Skye, Island of (Scotland) -- Description and travel
of anything mobile, of an element that could glitter and dimple and
dance, took away from the sense of the stony eternities, gray and
wrinkled as with the traces of long-forgotten passion, listening for
ever, dumb for ever. After rounding the lake, which plashed merrily
on its margin, and clambering over a long waste of boulder, we saw as
we ascended a low flank of Blaavin, the Bay of Camasunary, the house,
and the very boat which M'Ian had borrowed on the day we went to
visit Loch Coruisk, below us. The tobacco-less man was nowhere
visible, and I marvelled whether his messenger had yet returned from
Broadford.
[Sidenote: Kilmaree.]
When we got to the top of the hill we had to descend the slope to
Kilmaree; and as on my return from Loch Coruisk I had come down
pleasantly under the guidance of M'Ian, I fancied, naturally enough,
that I could act as guide on the present occasion. But there is a
knack in descending hills as there is in everything else. First of
all, I lost the narrow footpath at the top; then as we were bound to
reach Loch Eishart, and as Loch Eishart lay below us distinctly
visible, I led directly for it; but somehow we were getting
continually on the wrong bank of a pestilent stream, which, through
chasm and ravine, found its way to the sea by apparently the most
circuitous of courses. This stream we forded a dozen times at the
least, and sometimes in imminent danger of a ducking. It was now
late in the afternoon, and the weather had changed. The tops of the
hills began to be lost in mist, and long lines of sea fog to creep
along the lower grounds. There was at intervals a slow drizzle of
rain. Fetching a cunning circuit, as I supposed, we found the
inevitable stream again in our front, and got across it with
difficulty--happily for the last time. After we had proceeded about
a hundred yards we came upon the lost pathway, and in fifteen minutes
thereafter we were standing upon the shore of the Loch watching the
flying scud of Atlantic mist, and the green waves rolling underneath
with their white caps on.
[Sidenote: The wood-choppers.]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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