Wanderings of a Naturalist 



could be judged by the fact that large icicles hung from the 

 rocks on which a cluster of globe flowers were bravely holding 

 their blooms to the icy wind — an extraordinary contrast for 

 late June. From some boulders a hen ptarmigan emerged, 

 reluctantly leaving her brood, which she had taken from the 

 grass to the rocks for more shelter and warmth. 



Just before emerging on the plateau one crosses a small 

 burn having its source on the summit plateau of Braeriach. 

 To-day this burn, swollen as the result of the recent rains, 

 presented a wonderful spectacle. The strong wind had blown 

 the water over the surrounding stones, and the frost had 

 frozen this spray, so that each boulder was encrusted in a sheet 

 of transparent ice. Each blade of grass fringing the burn 

 also bore this icy covering, so that it was many times magni- 

 fied in size and sparkled in the light. A few days before the 

 storm the plateau had been gay with many plants of the 

 cushion pink, in all the glory of their flowering. To-day the 

 blooms presented a sorry sight, for they had been destroyed 

 almost beyond recognition by the polar wind. Even the grass 

 had lost some of its greenness — and the grass on the high 

 grounds was unusually good that season. 



At a height of perhaps 3,500 feet I came across a hen 

 ptarmigan covering two chicks on a small snow-free patch, 

 and moved on as quickly as possible in order that the mother 

 might return before the cold had numbed the young. A little 

 farther on a ptarmigan's nest, from which the young had 

 been hatched, just showed through the snowy surroundings. 



As I reached the summit plateau of Braeriach, a few hun- 

 dred yards from the Wells of Dee, the scene was a truly polar 

 one. Mist clouds hurried southwards, just touching the 

 plateau, and everywhere was snow and ice. The Wells of 

 Dee were half-covered with snow and in places drifts lay 

 two feet in depth. On the extreme summit of the hill — about 

 a mile to the east — mist still lingered, and across the dark 

 rocks of the Garbh Choire, Ben MacDhui could be seen, its 

 summit also powdered with white. Owing to the fact that the 



38 



