FOR A NEST HUNT AMONG THE GRAMPIANS. "Forsan et hæc olim meminisse juvabit." This beautiful little creature, no larger than a skylark, is a well-known winter visitant. Many of our readers must have seen flocks of them flitting, with graceful and fitful flight, about the snow-covered ground in winter, their peculiar plumage usually striking the attention of even the most unobservant. It is a bird of very wide distribution, extending all over the northern half of the northern hemisphere. OR the last fifty years the summer haunts | Spey the path led through plantations of and nest of the Snow-bunting in Scot- odorous firs and graceful birches. How beauland have been eagerly sought for by field- tiful are those Highland roads, with low, naturalists. Gamekeepers and shepherds have roughly-built walls on either side all mossalso been offered large rewards for the eggs, grown, with delicious vividly-green and delibut as yet, as far as the writer is aware, cate little ferns peeping out of the crannies, without success. surmounted by dilapidated-looking wooden fences, all encrusted with scarlet and yellow lichens, while overhead the silvery branches of the birch-trees clad in bright green mingle their crisp, tremulous, rustling leaves; or among the pines, where you walk noiselessly, as in some cathedral aisle, in a dim religious light and cool refreshing shade, while as you look before you down the long vista, little streams of sunshine may be seen here and there bursting in golden splendour through rifts in the thick foliage, and lighting up into life and beauty the thick layer of withered pine-needles which carpets your path! A crash is heard among the neighbouring pine-tops, and for an instant you see the strong direct flight of a wild cushat-dove, resplendent in purple and fine linen, as he sweeps away; or there, in the fork of that tree, can be seen the sharp black eyes and long erect ears of a russetcoloured squirrel as it looks down curiously on you from above! Captain Markham, in his account of the late Arctic Expedition, relates that a single snow-bunting was seen, evidently quite at home in the dreary wastes of snow and ice, within a few miles of the most northern point reached by his sledge-party. And when the North Pole itself is reached, if reached it ever be, an individual of this species will doubtless be seen gravely searching for food in the near vicinity. Seven years ago I began to search the summits of the highest Grampians during the breeding season for these birds. For the first two seasons I climbed hills and lay about in cold places without being fortunate enough to find them. But at the beginning of June in the third year, after a fortnight's hunting, I found two pairs of snow-buntings in a dreary spot called the "Barren Hollow," near the summit of one of the highest hills in the western corner of Aberdeenshire. Since then, each succeeding June has seen me lying shivering among the rocks in the "Barren Hollow," trying to watch the birds to their nests, though, on account of the nature of the ground and wariness of the birds, as yet unsuccessfully. But, although successful only as far as finding the birds, still I think an account of my last snow-bunting hunt may interest some of those who cannot undertake such expeditions. It was sunrise on a June morning as I emerged from a little railway-station on the banks of the Spey. The Cairn Gorm mountains seemed in the clear morning light to be quite near. As my destination lay in the heart of the mountains some thirty miles away, I set out at once. After crossing the After two hours' walking, thinking that the path was not leading me as directly as it might, I determined to leave it and make straight for the opening between the hills. Before doing so I sat down for some little time on a heathy knowe at the roadside to rest. The day was hot and clear, the sky cloudless, except for some lovely layers of fleecy cumuli floating on its bosom, rendering the deep blue more attractive by the contrast. Some little distance in front a small stream ran between steep wooded banks. At this distance its noisy rush over granite boulders fell on the ear with a sweet murmur, and mingled harmoniously with the distant "mooing of cattle and the near and tender "cooing" of the wild doves as they fed their young among the branches of the trees. My eyes began to close involuntarily under the influence of this drowsy music. In truth it was pleasant to sit there looking over the well-wooded plain to the distant hills, and listen to the gentle sounds which scarce disturbed the summer air. The chaffinch with his brilliant plumage enlivened the dusty road, now and then a sooty blackbird would skulk off with loud chuckle, the little jennywren seemed as busy as ever among the loose stones of the low dyke, while above, in some thick firs, a family of long-tailed tits could be heard twittering impatiently, as they flew actively about searching for food. After a short rest I started, but before proceeding far, had cause to regret having left the path, as I found myself floundering among deep heather, which tripped me up, or obliged me to make wide detours to escape the numerous patches of peat bog. Tired of this I made for the stream, and began struggling up along its margin. It was stifling hot in the deep glen, and I was faint with heat and fatigue. But still I struggled on, until at last, after hours of painful toil, I got well up into the glen. Well has this glen been named the Devil's Pass, for a wilder or more rugged exists nowhere in Scotland. A narrow defile, with black precipitous sides, rising on either side full a thousand feet: the summit of the precipices riven and rent into a thousand fantastic and uncouth shapes-at one place bearing a striking resemblance to the outline of a ruined cathedral; at another the grim turrets of a dilapidated keep are traced against the sky. The day, which had been growing sultrier and sultrier, now suddenly darkened. A cold wind blew in fitful gusts down the narrow ravine. In its eerie cries I could hear the weird laughter of the spirits of the storm. It grew darker and darker, and I saw from the lurid appearance of the clouds, which seemed to rest on the summit of the precipices, that a thunderstorm was imminent. A black raven flew by uttering his deep uncanny croak. Then all grew still and silent as the grave, and the blackness of night seemed to settle noiselessly on the crags overhead. Suddenly the gloom was rent by a vivid flash of forked lightning. It passed in a slightly downward direction between me and the dark precipice in front, and seemed to scorch by its nearness. I cowered under a large overhanging mass of granite like a ptarmigan frightened by the rush of an eagle. Never shall I forget the hideous crash of thunder which immediately followed on the lightning, reverberating from side to side, and breaking up into scarce less horrid echoes. It seemed as if mountains had been rent, and were tumbling in wild confusion into the deep ravine. Then the floodgates of heaven were opened, and there followed a deluge of rain. In a few seconds every little runlet was transformed into a mimic torrent. Hundreds of these, churned into white spray, came tumbling down the steep hillside, and lighted up the black rocks into a scene of the wildest and most savage confusion. This continued for several minutes, and then almost as suddenly the rain ceased, blue sky appeared overhead, a glint of sunshine fell into the dark pass, and in a few seconds nature lay smiling tranquilly, and alı the face of the land looked as bright and pure as on the first day of completed creation. Soon after this I reached the summit and keystone of the pass. Here for several hun-' dred yards my way led over a chaotic heap of granite blocks, fallen from the rocks above. Burdened as I was with a knapsack, progress was slow and laborious. At either end of this huge heap of stones a stream gushes out as if glad to escape from further durance, presenting the curious appearance of a large body of water bubbling up out of the earth. I plucked up courage as I now saw, some miles down the glen, the termination of my long, weary tramp. Three hours' more struggle, and my destination is reached. With what a feeling of relief then did I stagger up to the hut, and throwing off my knapsack sit down thoroughly dead beat! This hut, if I may dignify so rude a shelter by the name, lies in a hollow among lofty hills, near the birthplace of the Dee. It is meant to afford shelter during the deerstalking season to any benighted sportsman or gamekeeper. Built under the shelter of a bank it rises little above the surrounding peat. Its walls, a few feet in height, are formed of rough granite stones, and are innocent of mortar. The roof is rudely fashioned, and covered with peaty turf cut from a neighbouring bank. Entering by the low door-way, I found the interior dark, damp, and miserable, and by no means inviting to a wearied wanderer. Glad, however, of the opportunity of resting, I lit a fire and surveyed the premises. The furniture consisted of a rough wooden table and a three-legged stool, both thickly encrusted with green mould. The space between the wall and the turf roof served as shelf, with a collection of culinary utensils, comprising a tin drinking-vessel, much rusted, and one earthenware bowl. The floor at the end of the hut farthest from the doorway was used as fireplace, on one side of which was a pile of peat, and on the other a few pieces of damp wood. Chimney there was none, the smoke escaping as it best might through a hole in the turf roof. Lastly, in another corner was a pile of heather which served as bed. I now proceeded to the nearest spring to fill my camp-kettle with water. Into this was tumbled a handful of coffee and two eggs. In this way coffee is made and eggs boiled at the same time. And, moreover, the eggs acquire a rich brown colour which is rather pleasing than otherwise. Soon afterwards I performed my simple toilette for the night, which consisted in pulling my shooting-cap well down over my ears; and retired to my resting-place among the heather. It was very cold and lonesome, and the night wind swept through the hut most dismally. All the weird legends I had heard from the peasantry of the district recurred to my memory. Wrapping myself up, head included, in the rug, and coiled somewhat into the shape of a frightened hedgehog, I soon fell asleep. At daybreak I started for the haunts of the snow-bunting. It was raining heavily, and a thick mist blotted out everything beyond a few yards. But the weather in the highlands is incertum et mutabile, and I hoped it would clear up by mid-day. My way at first led up a steep corry. Many a time had I plodded up this same steep hill-side on the same errand, but never on a stormier morning. Having reached the top of the corry after an hour's hard climbing I found a cold gale blowing from the east. Rain, alternating with hail, drove pitilessly along the bleak mountain-side. Guided by the compass, I struck in a slanting direction up the shoulder of the neighbouring hill, and reached the other side after two hours' more laborious scrambling. Here I sat down and hoped for a momentary lifting of the mist to show me my position, and the direction of the hill; for in a hollow near the summit was the only spot I knew of in the whole district frequented by the snow-bunting in summer. A drearier picture cannot well be imagined. In the foreground a large misshapen block of granite. Sitting behind it a dripping figure with knees bent up to chin. A few yards of dimly-seen grey stones, and the rest driving mist. An hour afterwards I found out my position by coming suddenly on the steep precipitous edge of a corry well known to me. Here I disturbed a family party of ptarmigan cowering behind a rock. The young birds were well grown but unable to fly. One of them, startled by my sudden appearance and trusting too much to its powers of flight, flew over the edge of the cliff, and I could see it falling through the air like a tiny parachute, till it disappeared in the mist. The others with more prudence ran and hid themselves in crevices, while the mother flew unwillingly away. Skirting the edge of the crags, another hour's climbing brought me to the now wellknown haunts of the bunting. In vain did I watch all day, trusting more to the sense of hearing than sight to discover the whereabouts of the birds. At last, wearied and disappointed, I gave up the quest and made my way back to the hut, which I reached about nightfall. Next day, five hours after daybreak, I again stood in the "Barren Hollow." The day was clear but cold. After two hours' lying about I suddenly heard the sweet unobtrusive song of the bunting_coming from the stony hill-slope near me. I at once rose and began scrambling over the stones in the direction of the sound, and soon caught sight of a beautiful male bird, crouching on the sloping side of a large lichen-encrusted boulder. Gently creeping within a few yards I lay down behind a rock and watched his movements. These birds in their breeding haunts are very shy and cunning. I have never, for example, seen one boldly perch on a topmost point or ridge of a boulder, but always on the sloping side. It is sometimes very difficult to catch sight of it in this position on account of its remarkable similarity to its surroundings. The stones among which it sits are of a grey colour, often having little patches of black-coloured lichen growing on them. A snow-bunting sitting close against the sloping side looks exactly like an oval patch of black lichen hanging to the grey stone. Every now and then it utters its short twittering song, and, especially when the sun shines out, the clear sweet notes fall gently on the ear, and enliven the grey voiceless solitude. After watching the male for some time I was delighted at catching a glimpse of the more dusky coloured hen-bird quietly threading her way among the stones near her mate. Soon after this both birds disappeared, and I began to examine carefully all the crannies and fissures in the rocks round about, but with no result. This went on all day with the same want of success. Once I saw as many as three male birds at the same time at some little distance from each other. On making my way back to the hut in the evening I came on a ptarmigan and her young ones, and as the mother ran off and the youngsters scuttled away in different directions I managed to capture one of them. Sitting down on a low stone I examined my prisoner, when much to my surprise the old bird came running towards me till within a few yards. She then ran round in narrowing circles, with wings trailing on the ground, until at last she ran right up and lay down close beside me, looking up in my face as if saying, "Take me, and let the little one go." I looked about me to see if it were a reality. There was the wild hillside stretching above and below. And here close beside me, within a few inches of my hand, was the wild creature, whose love for her young had overcome all her fears for her own safety. After enjoying this strange companionship for some little time, I gently placed the soft, hairy, little creature in front of its mother. The young one at once ran off and disappeared under a large rock. The instant the old bird was assured of the little one's safety she too left me; running at first and then taking to her wings, she swept round the shoulder of the hill and disappeared. On the following day I again started at daybreak for the "Barren Hollow." As on the previous day I found the birds in the same place, and continued my search, climbing up and down the stony slopes, poking into all the likely places, and expecting every minute to disturb the female and so find the nest. But all to no purpose. Tired at length of this fruitless work, I climbed to the summit of the hill and examined the magnificent line of cliffs. Descending sheer down for more than a thousand feet, they extend in a slightly curving direction for about a mile. As far as the eye could reach on all sides were huge upheaving mountain masses, looking quite unreal as they stretched their massive shapes in the bright midsummer sunshine. While walking along the edge of the cliff there occurred one of the finest displays of bird flight it is possible to imagine. A raven flew out from the crags uttering its deep croak. Before he had proceeded far, two peregrine falcons, with loud, fierce cries, dashed out from the same cliff and rapidly followed. In vain did the sable bird rise high into the air. The peregrines speedily overtook him, and then ensued in mid-air a most exciting fight. Foiled by the sharp, strong bill of the raven in their direct attack, the two falcons changed their tactics. While one remained below to divert the attention of their antagonist, the other, by a few strong impulses of its powerful wings, mounted vertically some two hundred feet. From this height with closed wings it descended with lightning rapidity. I looked to see the raven dashed headlong. But no, just as the peregrine had almost reached him, the wary bird suddenly presented its pointed beak to the onslaught, and it was only by a rapid swerve on the falcon's part that it was saved from transfixion. As the bird of prey recovered from its swoop, its mate seemed to mount as swiftly as the other had descended, repeating the same manoeuvre. It was most exciting to watch the three birds as with loud cries and much croaking the fight went on high up in the blue sky. How it ended I know not, as they continued their aerial evolutions till quite out of sight. On the three following days I renewed my chase, and watched the buntings with great but steadily decreasing ardour. The nest seemed as far from being found as ever. The birds paid little attention to my presence, nor could any excitement be detected in their behaviour however much I wandered about. On the third day, as I was lying behind a boulder, I suddenly heard a shout, and looking up was delighted to see the head keeper making his way over the stones towards me, He told me he had received a letter from the laird on the previous day, informing him that I was coming. Thinking I might be at the hut he had started that morning at daybreak to find me, and seeing signs of my presence there, had come up the hill, guessing that I would be in the "Barren Hollow." After we had talked for some time, and the buntings had disappeared, he proposed that we should walk over the hills to a neighbouring glen to inspect an eagle's nest built in a tree. As this position for the nest of the golden eagle is extremely rare, I gladly embraced the proposal, and we set out at once. The golden eagle being strictly preserved in this district is undoubtedly increasing in numbers. It owes its preservation in the deer forests, not as a rule to the notion that it is a crime to render extinct such an interesting member of our fauna, but to the fact of its usefulness in keeping down the grouse, ptarmigan, and blue hares, which are the natural enemies of the deer-stalker. For the same reason, the peregrine, the raven, and the hooded-crow are unmolested. |