Ten years ago this summer I camped for four nights at a midge-infested site on the outskirts of the small highland village of Cannich in Strathglass, 12 miles west of Loch Ness. Over three consecutive days there, I drove up each of the three parallel glens stretching west (Strathfarrar, Cannich and Affric) in turn, to park up, shoulder my rucksack and take in as many of the highest mountain ridges and summits as I could in a single days circular walk. The net result was a particularly satisfying and continuous appreciation of a sizeable chunk of the Highlands; the stunning glens, their rivers, birch, birds and squirrels, and the airy perspective from the mountains of the full spread of the land and the many large and deeply embedded lochs. On the third morning, I set off on foot from the Mullardoch dam (the largest in Scotland, half a mile wide in a distinctive V-shape, and completed in 1951) which defines the point beyond which the upper ten miles of Glen Cannich is now submerged. Despite some urgency to stay ahead of forecast incoming bad weather I was almost immediately stopped in my tracks by a striking cairn overlooking the north side of vast Loch Mullardoch. This turned out to be the Chisholm Cairn, commemorating 700 years of the Chisholm clan living and working the glen and surrounding lands, and also marking a spot near a now submerged clan gathering point. The cairn had a number of intriguing Moses-style stone tablets (albeit lacking text, being either blank or of sparsely abstract design) embedded in it, the symbolism of which still escapes me, but its strange nature stuck in my mind, along with the name of Chisholm.
It was fitting that the completion of the Strathglass
project was celebrated last January with a concert on a stormy night at the
Kelvingrove Art Gallery in Glasgow at the Celtic Connections festival, where
pieces from the entire project were woven together into a coherent whole, the
Strathglass Suite. Reports from attendees are that this was a very special
occasion indeed where performer, audience, music and sense of place and history
connected marvellously – and fortunately for all it was recorded and has
recently been released. That’s one I have yet to savour...
Perhaps I should have included some of my photos
of this landscape of Duncan’s that I explored and am now anxious to
return to, though currently they languish on 35mm slides in a draw, yet to be
scanned into the digital era. There again, the images will come to your minds
eye easily enough if you simply listen to the music – it’s that good. And the
evocative imagery in the album sleeve notes, by local artists and
photographers, are both original and beautiful – a further manifestation of the
dedication and love that is everywhere in this project.