Comment Roger Smith
In the midst of lockdown, Roger Smith rediscovers a great writer who embodies the spirit of travel
LOCKDOWN HAS GIVEN me time to re-read some of the books that have had a particular influence on me. In a moment of serendipity I came across my slightly battered copy of Highland Tours by James Hogg, known as the Ettrick Shepherd. Hogg was an unlettered farmworker who wrote both prose and poetry. He formed an unlikely but lasting friendship with the novelist Sir Walter Scott, and this eased his way into the intellectual society of the day, where he more than held his own.
Hogg made several trips from his home in the Borders to the Highlands between 1802 and 1804 and sent regular letters to Scott. Happily, these have survived and form the basis for the little book I have before me.
What a travelling companion Hogg would be! He was irascible, opinionated, yet also generous to a fault. Hogg was a prodigious walker, regularly covering 30 miles a day over rough ground. He was also an advocate of lightweight travel. Here he is, setting off with a friend in May 1804 on a lengthy trip to the Highlands and Islands: “Our travelling equipage was very simple. I had a small portmanteau which we each stuffed with a clean shirt and stockings, a pocket travelling map, and a few neckrugged cloths. Thus nobly equipped, with each a staff in his hand, and a flashing tartan cloak over his shoulder, we proceeded on our enticing journey”. Who needs waterproofs?
Hogg is content to “go with the flow”, trusting that he will find somewhere to lay his head at the end of the day. This can lead to unexpected consequences, as in the Trossachs: “It was scarcely possible to have placed me in another situation in Scotland where I could have had a view of so many striking and sublime objects. The outline of Ben Lomond appeared to particular advantage, as did the cluster of monstrous pyramids on the other side.
“Besides all this I had drunk some whisky the preceding evening, and had a very indistinct recollection of our approach to that place, and it was actually a good while ere I was persuaded that everything I saw was real.” We’ve all been there, James.
He is less pleased with the walk from Inveroran over the Black Mount to Glencoe, now part of the West Highland Way: “This is a most dreary region, with not one cheering prospect. On the right hand lies a prodigious extent of flat, barren muirs, interspersed with marshes and stagnant pools; and on the left, black
mountains tower to a great height, all interlined with huge wreaths of snow.
“The scenery is not improved on approaching the Kingshouse [hotel]. There is not a green spot to be seen, and the hill behind it to the west is still more terrific than any. It is one huge cone of misshapen and ragged rocks, entirely peeled bare of all soil, and all scarred with horrible furrows torn out by the winter torrents.”
The hill is of course Buachaille Etive Mor, and by the aesthetic standards of Hogg’s time this would be a perfectly acceptable description.
Thank you, James, for making the long weeks of lockdown more bearable. It seems we might be coming into a more sunlit period as far as adventuring outside is concerned. If that is the case let us sally forth as James Hogg did, ready to enjoy whatever the journey brings. As another great Scots traveller/writer, Robert Louis Stevenson, put it: “I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move.”
I must go now. There’s someone at the door – a kenspeckle figure with a small travelling bag and a flashing tartan cloak over his shoulder. He’s come to take me for a walk...