CHAPTER XXVIII 



OCTOBER IN LAIRIG GHRU 



ON an early October morning, after a spell of exception- 

 ally severe weather, the wind, blowing fresh from the 

 south, brought drizzling rain and a mist which covered 

 the hills to their lowest slopes. Towards noon the wind shifted 

 west — always a good weather sign — the clouds lifted, and I 

 set out from Glen Derry in Mar on my journey through the 

 wild Lairig to Rothiemurchus on Speyside. The wind was 

 soft and mild, and as I struck west, Beinn Bhrotain and 

 Monadh Mor — the two big hills that guard the Lairig near 

 its southern end — ^showed darkly through the mist, their 

 corries heavily splashed with fresh autumn snow. The Lui- 

 beag burn was in spate, its waters having that characteristic 

 appearance of "snaa bree." From where the track crosses 

 the burn near the foot of Cam a' Mhaim the south-facing 

 corries of Ben MacDhui and the conical summit of the 

 Derry Cairngorm presented an almost unbroken surface of 

 snow. Even on Carn a' Mhaim the drifts lay deep. 



But amongst the storm-scarred pines in the glen winter 

 had not yet obtained the mastery. Cranberries, fully ripe, 

 still showed in sheltering places, and trout splashed in the 

 shallows of a small burn. 



As I rounded the shoulder of Carn a' Mhaim, where the 

 path just touches the 2,000-foot level, a heavy rain squall from 

 Glen Geusachan swept across, blotting out hill and glen, but 

 soon passed by, and now that steep and rocky spur, the 

 Devil's Point, stood out corniced with snow and, lymg 

 snugly at its base, the lonely and small Corrour Bothy. I do 

 not remember having seen the Dee here running in bigger 



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