The Land of the Hills and the Glens 



I have seen him speeding up the great glen against a 

 blizzard of powdery snow so dense that it was almost im- 

 possible for me to look into the storm. 



One summer's day a couple of eagles were hunting 

 above the lochan. On every side ptarmigan swept across 

 the hill in wild flight, anxious at all costs to escape 

 their dreaded enemies. One of the fugitives was struck 

 down by the leading eagle, and as it fell, his mate, fol- 

 lowing close behind, seized the small body and bore it 

 off in her talons, perhaps to a ledge where a hungry eaglet 

 awaited its meal. 



The peregrine is rarely seen at the lochan, but on sunny 

 days of June and July the wild and beautiful song of 

 the snow bunting is carried down to the loch from the 

 rocky "scree" above. During this season there is no 

 night on the high hills, and this mountain songster may 

 be heard in the intense stillness of the day-break when mid- 

 night is past but an hour. 



To the lochan red deer rarely find their way. Food 

 is scarce on the granite-strewn slopes, and the going is 

 steep, even for a stag. Peace is in the glen always, for 

 this part of the forest is a sanctuary, and no rifle breaks 

 the stillness of the corrie or the great glen at any time. 

 During the dark nights of October, maybe, when a 

 southerly wind brings rain and mist low on the hills, the 

 roaring of the stags in the glen below is wafted gently up 

 to the lochan, or as the grip of the frost is loosened in 

 spring and the snow becomes soft, an avalanche thunders 

 from the cornice fringing the ridge above and piles up 

 its debris on the ice-bound waters. The roaring of such 

 an avalanche strikes on the ear like the muttering of dis- 

 tant thunder as the great blocks of snow and ice rush 

 with ever-increasing speed and enormous bounds to Lochan 

 Uaine. 



Even during the long days of June it is late before the 

 sun strikes on the dark waters of the lochan, for south- 



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