Rivers And Lakes Adjacent To Fort William On The Caledonian Canal
These wild and majestic scenes in the heart of the Highlands of Scotland
are without doubt splendid, either to look upon or for the purpose of
salmon and trout fishing, the recollections of such to the intelligent
and contemplative mind of the gentle angler who has visited this region,
must be lasting and agreeable. [E]The sail down the Clyde from Glasgow,
passing Dumbarton Castle (on a rock in the water to the right), to
Greenock, is most enchanting; opposite this fine town the angler will
observe a grand expanse of deep and blue salt water, bordered in the
distance with mountains dark and high, filling the imagination with awe,
while pacing the decks of the frail but well appointed little steam boat
Helen McGregor in the gloom, as she creaks away through briny silvered
waves of lakes, estuaries, and straits, to Caledonia's "noblest
work"--the Great Canal. Rounding a rough northern head land, where seven
currents meet, of seas, sounds, and straits, Crenan in the wake,
compassing the shore in Jura Sound, the "little Helen" struggling with
the swelling tide, appeared to be standing still though at full speed;
Loch Etive, on the starboard--into whose bosom, Awe's serpentine waters
steal at solitary "Bunaw;" Lismore in the distance, Mull in our wake,
due West--the rapid subsiding--through it "the fair one" tripped
gallantly. In these "meetings of the waters," what oceans of salmon
sported and played at large in their blue and fresh element, far from
the wily bars! The "Heroine" seemed at once to be stepping up hills from
lock to lock, till she levelled the base of "Ben Nevis;" close to which
mighty mountain, the "fair one" squatted for the night. Glad enough were
her living freight to get on firm footing, and wend their way across a
mossy plain, without a rolling stone, to a little house under a hill,
that kept beds "well aired," and "usquebaugh," for travellers. At the
dawn of morning, through the haze, could be descried, "Fair Helen,"
smoking--her steam was up--sitting, "sidey for sidey," by the lofty Ben,
the sight of which, to look up at, was staggering. He had yet his
nightcap on of hazy grey, but enough of the giant hill could be denoted
that his base on that side was hewn away, facilitating the great track.
This morning, away went the "fair one," rattling like "sticks a
breaking." Hurrah for Fort William--a voice, "and the Camerons of
Lochiel,"--here we are at Crystal Laggan, Lochiel, and Lochey's
excellent waters for the Salmon Trout--(I will give the flies to suit
them a little further on). "Fair Helen" began her movements slowly for
some time, creeping through locks, o'er hills, in basins--Macomer on the
starboard,--Lochiel, farewell!--now skimming into saltless "Lochey's"
(famed for its ancient mountain clans) soft and balmy waters; through
the lake she dashed, breast high--a strait ahead--steaming by Balalister
at seven knots by the log, soundings the deep nine, "Fair Helen" entered
the gorge, and now rushing down an inclined plain, to the fear of the
timid, and delight of the stouthearted, double quick did run the "fair
one," making up for lost time experienced in the "meeting of the
waters"--through lock gates, up hills, &c., now through an embankment,
nearing Fort Augustus, and the head of Lochness, down she settled
between two stupendous lock gates. "What aw-fu' gates!" What work
bestowed on them--what an enormous depth are they--the wet and muddy
sides of which beat chilly. Down, "down below," went the "fair one,"
till she levelled the golden waters of--"O, that lovely lake,"--into
which she slipped like a fairy elf. After her cold incarceration, "Helen
the Fair" tripped merrily down the centre of the "fathomless Lochness,"
the sun breaking, beamed out upon us cheeringly after the chill and hazy
morning. Like looking-glass did that sun-lit lake appear, stretching
away before us, losing itself in the distance, bordered by hills and
mountains on either side, till on the larboard was seen Morrison's
lonely glen and meandering stream. We neared the bay, sounded whistle,
and lowered steam. A few minutes more, and off went the Helen McGregor,
making head like a waddling duck through the valley of golden[F] waters.
Hush! The mountain sylph is heard in the cabin. Hush! by the powers,
it's Phillips, warbling the incantation of the wizard of the glen.
"Farewell to the mountain,
And sun-lighted vale."
O, shade of Wilson! the soul of Scottish song. Angler, may you rest in
peace. On the starboard was observed the "Falls of Fyres," descending,
perpendicularly, over a craggy precipice--most curious. "Bonny Helen"
slid smoothly along, till, at the "heel of the evening," we entered the
last embankment of Caledonia's Grand Canal, just where the beautiful
river Ness issues out of "that lake," opening into a lovely and fertile
valley, in the centre of which is a boat upset, an antiquity, covered
with motley trees. A few minutes more and we were safely landed at the
quay of the fair and sweet metropolis of the ancient Highlands,
Inverness, seated on a hill above the river. O, I sigh for the days that
will never return! High and airy rock, I split upon you twice, steering
northwise fra' bonny Dundee, through the "Carse o' Gowrie," by Laburnam,
to famed Dunkeld, on Tay's noble waters; Blair Athol and Fore's Macbeth
crossed the source of Spay, through a waste and dreary plain, with
villages far apart, where ran those weirdy thinly kilted lads to see the
"four-in-hand;" up hill, down dale, and heathered moor we steered, till
at length we galloped towards the glooming, by the graves of dark
Culloden's blood-stained field--nearing the city, on went the drag, and
over a well macadamised road, "knapped" by the hardy highland wight, we
hurried into Inverness. Alas! this bronchial asthma, that shuts me from
that fishing. Fond memory brings the light of other days around me.
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The Findhorn
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