A Day on the High Tops 



— some of them quite freshly excavated — and on one of these 

 snowfields I found an oak leaf lying. It had evidently been 

 carried up thither from Speyside, or maybe from the valley 

 of the Dee, but anyhow, a distance of many miles, by a 

 furious winter's gale when the surface of the snow was hard 

 and dry. 



Despite the Arctic conditions of the plateau, insect life 

 was fast awakening under the sunshine. Humble bees flew 

 strongly hither and thither, searching perhaps for honey 

 from non-existent flowers, and spiders crawled near the snow. 



Just beyond the deep hollow where lay Loch Avon, Beinn 

 Mheadhon, with its stone-studded top, carried little snow, but 

 to the westward of that hill, Loch Etchachan, in Mar, was 

 still frozen half across, with a strong breeze ruffling the 

 liberated waters. An eagle crossed the plateau near me, 

 making as though for the great precipices in the neighbour- 

 hood of the Shelter Stone, where was, and probably still is, 

 an eyrie of these fine birds. Flying against the breeze, and 

 speeding past me like an arrow, a dotterel winged its way 

 south, having apparently just come up from the low country. 



It was curious, as one crossed a snowfield, to feel the 

 instant lowering of the temperature. The glare from the 

 snow was dazzling, so that, arriving at the bare dark ground 

 beyond, one seemed to enter a region of twilight, so great 

 was the sudden transition. Each burn, where it could be 

 seen, was running full and clear — for snow water is never 

 coloured. The streamlet known as the Feith Bhuidhe, swollen 

 by the melting snows, could be heard from afar. The lochan 

 — Lochan Buidhe, or the Yellow Lochan — where the stream 

 has its birth was still covered with snow and ice, and for the 

 first part of its course the burn ran completely under the 

 snow. Then it emerged for a few yards, was again im- 

 prisoned, and finally ran free, with great ice floes lining its 

 banks. A wonderful scene for the last days of May, and one 

 which must be rare in Scotland at any time. 



Ptarmigan croaked on the plateau. Their season of nest- 



53 



