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Looking out for a new route is the “look out” of every
tourist who has been regularly “doing” the Highlands, season after
season, as the writer has done for some years; and as each successive
summer rolls past, the difficulty becomes more and more great of finding
some new and interesting district of country, alike interesting to the
invalid, the tourist, the geologist, and antiquarian. Permit me, then
Mr. Editor, to inform my brother tourists that such a route has, by the
kind liberality of one of the most liberal hotel proprietors in
Scotland, just been opened to the public, and almost by mere accident.
I, one day at the end of last week, had the unbounded pleasure of being
driven through it at “Jehu” speed. Having seen, in one of the Forth
& Clyde Railway time-tables, that I could leave the City at 9.35 a.m.,
reach Port of Monteith station at 11.20, and “ do” the Lake of Monteith,
Aberfoyle, Loch-Ard, Loch-Chon, Inversnaid, and Loch-Lomond, returning
to Glasgow at 8 p.m., and all for “sixteen bob,” it struck me as
something “decidedly new.” Determined to make a trial of the new route,
on the morning of Saturday last I found myself at Port of Monteith
station, exactly at 11.20; and after surveying the prettiest of all
country stations, I, along with a few other passengers, mounted the
coach and took my seat beside “Willie,” as I heard some of the railway
officials term the driver. We were scarcely seated, when onwards plunged
the noble steeds, at a rate little short of “the limited mail;” and I
had not proceeded far when I found our driver the most civil and
agreeable companion I had ever sat beside. Being a native of the
district, his mind was well stored with the traditions of the country,
and rich in historic lore. About half a mile from the station you cross
the Forth, when he points you to the place where the great Rob Roy
crossed the river with his prize when on a horse-stealing excursion in
Strath-Endrick. He also points you to the place where, in days gone by,
there stood the “Ferry Inns,” in which the young Pretender slept a night
when visiting his friends in Monteith. Near this also flowed the spring
once so famous for curing the gout. The road in front of you is
beautifully shaded; on the right are the well-kept grounds of Cardross,
and on your left dark green forests some miles in length, where you may
see the roe bounding far ben among its dark recesses. On your right
stands a sequestered little cottage, with a row of large trees at the
back; and Willie tells you that is the old “ hanging hill” of Cardross;
while he points you to a hoary ash, whose boughs used to serve the
purpose of our new-fashioned scaffold, when the rustic native of the hut
acted the part of our modern Calcraft. He now tells you to look before
you, and a scene the most dazzling your eyes .ever beheld bursts upon
your view. One glance of your eye, and you scan forest, field, lake, and
mountain, all fresh with the glories of summer, spread out before you.
As you sweep past the green knolls of Inchie, and the road winds close
to the Lake of Monteith, this charming sheet of water increases in
loveliness. The waters are smooth as glass, and clear as the crystal
stream, contrasting beautifully with the green fairy islands that repose
upon its bosom. Inchmahome, the largest of the islands, contains the
ruins of the earliest Augustinian monastery in Scotland, the still
existing ruins bearing proof of its once ancient grandeur. This island
is also famous as the early burying-ground of the great feudal chiefs of
the district, and for having been some time the residence of Mary, Queen
of Scots; when she often played with her “four Marys,” and planted the
“Boxwood Bower,” which still remains, bearing the name of the maiden
queen. As you sweep round the northern side of the lake, you get a fine
view of the historic hill of Glenny, clothed with its green firs,
contrasting beautifully with the brown heath upon its summit. Willie
here points you to the place where Rob Roy galloped up the hill with his
stolen steed, and to the knoll where he halted to rest his fleet prize,
and gaze back on his pursuers as they swept round the lake like a
whirlwind, and came on like a rolling flood. Here the “Grahams of Glenny”
rushed down their native passes, like avalanches from the mountain, on
Cromwell’s army in the year 1653. You are now rolling past the most
southern portion of the great Grampian range; and Bendhu, with barren
face and heath-covered head, rises on your right. - Here you are told to
look back and take a long last look of the placid loveliness of Monteith
before entering the stern glories of Aberfoyle; and as you pass through
its scattered crags, and defile among its shattered hills, you feel an
awe-stirring sensation rising within you; but, ere you have time to
think or reflect, Willie rattles up to the door of the far-famed “Bailie
Nicol Jaryie.” Here a pair of fresh horses are got, and during the
unyoking process you have plenty of time to step into the inn and have
your tumbler, where you will find everything of the best, with most
prompt attendance. Leaving the inn, the scenery becomes more and more
interesting. On your right rises Craig-more, with rugged face and bald
head, the falcons floating round its summit, and the wrecks of a
thousand ages at its base. At your feet, the Avondhu rolls over its
rocky bed; and on your left lies the historic Duchray, with its grey
castle and hoary strongholds, its “ivy mantled” turrets and dark
dungeons, its rocky passes and ferny glens. After passing “ the
Clachan,” at a high turn of the road, the finest sight of this intensely
interesting locality is to be had. Loch-Ard opens beautifully to the
view; you see the silvery waters of the loch dazzling in the noonday
sun, and around its varied charms. You see its feathered banks and
heath-capped knolls; its rising hills and deep gorges; with the frowning
Ben-Lomond looking down on the scene below. As you roll on through woods
and meadow lands, and emerge from the thick shades of the silver
birches, the whole loch gradually opens to the view. Here Willie points
you to Rob Roy’s cave, where the great freebooter sometimes spent a
night when hard pressed. Here there is a fine echo, and you can yet hear
the gruff voice of the great native war chief issuing from the crags.
Here also you will see the rock, the scene of the collision between the
Macgregors and the red coats; and you can fancy you hear the hysteric
laugh of Helen Macgregor, as she gazes on the “bubbles” that dance on
her victim’s grave. Here also you are rolled under the roots of the tree
that caught hold of the Bailie’s riding coat, and dangled him between
the heavens and the earth. Near the western shore of the loch you see
Duke Murdoch’s island, where tradition says he spent his last night on
earth, having been taken from there to Stirling on the morning of his
execution. On the north side of the loch, and near its upper extremity,
is the famous waterfall of Le-dard, noted by the great novelist in both
“ Rob Roy” and “Waverley.” After this, for some distance, you find the
road partaking considerably of the up-and-down style; but never mind
that, Willie can rattle over it like Jehu of old; and as you near
Loch-Chon, he points out to you Rob Roy’s well, and near it a
cattle-lifter’s grave. You find Loch-Chon grander than Loch-Ard, but not
so extensive or famous. Looking down from the top of the coach you fancy
the loch to be some hundred feet below you, with several small islands
resting on its still waters. The islands are the favourite resort of
otters; and amid the crags of the high hills that tower beyond the
native wild cat lingers still. Here you get a beautiful view of the top
of Ben-Lomond opening wide its yawning jaws. You are now nearing the
road from Inversnaid to Loch-Katrine, and you get a fine sight of the
latter, with the surrounding hills and. “ the braes of Balquhidder” in
the distance. You pass, on your left, the small loch, Arklet, on whose
banks the fair heroine Helen Macgregor, the wife of Rob Roy, was born.
Approaching Inversnaid, on your right, and on a commanding eminence,
stands the remains of the once famous garrison of Inversnaid, erected by
Government in the year 1713 to overawe the clan Gregor. Before you, in
grand magnificence, rise the hills of Loch-Lomond; and on your left flow
the dark waters of the Arklet over its wild and rugged bed, until it
tumbles, amid wild grandeur, into the bosom of Loch-Lomond. You have now
reached Inversnaid—you are in rare trim for dinner, and you find you
have just as much time as perform that important operation before the
steamer calls to take you on to Glasgow. At Inversnaid you find
everything in the highest possible order; and to your kind and
intelligent host you are indebted for the opening up of the Monteith and
Aberfoyle route—a route which, for the grand variety of its scenery,
“stands alone in its glory,” and but for him it would have remained
almost unseen and unknown. |
