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Fieldnotes
| It might appear somewhat perverse... odd, even - here upon a Scottish island of superlative natural scenery, boasting the magnificent Black Cuillin, Britain's finest mountain range - to direct the gaze of prospective visitors towards what are, in effect, mere 'minor hills'. However, please bear with me. For while an ascent of, say, Sgurr Alasdair represents a classic expedition under the right conditions, an experience never to be forgotten... there is more to this magically diverse isle than the copious distribution of soaring aretes of naked black gabbro rock, the preserve of 'roped-up' mountaineering muppets steadfastly refusing to look around them. Much more. For, just as subtle nuances of light, shade and colour; of texture, smell... of sound... inform sensory perception, so it is the juxtaposition of different landscapes which ensures Skye, in The Citizen Cairn's opinion, is wondrously unique. Yeah, is not the supporting actor as integral to any great story as the headlining star? Consider: Picard and Riker (or Kirk and Spock, naturally); Holmes and Watson; Mainwairing and Wilson; Ted and Dougal? Hence, despite rising to just c1,604ft at the higher southern summit (Healabhal Bheag), MacLeod's Tables exert a dominating presence over north-western 'lowland' Skye. Notwithstanding that a mountain/hill's size is, of course, relative to its locale, it is surely the distinct 'decapitated' profile of the twin heights, the result of horizontal strata of basalt which helps elevate them (ha!) to iconic Inner Hebridean status. They just stand out, right? The effect is almost unique in my experience, the exception proving the rule the twin sentinel tops of The Brecon Beacons - Pen-y-Fan and Corn Du - located many miles distant in South Wales. Here, however, MacLeod's Tables rise in splendid isolation, ripe for association with local legend and lore aplenty, this only enhancing the vibe to be experienced by those travellers prepared to venture off the beaten track, far from the tourists and chattering school parties. Clearly, our ancient predecessors concurred with this view. But don't take my word for it: the northern summit, Healabhal Mhòr, is crowned by the remains of a Bronze Age cairn. I approach Duirinish upon the A865 heading towards Dunvegan, its castle still the seat of the chief of Clan MacLeod... but more of that later. The day having dawned fine, the notorious banks of grey vapour informing Skye's 'Misty Isle' epithet conspicuous by their absence, the fabulous coastal views across Loch Bracadale are but a teasing prelude to what is to come. Passing the small hamlet of Ose, a pair of large cairns appear in profile surmounting the rise beyond Loch Caroy. These are the Cairns of Vatten (or Feolaig, if you prefer), two mammoth Neolithic (presumably) chambered cairns well worth hanging out at for a while. The northern monument is, by far, the better preserved nowadays [NG2979 4408], rising to c20ft in height, with an approx 90ft diameter. Sadly its southern neighbour is much depleted in comparison. Nevertheless, despite the ravages of time... and more destructive human agency, visitors may well discern a perceived correlation, an association, between the great ancient stone piles and Macleod's Tables looming beyond? An intentional 'mirroring' of the latter by an ancient people seeking to link their lives to the surrounding landscape, perhaps to impart legitimacy, meaning? Those of us who enjoy all too brief sojourns in such wild, uncompromising places might well be understanding of such intentions? Indeed, Cope makes this point within his seminal day-glo orange tome. Whatever the truth, the possibility is intriguing. Moving on, as one eventually must, the B884 exits left to cross the Osdale River as it flows into upper Loch Dunvegan, the road in due course arriving at a crossroads overlooked by the collapsed remnants of Dun Osdale. This is one of many examples of Iron Age brochs still to be found upon Skye, defensive drystone towers, circular in plan and synonymous with Scottish prehistory. There is another, finer example to be found at Dun Fiadhairt to the northwest of Dunvegan Castle [NG23115042]. Enough remains of Dun Osdale to afford the visitor a glimpse of what life within these ancient strongholds may have entailed, several courses of walling still remaining in situ, together with evidence of the trademark 'double-skinned' construction technique employed by Scottish Iron Age society. Furthermore - this being Skye - tales of the supernatural are never far from the surface. Yeah, legend has it that a curious local happened to chance upon a group of 'faery folk' having a good time here and, rather stupidly (ahem) decided to stay and watch. All was well until said 'gentleman' happened to sneeze and, thus discovered, was dragged inside.. only to be given a slap-up feed by the Daoine Sithe intent upon bewitching him. Our 'hero' was apparently wise to such shenanigans (his mother being a witch) and, instead of partaking of the copious wine proffered, instead made off with the goblet across the River Osdale. Job done, right? Never underestimate the power of faery retribution, however, for although his canny witch/mum applied an anti-faery vengeance charm, the little people were one step ahead. The goblet was, of course, cursed, the man being subsequently murdered for it by a former friend. The cup can apparently now be seen on display within Dunvegan Castle.... amongst 'other stuff'. More of which later. Such is the nature of the base camp chosen for The Citizen Cairn's attempt upon Healabhal Mhòr today. Such is the Isle of Skye, to be fair. By all accounts, the easiest, direct approach would appear to be along the access track for Osdale Farm within Osdale Glen and hence ascending the peak's eastern shoulder. However, since our 'Faery broch' stands at the base of the hill's north-eastern ridge, my route is at least - for once - logical.... if very hard going in places, trackless rough moorland/bog 'enlivened' with peat-hags making a mockery of the ostensibly modest height gain. Indeed, the final ascent of Healabhal Mhòr's northern face is brutal in the extreme, the sheer effort demanded of me, particularly under a now peerless royal blue sky, out of all proportion to limited expectations derived from a perusal of the map. When I eventually do reach the summit plateau I'm twice blown away..... quite literally, upon leaving the lee, by the freezing wind.... and metaphorically by the mesmeric coastal views. The summit plateau is extensive, to say the least, and larger than the somewhat higher Healabhal Bheag looming across the glen to the south, this perhaps explaining the otherwise somewhat contradictory nomenclature (Mhor means 'big' in Gaelic). I make my way westward toward the summit (1,545ft), this crowned by a rather well-built cairn which, to be honest, looks too good to be true. As it happens, the professionals at RCAHMS agree, describing the cairn as 'cone-shaped and probably an old trigonometrical station (1928)'. The prehistoric cairn I've come to see lies at the extreme opposite, south-eastern end of the decapitated hilltop, the view across Loch Bracadale toward the serried summits of The Black Cuillin utterly sensational - there is no other word for it. Aside from 'magnificent', perhaps? Or 'wondrous'? OK, you get the point. As is sadly often the case with upland funerary cairns, however, the surviving archaeology is not in the same league. Although presenting a very substantial footprint, the centre of the cairn has been decimated by the excavation of three (count 'em, the idiots) muppet shelters.... its very heart torn out by vandals unable (or unwilling) to dress appropriately for conditions. As if to underline the point, I'm briefly joined by a young couple clad in shorts and T-shirts, neither in any position to remotely deal with the brutal wind whatsoever. No wonder the British uplands claim so many victims... I sit back and attempt to take it all in, to absorb the natural melodrama that is Skye. Yeah, despite the aforementioned Black Cuillin rising to double the height of my not-so-lofty perch, I reckon only a fool would dismiss MacLeod's Tables as being an inferior viewpoint, such is the quality of the far-reaching coastal views. I note the relative positions of the various brochs, chambered cairns and other ancient sites that infuse the island with such a deeply ingrained sense of human continuity, the notion that the viewer is somehow witnessing time divorced from the constraints of linear progression... that somehow the past, present and future are in a state of flux. What IS it about this small corner of Scotland that such sentiments somehow do not seem trite? Time to eat as my gaze settles upon the Fiadhairt peninsular and, to its right, Dunvegan Castle itself. Yeah, The Clan MacLeod. What is it with this 'table' business, then? Surely not tales of giants to mitigate the little folk? Well, funnily enough, it would appear Healabhal Mhòr and Bheag became known as 'MacLeod's Tables' following much more anthroponotic antics: a case of said clan chief having had to extricate himself pretty sharpish from the potential repercussions of some farcically over the top blagging. To none other than the King himself.... D'oh! According to legend - presumably based upon a degree of truth - it would appear that Alasdair MacLeod made a visit to the court of James V in Edinburgh and, somewhat peeved by the condescending attitude shown to Highlanders there during the 16th Century, boasted that - as fine as the King's facilities were - he, MacLeod, possessed a larger 'table' than James back home on Skye. Not to mention 'brighter candles' and even a higher ceiling upon his banqueting hall! Err, oh dear. Naturally assuming our Alasdair to be what the Irish would term a 'gobshite', the King no doubt decided to come see for himself and take this insolent braggart down a peg or two, so to speak. Anyway, MacLeod somehow - since The Citizen Cairn assumes he didn't chuck James a pair of boots saying 'It's not far, just up there... see you at the top' - managed to convey the bemused monarch to the summit plateau of Healabhal Mhòr at dusk, whereby a lavish banquet was laid out surrounded by torch-bearing clansmen... in lieu of candles!! Hopefully minus the dodgy Mariachi band, since that WOULD be going too far. To be fair, as far as face-saving/neck-saving exercises go, this was a pretty good attempt in the circumstances. Certainly enough to have given Hitler's architect Albert Speer and his Nazi goons wet dreams back in the day. 'Cathedrals of Light'? Ha! You obviously haven't been to Scotland, fool. Maybe that weirdo Hess might've done better? My own luncheon is somewhat less ostentatious in comparison. Nonetheless, there is simply no faulting the outlook here. By all accounts, the 8th Clan Chief MacLeod - known as Alasdair 'Crotach' ('humpback') - wasn't exactly a pillar of the community, at least not if one prefers one's leaders not to be consumed by religion and responsible for mass murder upon neighbouring isles such as Eigg. However, at least his mad antics have overridden the alternative famous association: that of St Columba. According to legend, the 6th-century inhabitants of Skye saw fit to refuse the holy man lodging - for an undisclosed reason - whereupon God (apparently) sliced off the tops of Healabhal Mhòr and Bheag so the poor saint could have a place to sleep and a table for eating... and other stuff requiring a flat surface. One is left wondering why such a giant of a man was bothering the poor islanders in the first place, given his somewhat, er, 'excessive' requirements? But there you are. And, to be fair, he was never going to compete with the fairy folk, was he? Speaking of which... Alasdair MacLeod's descendant apparently still resides within Dunvegan Castle today. A scan of the estate's website reveals at least one more treasure of note: Am Bratach Sith - "The Fairy Flag of Dunvegan". 'Yeah, right', I hear you say? However, it would appear this faded yellow/brown silk banner is credibly thought to have originated in Syria or Rhodes during the 4th Century AD and, furthermore, is linked to Harald Hardrada, ancestor of Clan Macleod and the very same Norse nutter defeated by King Harold at Stamford Bridge during that fateful year of 1066. Yeah, apparently the infamous warrior brought a 'famous banner' (The 'Land Ravager'?) back from Crusading escapades in The Middle East said to possess 'mystical powers' and the ability to snatch victory from defeat etc. (so presumably never possessed by Tottenham Hotspur, then?) Although it's fair to say it didn't exactly help our Harald, did it? Perhaps, dear reader, you may therefore choose to believe in the connection to the Daoine Sithe? Well, this is Skye after all. Behemoth 6th Century saints, extreme 16th Century alfresco dining.... fairy cups and flags? As I said, expect the unexpected upon this magical island. There can be only one, MacLeod. |
Posted by GLADMAN27th July 2013ce Edited 19th March 2023ce
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