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. 

 Today 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 



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