BEN NEVIS IN MID-WINTER 
35 
f?et under way forthwith. We took care to call on Mr. James Young, 
of the Ben Nevis warehouse, and to lay in an extra stock of biscuits, 
and preserved coffee and milk, not forgetting a modest modicum 
of the famous “ dew,” and an ounce of the equally-renowned “ Bristol 
Bird’s Eye.” It was from Mr. Young’s establishment that we made our 
final start, amply provisioned, and laden with a cargo of tin cans 
and pannikins for boiling snow, a bundle of wood, wick-balls steeped 
in paraffin, wherewith to light our fire on the summit, a snow-spade, 
and sundry tools and other articles too numerous to mention. We 
took a short path following the right bank of the River Nevis for some 
little distance till we reached the shepherd’s hut at Claggan, and then 
across the Peat Moss to Meall an t-Suidhe, the western shoulder of 
the Ben Nevis system, shaping a course direct for the well-known 
lake. 
The views as the weather cleared were very fine. First there was 
the gushing river, swollen by the rains, at one point dashing over 
boulders with great turbulence, at another reflecting the blue sky 
above with detached fibres of storm cumulus lit up with the golden 
tints of the low winter’s sun ; while the dark pines and wooded slopes 
of Grlen Nevis, studded with the graceful birch, gave an additional charm 
to the picture. Then we had the fine expanse of Highlands north of 
the Caledonian Canal, their uplands and peaks in places overcast by 
dark, lowering rain-squalls and spanned by portions of a brilliant rain¬ 
bow coming out in finer outline against the dark braes below and 
snow-streaked mountains towering above. There, again, a fleeting 
patch of sunshine added to beauty by the greater contrast. Has not, 
indeed, all scenery a certain charm peculiar to itself and geographical 
position, from the Arctic regions to the lavish luxuriance of the 
Tropics ; but what more fascinating to the lover of the Kosmos than 
the wild, wild Highlands of Scotland, with all their fogs, snows, and 
mountain squalls? Winter undoubtedly is the time when the West 
Coast scenery can be viewed to perfection. The ascent of Meall 
an t-Suidhe was easily accomplished, and at 11 23 a.m. we reached 
the “Thousand Feet Rock.” Here the aneroid read 28'062, tem¬ 
perature was 37’8°, and a gentle south-westerly breeze was blowing. 
The track now took us over hummocks, swamps, and morasses, and 
past huge granite boulders, and small patches of snow lay round 
about. At a quarter past twelve we reached the intermediate obser¬ 
vatory at “The Lake,” 1,840 feet above sea, and forthwith seating 
ourselves on lumps of granite, surrounded by swamps and the delicate 
“ reindeer moss,” we began to discuss luncheon with that peculiar zest 
given by the pure and piercing mountain air. Biscuits, raisins, and 
sandwiches disappeared as if by magic, and pipes were lit with a keen 
enjoyment. I found the instruments all right, but the granite cairn 
containing the barometer had given way somewhat owing to the 
sWampy foundation and the alternating frosts and thaws. At half¬ 
past twelve I took observations. The barometer, reduced to 32° Fahr., 
read 27'287, aneroid 27’272, the temperature of the air was 35T°, and 
