detached rock, 200 feet high, called the Clett, around which the ocean surges and swells night and day in most weathers. Passing this rock at a safe distance, we entered Thurso Bay, and anchored securely in Scrabster Roads. The rain clouds cleared off toward evening, and revealed a beautiful sunset.
At Thurso (which is Thor’s Town, another Norse landmark) we were in touch once more with the British railway and postal systems. The most prominent object on the mainland was the castle lately rebuilt by Sir J. G. Tollemache Sinclair—a cold-looking mansion, rendered more forbidding by the absence of trees. The town itself looked very picturesque, with its spires and chimneys breaking the coast-line, while the fields of golden grain that surrounded it bespoke fertility and prosperity. Other noteworthy features of the neighbourhood were Harold’s Tower, the Bishop’s Castle, and the bold bluffs of Dunnet Head, the most northerly point of the mainland. The northward view included the Orkney Islands, and Hoy Head, with the Old Man of Hoy at its base, which, at a later hour, and in the ‘witching time of night,’ stood out grandly in the moonlight.
‘The Old Man of Hoy
Looks out on the sea,
Where the tide runs strong, and the wave rides free:
He looks on the broad Atlantic sea,
And the Old Man of Hoy
Hath this great joy,
To hear the deep roar of the wide blue ocean,
And to stand unmoved ’mid the sleepless motion,
And to feel o’er his head
The white foam spread
From the wild wave proudly swelling,
And to care no whit
For the storm’s rude fit,
Where he stands on his old rock-dwelling.’
—PROFESSOR BLACKIE.
