There are few scenes more fitted to move the imagination than the
wonderful loch, and the more wonderful hills that surround it,
presented in this view. It is somewhat of an exaggeration for Sir
Walter Scott to say that here
'Nor tree, nor shrub, nor plant, nor flower,
Nor ought of vegetative power
The weary eye may ken.'
But this is distinctly the impression of a first survey of the wild
scene, though under glints of sunshine there will not fail to meet the
eye little snatches of grassy bottom and stunted herbage, here and
there in the midst of the rocks. Yet there is so little to relieve the
singular darkness of the rock-pent water, and the dusky green of the
Cuchullin hills that surround it, that one fully appreciates, even in
the brightest weather, how true a picture Scott has drawn of the
scene:--
'For rarely human eye has known
A scene so stern as that dread lake
With its dark ledge of barren stone.
Seems that primeval earthquake's sway
Hath rent a strange and shattered way
Through the rude bosom of the hill,
And that each naked precipice
Sable ravine and dark abyss
Tells of the outrage still.'
To see Coruisk in fine weather is impressive, but it is when leaden
clouds weigh down the atmosphere, and dank mists clothe the rugged
peaks around, that the scene comes out in its full and weird
impressiveness. Then 'naked precipice,' 'sable ravine,' and 'dark
abyss,' are seen to be true words, and there comes on the spectator
some feeling of scenes that have been read of in Dante or Milton:--
'He views
The dismal situation, waste and wild.
A dungeon horrible on all sides round * *
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace
And rest can never dwell.'
But we must not give too black a character to this loch and its
surrounding hills. It is no Malebolge, filled by 'sounds and sights
unholy,' and while it impresses by its solitude and grandeur, it also
gratifies by its intense feeling of repose, and its remoteness from
the ills of busier life. Those visiting Coruisk will view with wonder
the extraordinary peaks of the Cuchullins, (pronounced Coolins,) each
more fantastic and broken than his neighbour, and all consisting of
the green-black hypersthene trap that gives its character to the
scenery here. South-east of the loch is the mighty bulk of Blabheinn,
(pronounced Blaven,) a huge mass with precipitous sides, down which,
on the occurrence of one of the frequent showers of this watery isle,
the rain is seen to descend in broken rills of dazzling whiteness,
making an extraordinary effect upon the upright face of dark rock. To
the north-east, the Cuchullin hills terminate in the ragged triple
peak of Scuir-na-gillean, the rock or hill of the young men. This
height was first scaled, in recorded history, in 1836, when Principal
Forbes, of glacial fame, ascended it, and since then, with guides, it
has been frequently climbed. But from the extraordinary formation of
the hill, the ascent is a work of much danger, and lives have been
lost in the attempt. The peak is a narrow ledge, precipitous on every
side. The height is 3220 feet, and although Scuir-na-Banachtich, the
westmost peak, is believed to be as high, it has not been climbed so
far as is known, and thus Scuir-na-gillean holds first rank in this
wonderful group of mountains.