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Sometimes, even in summer, when not a drop of rain had fallen, the flood would come down the Strath in great fury, sweeping everything before it; this remarkable phenomenon being accounted for by the prevalence of a strong south-westerly wind, which blew the loch waters from their beds into the Strath, and thus suddenly filled the valley of the Spey.* The same phenomenon, similarly caused, is also frequently observed in the neighbouring river, the Findhorn, cooped up in its deep rocky bed, where the water sometimes comes down in a wave six feet high, like a liquid wall, sweeping everything before it.
At Solo, I first tasted the Javanese "Findhorn haddock," which is, in fact, a trout caught in the beautiful Solo river. After being cleaned, it is wrapped up in a bundle of rice-straw, which is forthwith set on fire; and as soon as the straw is consumed, the fish is ready for eating, and really resembles in flavour its celebrated name-sake.
This I thought to be the Findhorn, but ere I went many paces farther another sight met my eyes the real river itself dashing through the glen with an awful majesty, and carrying roots, trees, and herbage of every description hurriedly over its broad breast.
There was no bridge over the Tay at Dunkeld, or over the Spey at Fochabers, or over the Findhorn at Forres. Nothing but wretched pierless ferries, let to poor cottars, who rowed, or hauled, or pushed a crazy boat across, or more commonly got their wives to do it. There was no mail-coach north of Aberdeen till, I think, after the battle of Waterloo.
During the walk I could hardly persuade myself I was out of Aberdeenshire, the country is so very like, but it is rather flatter. Next morning was clear and cloudless, and the sun shone bright over a country drenched and covered with water. I wished that day to reach Inverness, but a new difficulty appeared. I was told that the Findhorn was so swollen that no mortal man could get across.
I understood from Hope that, after 1784, when he came to the Bar, he and Braxfield rode a whole north circuit; and that, from the Findhorn being in a flood, they were obliged to go up its banks for about twenty-eight miles to the bridge of Dulsie before they could cross. I myself rode circuits when I was Advocate-Depute between 1807 and 1810.
Such were the hazards on the fords of the Findhorn; but even by boat the struggle was sometimes no less arduous, though it enabled us to cross the water at a height otherwise impassable, of which the following passage is an example: One evening I was returning with the piper, and the old hound which had accompanied me at the ford.
We have seen Elgin, which has the most exquisite ruined Cathedral that ever lived or died; and sweet Pluscarden Abbey not far off; and Forres, full of memories of Macbeth; and a mysterious carved shaft of sandstone called Sweno's Stone; and the hidden, secret glen of the Findhorn River, where we had to get out, and walk for miles through a gorge of the most entrancing beauty.
The flood described in the Findhorn was but a faint precursor of the wave sixty feet high, which, a week or two later, burst through the splendid girdle of rock which at Relugas confines that loveliest of Scotch rivers, and spread over the fertile plain beneath, changing it into a sea.
John says, "I was rather amused at an old woman living at Sluie on the Findhorn, who, complaining of the hardness of the present times, when 'a puir body couldn'a get a drop smuggled whisky, or shoot a roe without his lordship's sportsman finding it out, added to her list of grievances, that even the otters were nearly all gone 'puir beasties. 'Well, but what good could the otters do you? I asked her.
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