Turning aside from the formal round of the Trosachs and Loch Lomond,
to penetrate into that wonderful district which the Callander and Oban
railway has opened up, we reach, at no great distance from Callander,
Loch Lubnaig, 'the crooked lake,' so called from its bent form, which
is almost identical with the form of the boomerang. The river Leny,
which drains the lake, passes through the Pass of Leny, once famous as
a gateway defending the entrance to the Highlands. Here, whether
viewed from the train or the road, the river is seen to rush over huge
rocks, tearing, roaring, and tumbling, in a manner calculated to
terrify the timid entrant to this wild district.
The lake itself lies clear, black, and deep, a somewhat sullen, yet
always beautiful sheet of water. On the left the dark masses of Ben
Ledi cast their shadows upon the water, intensifying the depth of its
tone, and giving the loch its distinctive character. Near the water
the banks are in many places full of gentle woodland beauty, but as a
rule the impression made by the overhanging bulk and the dusky-hued
rocks of Ben Ledi, absorb the sense, and the loch ever presents an
idea of grandeur and desolation. The railway line follows the edge of
the loch over its whole length, and the construction of this track
formed a most difficult engineering task, which at some stages of its
progress was nigh abandoned in despair. To get round the hard and
unyielding shoulders of the mountain, where they impinged direct upon
the water, embankments had to be made across a number of bays and arms
of the loch. In one case the task of throwing rocks and stones into
the water was persevered in for nine months without perceptible
result, but by continued labour a footing above water level was at
last obtained. As the train pursues its course along the bank of the
lovely loch,--the eye the while rejoicing in the dark and placid
beauty of the water, and the charm of the hill scenery beyond,--there
will at times come the feeling that the distance between the carriage
window and the treacherously pellucid depths of the loch is all too
little. The fear is unfounded, for no sign of subsidence has been
shewn--the mass of stones thrown in was too solid for that. But this
is a feature in the case that no traveller will fail to notice, and
the impression thus made by Loch Lubnaig makes it a water which once
seen will never be forgotten.
Near the debouchure of the river is St. Bride's Chapel, where Angus
thrust the fiery cross into the hands of Norman, as described in _The
Lady of the Lake_. About half-way up the loch is Ardchullary
farmhouse, which was at one time the retreat of Bruce the traveller in
Abyssinia, who here wrote the volumes on which a century ago such keen
controversies arose. On the opposite side, where the railway runs, is
Laggan, said to have been the abode of Helen Macgregor, whom Rob Roy
carried off from here by force and married. In the veritable histories
of Rob Roy, however, his wife's name is given as Mary, daughter of
Macgregor of Comar.