IN THE HIGHLANDS 9 



would arrive, say, on a Tuesday night, and all Wednesday 

 a big lot of ponies, hobbled and crook-saddled, was 

 strewed over our lawns at Conon, with a number of men 

 and women helpers hard at work packing. Everything 

 had to go west — flour, groceries, linen, plate, boys and 

 babies, and I have heard that my father was carried to 

 Gairloch on pony-back in a kind of cradle when he was 

 only a few weeks old. The plan usually followed was 

 to start the mob of men and ponies about four o'clock 

 on the Thursday afternoon for the little inn at Scatwell 

 at the foot of Strathconon; and as there was a road of 

 a kind thus far and no farther, the old yellow family 

 coach carried " the quality " {i.e., the gentry) there 

 before dark. 



There were several great difficulties in those days. 

 One was the crossing of the various fords over the rivers, 

 and the next was keeping dry all the precious things 

 contained on the pack-saddles, including the babies. 

 The great waterproofer. Mackintosh, was unborn and 

 rubber was still unknown, so they just had to do their 

 best with bits of sheep-skins and deer-skins, which were 

 not very effective in a south-westerly gale, with rain such 

 as one is apt to catch along Druima Dubh Achadh na 

 Sine, the Black Eidge of Storm Field, as Achnasheen is 

 very properly called in Gaelic. 



Next morning the start was made at six o'clock right 

 up Strathconon and across the high beallach (pass) 

 into Strath Bran, and on and on till Kenlochewe was 

 reached, which ended the second day at about seven 

 o'clock at night. I have been told that my grandfather 

 was always met at the top of Glendochart, where one first 



