Gents Mag 1900 part 1 p.438
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Gentleman's Magazine 1900 part 1 p.438
in a single night was choked by the fall of a bordering cliff, so that a lovely waterfall was formed with a deep pool above and another below the obstruction. Many a natural bridge of "choked" rock is formed by such an event. In the higher portion of this stream is a large tarn, and just before it is sighted, the waters of the outlflow are pent into a gorge between two mountains, and cascade after cascade breaks upon the view. Climb along the river bed here - it is difficult and tiresome work, but the vantage is unique. The water churns round in a mad whirlpool here, a few yards in front it races towards us on what appears to be a lofty rock shoot but which later discovers itself in the form of a dozen tiny falls. The water does not seem to fall from one to another of these - it is more of a single roll or a bound. Alert bright trout dart about in transparent water, devouring whatever food the beck brings down - a hard-cased bracken clock which has attempted a flight beyond its power and perished, a soft mollusc torn from its rock-home, or a caterpillar dislodged by the passing breeze from some twig. Carefully coasting round a mossy corner into a recess from which the cheerful thunder of water proceeds, we enter a crag basin of remarkable charm. We find footing on a slab which almost spans the stream. It has peeled from the cliff above and has been caught in its descent on a narrow ledge. The brook splashes against its sides and grumbles under it at the outlet. The spray-damped cliffs are green with moss; down the gaps by which the springs from above reach their bourne, hang long streamers of water-weed; a wren has taken possession of a dry pocket among the rocks opposite and is surveying us suspiciously. It twitters and scolds, defies and threatens, but its trouble is for nothing. The niche in which it homes is impossible to reach, even if we were so minded. Green and grey and yellow, white and crimson and brown, are imparted to the drier precipices by the lichens; silvery birch boughs sway above, green yellow roots hang into the turmoil of the water. A dipper dashing up the gully sees a human presence, hesitates a flash, then passes at accelerated speed, its wild song echoing over the drone and boom without a tremor or a pause. This rock hollow is merely one among many equally pretty, and pen, pencil, or brush fails to convey half its delights. As the slippery cliffs afford no handhold on this side, we cross the ghyll and attack a cleft down which dangle, as so many ropes, the roots of a mountain ash. Holding to these we easily gain the higher level of the glen, and make forward. Passing the mountain tarn, we enter the upper col, and among my many climbs this has been the most unsatisfactory. It is a wild delve in the mountain side, steep banks |
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