A Day in the North Harris Hills

Here is Alexander Carmichael enjoying what must have been a rather short and maybe wintry day out in the hills of North Harris with John MacLeod of Tolmachan, Miabhag nam Beann.

North Harris

Stron Ard North Harris Friday 18^th Nov 1881

John Macleod son of Finlay Macleod Gamekeeper Tolmachan Miabhag nam Beann with me. He knows the name of every place all over North Harris.

   Cave under projecting rock. Wall built across projecting rock at mouth of cave. Cave looking down Gleann Miabhaig and over to Lews moors and mountains. Just under Stron Ard the wall is built to join the projecting rock on the top.

   Another cave about 100 yards S.W. of this with all running under projecting rock. The wall of this cave is ?sided in ruins.

   At Stron an Sguirt see a pair of eagles hovering over a small drove of ‘[?dus-grithich] agus daimh[’]. At foot of rock there are numbers of /ptarmigans/tarmachain running among the moraghan – moraghan beinne – shingle moraghan beinne – mountain shingle to distinguish this shingle from moraghan mara sea shingles. The ptarmigans are called gealag bheinn – mountain grilse mountain whiteling – from white winter snow plumage. The bird has a peculiar plaintive hoarse call or cry as if trying to expel something from its throat. I heard ‘tarmachain’ about half a mile about away from me. They rose in three flocks of 15, 25, and 35. They were in a transition state between their summer and winter plumage. The birds rose on the wing each flock following the other and went downhill and out of sight upon a lower level saw a small flock of six gorcocks red grouse moving about and then a baidne ghobhar – a flock of goats scrambling among the rocks and precipices and mountain screes.

   Down in Loch Sguirt saw salmon leaping high up in the air and then falling down in the water with a splash – sometimes the splash made a great noise probably when the fish came down upon his side upon the surface of the water.

   Sometimes the otter is seen chasing the salmon – an interesting sight. The salmon more likely the grilse – gealag mhara – sea-white trout, banag mhara sea-white trout flies through the water now and then rising in the air and coming down with a splash. All in vain however. The dobhar donn – brown otter gains upon the grilse and makes a meal of it.

   If there be a stone standing in the lake or in the river the otter goes to it with his prize and eats the fish sitting or standing upon the stone. While eating the fish the otter closes his eyes and sees nothing and hears nothing. This is the time to have a shot at the otter if within reach.

D’uair ’s e ’n ron is cu ’s an ruaig

Cha teid gearr a chuain as. / gearr=grilse

When the otter [actually seal!] is the hound in the chase

The hare of the ocean cannot escape.

Ullabhall is full of the ‘gealag bheinne’, while Loch Ullabhall is full of ‘gealag mhara’.

   There are no tormachain on Stron an Scuirt, Tormachan probably from torm, toirm, murmur.

Reference: CW217 fos.109–11

Image: Gleann Mhiabhaig agus Sròn Sgùirt – image by Tom Richardson at geograph.org.uk

Otters and Eels

Otter / Bèist D(h)ubh or Dòbhran

It is perhaps not a well-known fact about Alexander Carmichael that he planned to publish a natural history of the Hebrides. Somewhat like a few of his other plans, this project for whatever reason never saw the light of day. Every so often Carmichael took the opportunity to note down something about the beasts and creatures that he would encounter on his ‘beat’ around Uist as well as other islands. A typical example of this is a short note concerning the reproductive cycle and animal behaviour of otters and was probably taken down from the recitation of Anthony Campbell (1825–1907) who belonged to Kentangaval in Barra:

Otters bring forth end of Sep[tember] or beg[inning] of Oct[ober]
two pups – a male & female each time.
In swimming about pups go on each
side of dam. They eat muca-rua – eels
they prefer. They have the head half of the
eel & eat the tail half. They catch the
eel by the tail & allow it to drag the otter till
the eel gives up dead. The eel lives in a faic[he]
in a cairn with a clear morghan in
front & round it. Faic[he] = sloc under
a big stone in a sea cairn. The same
with the lobster.

Reference:
CW108/16, f. 6r.
Image: Otter, called Bèist D(h)ubh or Dòbhran in Scottish Gaelic.

The Eagle and the Lamb

Continuing with the ornithological theme of the last few blogs, Alexander Carmichael noted down a short anecdote, presumably from a relation of the man mentioned, about how an eagle lifted a lamb from Heisker and carried it over to the mainland of North Uist. Unfortunately, the species is not given, but in all likelihood it was a golden eagle.

Ab[ou]t 100 y[ea]rs [ago] a man g[rea]t gra[n]dfather of

Don[a]l[d] Bhoradhai[dh] saw an eagle com[ing]

fr[om] Heusger with a lamb in its claws. He

had a horse halter in his hand & threw it up

at the eagle which drop[ped] the lamb at the

mans feet. The lamb’s ear was bleeding

but otherwise uninjured. The man

took it up bro[ugh]t it him and it be[in]g a female

it grew up and was the prog[enitor] of a flock

of sheep.

Carmichael adds a note indicating what he reckoned was the flightpath that the eagle took with its hapless prey:

Probably making
for Eaval Borodhay
being on the line
between Heusgeir
& Eaval

References:
CW 107, fol. 34r
Image: Golden Eagle (Iolaire Bhuidhe)

Ducks and Drakes Posting

Yet another extract from the long letter – we cannot be accused of exaggerating – which Carmichael wrote to Nether-Lochaber informs this blog. This time Carmichael’s attention is turned to ducks and with his usual attention to detail furnishes some interesting details about ducks and their habitats and where he also offers some elucidation with regard to a Gaelic proverb as well as finishing off with a quote from the Lochaber bard, Iain Lom MacDonald, Bàrd na Ceapaich.

“I have seen ducks ‘posting’ the ground with alternate feet, much as you and I have seen girls in the Highlands ‘post’ in washing clothes. I remember especially a curious scene among our ducks when living at dear old Creagorry, in Uist. At the foot of the road leading up from the highway to the house there is a fresh-water pool, clear and bright, in which the ducks delighted to lave. On the green grass beside the bright pool about a dozen ducks and drakes were going through a singular performance when I noticed them. Slightly apart from the rest was large handsome drake, with green, lustrous wings, and bright, metallic, iridescent neck, singing to the rest with might and main, if singing his quacking might be called. All the other ducks and drakes ‘posted’ with alternate feet, and bobbed with their heads and necks and bodies up and down, while some ran to and fro, and jinked and jerked in and out among the others, much like the game of sūg-a-mhulain–catch me if you can–as you and I have seen it played, and played it ourselves in the long ago of our happy boyhood. Some whisked and whirled round about, and quacked their loudest. The whole flock quacked with all their might, and mingled and commingled their discordancies in the most amusing way; and when the fun as ‘fast and furious’ the flock threw themselves in a body on the surface of the clear, bright pool beside them, and there rushed about and splashed about in the happy joyousness of their hearts like creatures possessed. The gifted poetess, Mrs Mary Mackellar, reminds me that domestic ducks exhibit this bubbling, or dancing up and down motion, very strongly before rain. This is particularly observable of ducks in dry weather and just on the approach of thunder. Hence, doubtless, the application of the Gaelic proverb to a restless, expectant person–S coltach thu ri tunnaig ’s i ’m fiughar ti torrain–thou art like the duck expectant of thunder. Probably, however, none of the duck tribe possesses this peculiarity of posting with the feet to such a degree as the shell-drake–Gaelic, Crá-ghiadh. Uist, you know, is called Uibhist nan Crá-ghiadh–Uist of the Shell-drakes. Your own celebrated Lochaber bard, Ian Lom, poet-laureate to Charles II., and one of the most powerful Gaelic poets of his or any other time, says–

“Dol gu uidhe ’chuain fhiadhaich,

Mar bu chubhaidh leinn iarraidh,
Gu Uibhist bheag riabhach nan crà-ghiabh.”
“(Going over the ocean wild,
Masterfully and pleasantly as we could wish,
To brindled little Uist of the shell-drakes.)”

References:

Nether-Lochaber, ‘Nether-Lochaber’, The Inverness Courier, no. 4048 (06 Aug., 1885), p. 2, c. 6–7

Image: Shelldrake (Cràdh-ghèadh)

Ravens Reeling and Dancing

Following on from a recent blog entry, Alexander Carmichael continues his notes on nature by turning his attention to a rather peculiar incident which he and his wife Mary Frances actually witnessed. It must have been quite a sight as Carmichael goes into some fascinating detail and, as was his usual way, his observations are keenly delineated. The images that he conjures up at the beginning of this excerpt shows that he had a humorous side to him as well, something that he was not perhaps renowned for as it hardly comes across, if at all, in any of the rest of his various publications:

Birds have their peculiarities and characteristics like men; and like men, I should not, their diversion and weariness, and like them their joys and their sorrows. The raven is a staid-looking bird of solemn mien and serious aspect, whom one would not readily connect with the mirth of the dance and the joy of the song. Nay, one would as readily expect to see a whole Presbytery, Synod, or General Assembly taking the floor under the inspired port-a-bial of some grave and reverend father of the Church, as to see a flock of douce ravens reeling and setting to the lilting of one of their own number. Yet, strange as it may seem, I was so fortunate on one occasion as to see this–a sight which I need hardly say interested me intensely: Nearly three years ago, Mrs Carmichael and I were driving from Scolpaig to Newton, North Uist. Immediately on going round an òb, one of those shallow sea indentations so frequent in the Outer Hebrides, and at a place called Geireann, we saw a number of ravens going through some shuttle-cock movements that puzzled us much. Intervening hillocks, windings of the road, and rapid driving prevented us for time from having a continuous view of what was going on. But having come to a place where we had a near and full view of the birds, we stopped our little phaeton, and watched their singular proceedings in breathless silence. There were ten or twelve ravens in all, I forget which, on the smooth green grass adjoining the dry strand, and about a hundred yards below where we stood. On a small elevation hard by stood large, noble-looking raven; probably the Maccrimmon of his race, and piped a port-a-bial loud, fast and furious. To this all the other ravens responded by running and hopping and jumping rapidly and regularly from certain points in two opposite directions. “they reeled, they crossed,” but cannot say they ‘cleeked’, like the witches in Old Alloway Kirk-yard. But they certainly went through certain movements and evolutions, now singularly resembling the Reel of Tulloch, and now absurdly like the Lancers’ Quadrille. While these strange movements were going on by the ravens on the ground, another raven flew to-and-fro overhead, now making a wide circuit, and now a narrow one, and evidently guarding against surprise. Ultimately this strange dance–as I think I am justified in calling it–ceased, having lasted from the time we noticed the birds first, some seven or eight minutes. Immediately thereafter all the ravens flew away, not in a body, and in on direction, as their congeners the crows would have done, but like a gang of thieves taken by surprise, all in different directions, and in various ways, no two of them going together. I have been familiar with ravens all my life, and at various times and in various places have seen numbers of them together, but never before saw a raven’s quadrille, and probably never see the same thing again.

References:
Carmina Gadelica, ii, pp. 291–94.

Nether-Lochaber, ‘Nether-Lochaber’, The Inverness Courier, no. 4048 (06 Aug., 1885), p. 2, c. 6–7

Image: Raven (Fitheach/Corvus corax)

Black Grouse Reel - II

Some six months ago we published a blog giving Alexander Carmichael’s nature notes concerning Black Grouse or Coilich Dhubha. In a long, and somewhat rambling, letter that he sent in 1885 to the Rev. Alexander Stewart (1829–1901), or Nether-Lochaber as he was better known to his readers, Carmichael raises the topic once again. Stewart had been  resident in Onich in Nether Lochaber (Bun Loch Abar) since 1851, but he had been born in Benbecula where his father David had been an exciseman, just like Alexander Carmichael himself. The minister wrote a celebrated, more or less fortnightly column for the Inverness Courier which reflected interests just as eclectic as those of Carmichael. Indeed, Stewart’s columns proved so popular that some were subsequently published as the books Nether Lochaber: The Natural History, Legends and Folk-lore of the West Highlands (1883) and ’Twixt Ben Nevis and Glencoe: The Natural History, Legends, and Folk-lore of the West Highlands (1885). The excerpt concerning the Black Grouse Reel is as follows:

“I meant to have asked you long ago if you lived in a blackcock country, or if you are personally acquainted with the habits of black game? My reason for asking is this: you know the glorious old dance tune, or porst, sometimes post-a-bial [sic] called Ruidhleadh nan Caoileach Dubha–The Reeling of the Black Cocks. The tune proceeds thus:–

“Ruidhleadh na coilich-dhubha,

Dhannsadh an tunnagan,

Ruidhleadh na coilich-dhubha,

Air an tulaich bhoidheich.

“Air an tulaich, air an tulaich,

Air an tulaich, urrad ud,

Air an tulaich, air an tulaich,

Air an tulaich bhoidheich, &c.’

All this ‘reeling’ of the black cocks, and ‘dancing’ of the ducks, may probably seem foolish, if not absurd, to most men; but that the description is founded on the close observation of the characteristics of these birds, I am very sure. The old Highlanders were born naturalists. There were then close observers of nature–of birds and beasts, and of earth and sea, and sky. To that I can testify from having written down a good deal of their oral literature–Gaelic, Eachdraidh Chluais.

References:

Nether-Lochaber, ‘Nether-Lochaber’, The Inverness Courier, no. 4048 (06 Aug., 1885), p. 2, c. 6–7

Image: Black Grouse, Coilich Dhubha

The Extinction of the Last Chough in Lismore

Previously in the blog we noted a story about the killing of the last auk in St Kilda. This snippet of information was picked up by Alexander Carmichael but we don’t know from whom he got it, other than presuming it was someone with local knowledge, and he goes into far less detail than his previous story about the auk – as it was far more interesting and perhaps more controversial in any case – and so he notes down the anecdodte as a matter-of-fact event amongst other observations. The event probably took place within living memory but no date of this wanton act of destruction is actually given. The notebook, from which the following extract is taken, was compiled during 1883:

Draithean-beag behind
Salen was a well – Lianai
ach grows on top. Cover-
ed at half flood. Close
to this is Ua[mh] nan cathag
nan casa dearg.
Last of these killed by
a Rankin F[ort] William
Stalagmites & Stalagtites [sic]
in this caves which are
very fine.
Cathagan nan casa
dearg has bill red. ?Et bine?
Larger than crow & very
beaut[iful].

The cave in which the cathag nan casa dearga (jackdaw of the red legs), or chough, lies near Salen on the west side of the isle of Lismore. They are larger than crows and are quite distint because of their matching red beaks and red legs. According to the RSPB website, the type of habitat favoured by the chough is rocky coats with short grassland. Certainly there is plenty of this around Lismore and its environs. Choughs (pronounced "chuffs") may have been more common then than now and this probably reflected in the fact that the in RSPB have reserves for them in South Stack, Anglesey, Loch Gruinart, Islay, and the Causeway Coast in Northern Ireland.

References:
CW 120, fos. 34v–35r
Image: Chough (Pyrrhocorax pyrrhocorax)

Black Grouse Reel

Among Alexander Carmichael’s friends in Edinburgh was Mrs Mary Mackellar, née Cameron (1834–90), the poetess from Fort William who had lived in the capital since 1876. One of her stories preserved in Carmichael’s manuscripts concerns an unorthodox method of catching black grouse (blackcocks or coilich dhubha). There then follow some nature notes composed by Carmichael himself:

Mrs MacKellar the poetess went to visit a charming old lady full of the charming old lore of the people. She was greatly at a loss how to show hospitality to her guest and the hostess steeped some barley in whisky and after a time spread it out on a knoll behind the house. She went out after a short interval and found one or more black Grouse dead drunk. She took one – only one – and cooked it for her charming guest, who was so much amused at the thing that she could do nothing but laugh.

Ruidhl[idh] na Coil[ich] Dhubha

Air bruthach nan Gurradan [i.e. gurraban]

[The blackcock reel
Crouching down on a bank]

The Blackcock indicates coming snow with great certainty. When snow is imminent they begin to croon a durradhanaich, a durradhanaich, in a doleful tone especially should snow be coming on in March. When they are a ‘cathachadh’ [here, sparring in competitive courtship, or lekking] they crow – a fierce defiant crow as if inviting any blackcock in the land to mortal combat. The cock crows before snow.

Bliadhna Mhath Ùr, agus móran dhiubh, do ar luchd-leughaidh air fad.

Happy New Year, and many of them, to all our readers.

Sources:
CW MS 519 [not foliated]

Image:
Black Grouse / Coilich Dhubha