northern outpost of the Lusitanian zone. It has suffered human depopulation like many another Highland area, but Skye is still one of the most heavily crofted areas of the West. Preservation of game has practically ceased and almost all the hill ground is now crofters’ grazing. Topographically, Skye is magnificent, with its Cuillins and its Quirang, but from the point of view of wild life it is somewhat disappointing. The whole area facing the Minch is faunistically poor, as was pointed out by Harvie-Brown fifty years ago.
The island of Raasay, however, between Skye and the mainland, has a surprisingly rich variety of small birds, doubtless as a result of the woods and the large amount of park-like ground which is of Liassic origin. Personally, I should say that the Lepidoptera of Skye and Raasay would repay close scrutiny, not only from the point of view of numbers of species, but from the areas of distribution. Heslop Harrison and his group have already made fruitful researches in this direction. Raasay, like Mull, has its own sub-species of bank vole (Clethrionomys = Evotymys).
The islands of the Atlantic zone are by far the most interesting part. The mainland coasts are often hidden and tend to lose character. But the country bordering the long sea lochs is of exceptional beauty and contains some habitats—such as the indigenous oak woods—which are almost unique in Scottish natural history. To walk the length of Loch Sunart, ten miles out of the twenty through these oak woods, in the fine weather of June is an aesthetic experience, if only for the sight of the redstarts which are here in great numbers. The scenery of the distance is as beautiful as the redstart among the oaks and hazels near at hand. Perhaps the better way is to travel eastwards from Kilchoan and Ardnamurchan Point where the quality of ocean is apparent as on the islands. Sanna Bay on the northward tip of Ardnamurchan is one of the most beautiful shell-sand bays of the West, but it is rarely visited because of its remoteness. East of Glenborrodale the sense of sea is lost and we are in the woods with the loch below us. The peak of Ben Resipol, 2,777 feet, dominates the landscape and is most shapely when seen from this airt. The traveller can hardly miss seeing Ben Iadain, 1,873 feet, and on the other side of the loch in Morvern. It is a little cap of tertiary basalt perched on the Moine schist, but between the two is a very narrow band of chalk. The sight of this little hill cannot fail to impress one with the immense amount of denudation which must have taken place to remove this molten layer of amorphous volcanic rock from so much of this countryside.
Though the oceanic birds such as kittiwakes and auks are lost as one moves up these long sea lochs, it is surprising how many sea birds are to be found breeding in the season. Arctic terns, eider ducks, herring gulls and mergansers—all are here in numbers. And where there are shallow shores and estuaries there are parties of curlews, oystercatchers and ringed plovers. The hillsides above these long sea lochs are almost devoid of heather. The vegetational complex is one of various species of sedge, a few grasses such as flying bent and mat grass, and bog myrtle and deer’s hair sedge. Heather will appear at the edge of a gulley perhaps where the drainage is good. From a distance the most obvious plant may be bracken—great sheets of it, darker green in summer than the herbage and red in winter.
The ecology of the long sea lochs and their intertidal zones is a subject of great interest for those who have the techniques to follow such studies. The gradual increase in salinity from head to foot of the loch, the diurnal variation caused by the tide, the spasmodic variations caused by spates and droughts, the currents formed, and their effects on the life of the waters, still remain to be worked out in detail. Space will not allow of individual description of all the narrow and long sea lochs from Loch Fyne to Loch Alsh: each one has its similarities and distinctions, and certainly each should be visited by the naturalist who is also keen on good country. Most of these narrow lochs have high hills rising from their shores, which means that their south side loses the sun for four months in late autumn and winter. Loch Hourn is particularly sombre in winter because the hills of Knoydart, which reach to 3,343 feet, seem to tower above the loch. Loch Nevis, on the other hand, is sheltered from the north by these same hills, and the North Morar hills to the south of this wider loch do not rise above 1,480 feet. Inverie, therefore, in its sheltered bay on the north side of Loch Nevis, is one of the kindest places in the West Highlands, despite the high rainfall. Indeed, the West Coast is full of these pockets of kindly shelter allowing luxuriant growth. Many of the policies of the large houses have magnificent specimen trees which have grown within a hundred years or so to a size which would have been impossible in a large part of England.
When these sea lochs narrow at their mouth there is a diurnal tide race of considerable force. That at the Corran Narrows of Loch Linnhe runs at 8 knots at ebb and flow, but that at Connel Ferry on Loch Etive is very much more than this and is quite impassable at half tide. When the tide begins to flow here there is the extraordinary sight of a waterfall in reverse, made by the inrush of sea water.
This section may be concluded with mention of the fine piece of country round the shores of Loch Etive (Plate Vb) and up to Glen Coe (Plate 6). Ben Cruachan, 3,680 feet, is one of the landmarks of the Highlands. Cruachan and Ben Starav, 3,541 feet, are of granite and lie either side of Glen Kinglass which runs from the east bank of Loch Etive. There is happily no road through this glen and it is therefore almost untouched. The sides are lightly wooded; the river is of that clarity which is common in waters coming off granite, and as one climbs past the trees and by numerous falls the Forest of Blackmount is reached. This great high place has lost all western character which was expressed at the foot of Glen Kinglass. Blackmount has always been deer forest. Its swan song is that charming book by the late Marchioness of Breadalbane, The High Tops of Blackmount. You may object to all that this great lady stood for, but if you have a fine taste for country and appreciate writing which conveys the atmosphere of particular country you should read her book.
If one makes a cross-country trek from the heart of Blackmount to the head of Glen Etive, a country of high, spiry peaks is reached. What is more, it belongs to the nation. The Royal Forest of Dalness, Buachaille Etive, Bidean nam Bian, and some of the best climbing ground in Scotland is included, and it is probable that adjacent areas will also come under state ownership before long. The botanical and geological interest of the area is considerable, but the student of animal life will find it rather bare. Once more, at the head of Glen Coe we are on the border of our zone. As we look eastwards across the dreich Moor of Rannoch (Plate VIa) it is into Central Highland country.
THE OUTER HEBRIDES OR OCEANIC ZONE
This is the most westerly portion of Scotland, the seventh degree of West Longitude passing down through the middle of this long range of islands which effectually shields the northern half of the West Highland coast. If we study a population map we see that the greater part of the people on the Long Island, as the whole group is called, are fairly densely packed on to the western fringe. Some more dense places are also found on the extreme east of Lewis, as on the Eye Peninsula or Point as it is always called in Lewis. By merely looking at a map one might ask why the people are so densely grouped on the west side where harbours are fewer and where the force of the Atlantic Ocean is unbroken. The very fact of human density of population is surprising to anybody accustomed to the alarming rate of depopulation on the mainland shore of the West Highlands. The Hebridean has a love of home which is unconquerable. There he has remained through thick and thin, sticking to his fringe which is between the mighty ocean and the deadening peat bog of the interior.
The half-million and more acres of the Outer Isles mean nothing in relation to the human population which lives there because to a large extent the interior is just as uninhabitable as the ocean. The people being confined to the coastal fringe live what might be called an open urban existence without town planning.
The overpowering reason for the human species being confined to this fringe is that here the awful blanket of peat ends and the ocean has thrown up an immense weight of shell sand. As the dunes have stabilized through the millennia and the stiff marram grass has given way to kinder herbage, a light lime-rich soil has formed. There are miles and miles of the white sand on the Atlantic shore, and above it the undulating machair (Plate XIXb) of sweet grass on which are reared great numbers of Highland and cross cattle. Flocks of barnacle geese come to the machair in winter and add to the humus content of the sandy soil. The prevailing south-westerlies continue to blow winter and summer, year after year, century after century. The tangle