William W. Starr - Whisky, Kilts, and the Loch Ness Monster

2011 University of South Carolina

Cloth edition published by the University of South Carolina Press, 2011

Paperback edition published by the University of South Carolina Press, 2011

Ebook edition published in Columbia, South Carolina, by the University of South Carolina Press, 2012

www.sc.edu/uscpress

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The Library of Congress has cataloged the cloth edition as follows:

Starr, William W., 1940Whisky, kilts, and the Loch Ness Monster : traveling through Scotland with Boswell and Johnson / William W. Starr.

p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 978-1-57003-948-5 (cloth : alk. paper)

1. Starr, William W., 1940 TravelScotland.

2. ScotlandDescription and travel. 3. Starr, William W.,

1940 TravelScotlandHebrides. 4. Johnson, Samuel,

17091784TravelScotlandHebrides. 5. Boswell, James,

17401795TravelScotlandHebrides. I. Title.

DA867.5.S73 2010

914.1104'73dc22

2010020165

ISBN 978-1-61117-122-8 (ebook)

Many people contributed in many ways toward making this book a pleasure to research and write. Im grateful to each, including those few who said theyd prefer not to be mentioned.

Since Ive been employed full-timeand gratefully sothroughout the time it took to undertake my trip to Scotland and subsequent writing and research, I want to thank my boss, Darro Willey, director of the DeKalb County Public Library. He was a consistent supporter and somehow managed to find the ways to make it possible for me to get the time I desperately needed over a period of several years. My thanks also go to the entire staff at the DeKalb Library, many of whom responded kindly and quickly to my numerous questions. Rob Jenkins and Jack Riggs at the Writers Institute at Georgia Perimeter College generously supplied space and encouragement during the early stages of writing. The friends who helped me secure a cottage in the western North Carolina mountains for an extended period of writing furthered my work more than they could have imagined. Peter, Phil, Terry, Tom (both of you), Jack, George, and Pat all offered cheering words when I needed them.

There were many people in Scotland who enlightened me in so many aspects of Scottish culture and who made my journey a joy and an inspiration. I still miss their company: Kenny, Frances, and Roger in Stirling; Helen in Inverary; John in Fionnphort; Philip and Debra on Skye; David on Raasay; Susan and Ronnie on Lewis; Angus, Alistair, and Anna in Ullapool; Martin in Durness; Paul and Elaine in Thurso; Greg and Lesley on the Orkneys; Liz and Peter at Inverness; Lady Russell at Ballindolloch Castle; Jim in Pitlochry; Loris in Arbroath; Maureen at Auchinleck; and John in Edinburgh. There are others, including some helpful librarians, and I am most appreciative for your assistance. I happily absolve all of the above for any responsibility for my errors.

To the people of Scotland, for whom I have discovered a deep and abiding affection, my thanks for accepting me during the too-brief time I visited. A stranger asking nonstop questions about Boswell and Johnson couldnt have been high on their welcoming list, but the truth is I never felt anything less than welcome.

And to the staff at the University of South Carolina Press, long my favorites, I thank you for your careful work on my manuscript. I am grateful for your professionalism and friendship.

I am happy and grateful to acknowledge the remarkable generosity shown me by the talented staff at Lenz Marketing in Decatur, Georgia. My special thanks go to Richard Lenz for his unstinting support and to the gifted artist Matt Tinsley, who planned and created the delightful jacket for this book as well as the helpful chapter heading maps. Matt was a pleasure to work withfull of terrific ideas and rich imaginationand he possessed the artistry to make them happen.

Thanks go to my extended family, past and present. Your love, acceptance, or toleration has been valued more than you could possibly imagine.

Finally, my thanks go to Michele, who made the trip work, who guided my work, and who made it all seem much less like work.

The journey of James Boswell and Samuel Johnson through Scotland, AugustNovember 1773

The authors trip through Scotland, FebruaryMay 2007

The plane eased through the silver sky toward the sun-swept runway at Edinburgh International Airport. Looks like we caught a good trade-off this morning, said the flight attendant as she herded the last group of empty peanut wrappers into her portable depository. Were three hours late, but its usually pouring rain when we get here. Not bad, huh? No, not at all. A first-time visitor to Scotland might assume the appearance of the sun to be perfectly ordinary, but then you remember the jokeat least its supposed to be a jokethat the Scots offer this greeting to visitors: Hello; sorry about the weather. And then there are the words of Edmund Burt, as true today as when they were written in 1720: In these northern parts, the year is composed of nine months winter and three months bad weather. Or Edward Topham, who wrote in 1774 that the winds reign in all their violence, and seem indeed to claim the country as their own. Of course, anyone who reads a travel guide should know to expect the worst, for this is a country that embraces magnificent climatological legends. All true and all understated.

They begin with rain followed by showers, followed by a heavy rain, drenching rain, a bit of rain, light showers, a soft rain, lightening showers, driving rain, a forcing rain, easing showers, a touch of dampness, pouring rain, horizontal rain, sleety rain, rainy sleet. And did I mention the wind? Howling, screeching, relentless, hurricanelike, a hard blow, a light blow, pushing breezes, gusts, gentle gusts, hard gusts, moderate gusts, intense gusts, and, one of my favorites, blowing gusts. Winter gales start in September and can last until the end of April, when they become only intermittent, says one American who has lived for a dozen years in the Outer Hebrides. Wester Ross is the wettest place in all of the United Kingdom and gets more than two hundred inches of rain each year. And everywhere in the Highlands and Islands gets not only rain but that seemingly never-ending wind as well.

Everyone writes about it, everyone talks about it, visitor and native alike. Motor vehicles are regularly pushed off the roads or flipped over by the wind; debris flies through the air as if in some hurricane-hit shanty town, wrote one observer seventy years ago. And nearly 250 years ago, another Scottish visitor wrote this amazing passage: Not many days ago an Officer, whom I have the honour of being acquainted with, a man of six feet high, and, one would imagine, by no means calculated to become the sport of winds, was, however, in following another gentleman out of [Edinburgh] Castle, lifted up by their violence from the ground, carried over his companions head, and thrown at some distance on the stones. Scots find their doors blown open, their homes blown down. One gentleman walking through Edinburgh on one windy eighteenth-century afternoon found a ladys petticoats blown over her head; as he attempted to conceal her charms from public view, another gentleman not so oblivious concentrated so hard on the view that he failed to hold on to his hat and wig, which gustily blew him bald.