A Day in Larig Dochart 79
came to us as we sat at breakfast the sweet incense o f the pine woods with which the
morning air was laden. I had, too, the promise o f our host that on the first fine day I
should be taken to the high beat o f Larig Dochart, whose transcendent beauty I had heard
discussed a hundred times in the smoking-room ; so with this brilliant prospect before
me, I need hardly say I did not linger over breakfast.
A start for the hill is soon made, the arrangements here being perfect, and the guest
having no further trouble than to call for his stalker and pony whenever he likes. For
over a mile the road passes along a beautiful avenue o f pines and larches, through which
“ som e g r o u se a n d b la c k g am e g a m e o v er , a n d a l l t h e ir hea ds w e n t u p a t o n c e ”
Photograph of wild deer from nature taken in the forest of the Black Mount.
the lovely Loch Tulla is plainly seen, while on the other side is the home wood, where,
amongst the trees and dense undergrowth, a roe, or now and then a stag, fearlessly shows
himself as he takes a peep at the passing traveller, this being part o f the sanctuary whose
inmates, consisting o f stags, roe, and semi-wild white-faced hinds presented to Lord
Breadalbane by the King o f Denmark, are never disturbed.
On debouching from the avenue gate, leaving on the right the head stalker’s house,
resonant with the howling o f dogs, and bristling with the antlers o f many a noble hart
that has breathed his last in the forest o f the Black Mount, we follow the road across the
open moor and along the course o f the river for four miles to Grant’s house, where we
dismount and commence the ascent at once.
T ill now the day had been all that could be desired, but before we were half-way up