The Eagle of Loch Treig

A once popular story told at ceilidhs in Brae Lochaber was one about the eagle of Loch Treig. A version of the tale was taken down by Calum Maclean from the recitation of John MacDonald of Highbridge on the 20th of January 1951:

 

Bha cailleach mhòr ann am Beinn a’ Bhric ris an abradh iad Cailleach Beinn a’ Bhric. Tha a’ bheinn seo gu h-àrd aig ceann shuas Loch Trèig. Bha de bhuaidh aice air a h-uile beothach mun cuairt dhith agus gun robh i a’ toirt orra bruidhinn. Agus ’s ann an sin a thòisich a’ chèilidh. Tha iad a’ bruidhinn oirre gus an latha an-diugh, air a’ chèilidh. Thàinig geamhradh uamhasach fhèin dona. Agus thuirt i riutha aon oidhche a bha seo:

 

“Feumaidh sibh falbh,” thuirt i, “agus a h-uile duine sgarbh a thoirt à creag dhà fhèin. Chan urrainn duine fuireach beò nas fhaide an seo. Agus tha am bainne a’ falbh far na h-aighean ged a bha mise gan leigeil is a’ toirt daoibh a’ bhainne. Chan eil e ann tuillidh. Agus chan eil iad a’ seasamh boisean dhomh ged a tha mi a’ muidheadh Dòmhnall mac Fhionnlaigh an t-Saighead orra, agus dar a nì mi sin, tionndaidh an gealagan air an t-sùil leis an eagal.”

 

Ach dh’fhalbh iad is rinn iad dhaibh fhèin mar a thuirt i. Agus an aon bheothach a dh’fhuirich leithe ’s e an Iolaire. Thuirt an Iolaire:

 

“Chan uarrainn domh seo a sheasamh nas fhaide. Feumaidh mi falbh.”

“Feumaidh,” thuirt i, “agus latha math leat.”

 

Dh’fhalbh an Iolaire sìos do Loch Trèig—Coire Mheadhoin agus a-staigh Bràigh Allt nam Bruach agus a’ Chaorannaich gus an tàinig i gu Drochaid Ruaidh, Bun Ruaidh:

 

“A bheil thu an seo, a Ghobhair Duibh?” thuirt i ris. ’S e sin Gobhar Dubh nan Allt air a bheil am broilleach geal.

 

“Tha.”

 

“A bheil forfhais agad air geamhradh riamh cho dona seo?”

 

“Chan eil. Ach cha robh mi ach nam isean glè bheag às deaghaidh mo mhàthair,” thuirt esan, “agus chan eil forfhais agam air. Ach tha fiadh thall an Coille Innse na chrùban aig bun craobh dharaich is mar a bheil eòlas aige-san.”

 

Chaidh i null far an robh am fiadh.

 

“Chan eil,” thuirt am fiadh, “forfhais agam-s’ air. Ach b’àithne dhomh caifeanach a bha gu h-àrd ann am Bothan Choire na Ceanna. Cha robh ach na mo laogh glè bheag agus bha e a’ ruith feadh an lochain agus an t-sùil às.”

 

Ràinig i shuas:

 

“A bheil forfhais agad,” thuirt i, “air geamhradh riamh a bha cho dona seo?”

 

“Tha,” thuirt e.

 

“O! ma-thà, tha mi glè thoilichte à do naidheachd. Agus mar sin thàinig an seòrsa againn beò as an droch gheamhradh sin agus bidh earbsa againn gun tig sinn às an fhear seo.”

 

“Thig,” thuirt e. “Agus bha mise ga mo chluich fhìn taobh lochain ann an seo. Droch gheamhradh a bh’ ann, agus bha e air adhart ann an June, dar a chuir pios den deigh an t-sùil asam.”

 

“O! nach robh e dona.”

 

“Bha.”

 

“Thèid mi an àird don iarmailt,” thuirt i, “feuch a bheil mo neart a’ cumail fhathast.”

 

Chaidh i an àirde. Dar a bha i a’ fàgail talamh dè leum air cùl a’ sgèith aice ach dreathann donn.

 

“Tha mi a-nis gu h-àrd san adhar is chan eil beothach a thèid nas àirde na mise.”

 

“Tha mi fada fos do chionn,” is e a leum.

 

“O! ablaich,” thuirt i. “Ma tha thusa beò, chan eagal duinne. Latha math leat.”

 

Is dh’fhalbh i leis an tamailt is cha do stad i gus an do ràinig i a’ Mhaingir thall taobh Loch Airceig. Agus theireadh iad Creag na h-Iolaire rithe far an d’fhuirich i na crùban ann an sin gus an do chuir i dhith an sgìos. Agus gheibh iad aois mhòr, an iolaire:     

 

   Trì aois cù, aois each,

               Trì aois each, aois duine,

               Trì aois duine, aois fìr-eoin

               Trì aois fìr-eoin, aois craobh dharaich.

 

And the translation goes something like the following:

 

A great hag lived at Beinn a’ Bhric (‘The Speckled Mountain’) and she was called Cailleach Beinn a’ Bhric. This mountain is situated at the south end of Loch Treig. She had such a hold upon every creature that she could even made them speak. That is how the ceilidh began: they still talk about her to this day. An extremely bad winter came and she said to them one night:

 

“I must go,” she said, “and everyone will have to take to their own shelter in the rocks. No one can stay alive here any longer. The hinds have gone dry even though I have been milking them. There is not a drop left. And they will not stand for me any longer even though I threaten them with Donald son of Finlay of the Arrows [the hunter-bard Dòmhnall mac Fhionnlaigh nan Dàn] so that their eyes turn white with fright.

 

They set off and they made for themselves as she had instructed. But there was one creature that stayed with her: the Eagle. The Eagle said:

 

“I can’t stand this any longer – I must be off.”

 

“Yes, you must,” she said, “and a good day to you.”

 

The Eagle went up to Loch Treig – to Coire Mheadhoin to the Brae of Allt nam Bruach and then to Caorannaich until she reached Roybridge, at Bunroy:

 

“Are you there, Black Goat?” she said to him. That is the Black Goat of the Burns with the white chest.

 

“Yes, I am.”

 

“Do you recall a winter as bad as this?”

 

“No, but I was just a young goat running after my mother and I don’t recall [a winter as bad]. There is a deer over in Coille Innse lying at the foot of an oak tree and he’ll know for sure.”

 

She went over to where the deer was.

 

“No,” said the deer, “I don’t recall [a winter as bad]. But I know a swallow up at Bothan Choire na Ceanna and though I was but a very small calf he was swimming through the loch with only one eye.”

 

She went up there.

 

“Do you recall,” she said, “a winter as bad as this one?”

 

“Yes,” he said.

 

“Oh, I am very pleased to hear your story that our kind has managed to survive a winter as bad as this and that we will be able to take courage to survive this one.”

 

“Yes,” said he, “and I was playing at the side of this loch. It was a bad winter even though it was late June when a piece of ice took my eye out.

 

“Oh, wasn’t that bad.”

 

“Yes, it was.”

 

“I shall take to my wings up into the sky,” said she, “to see if I can’t yet keep up my strength.”

 

She flew up into the sky but as she took off a brown wren jumped on the back of her wing.

 

“I am now higher in the sky and no other creature can go higher than me.”

 

“I am far higher above you,” [he said] as he took a leap.

 

“Oh, rotter,” said she. “If you are alive then we needn’t be afraid. Good day to you.”

 

And she left him there because she was humiliated and she didn’t stop until she reached Maingir over on the other side of Loch Arkaig. And they call this place Creag na h-Iolaire (‘The Crag of the Eagle’) where she stayed until she had regained her strength. The eagle gains a great age:

 

               Thrice a dog’s age, age of a horse,

               Thrice a horse’s age, age of man,

               Thrice a man’s age, age of the eagle,

               Thrice an eagle’s age, age of the oak.

 

The last  phrase has become a proverbial saying and the above story in an international tale known as ‘The Legend of the Oldest Creatures (AT 221 [ATU 221])’. This was better known to the reciters simply as Iolaire Loch Tréig. A version collected by Donald C. MacPherson, in the nineteenth century, has been reprinted on numerous occasions. This version is clearly a more literary production, as it seems to have been “touched up”, compared with the examples given in oral tradition. Three versions were collected from John MacDonald, Archibald MacInnes and Charles Cameron respectively. The versions recited by the latter two follow closely the one given by Donald C. MacPherson. The version given by John MacDonald adds the single-motif narrative of the ‘election of a bird-king’, i.e. the wren appears from underneath the eagle's wing to gain a higher altitude which is also meant to represent superiority. 

 

It would, no doubt, come as a surprise to John MacDonald if, at the time of the recording, he was told that the story of ‘The Oldest Creature’ probably originated in India sometime in the fourth century. Whether he would have been interested, sceptical or plain unbelieving is another matter. However, the resemblance to the Buddhist story, entitled Tittira Jataka, where the animals dispute their ages and similarly where a search is made for an independent criterion in order to settle the dispute is so striking that it can be no mere coincidence:

 

Long ago there were three friends living near a great banyan-tree, on the slope of the Himalayan range of mountains—a partridge, a monkey, and an elephant. They were wanting in respect and courtesy for one another, and did not live altogether on befitting terms.

 

But it occurred to them, “It is not right for us to live in this manner.  What if we were to cultivate respect towards whichever of us is eldest?” “But which is the eldest?” they asked; until one day they thought, “This will be a good way of finding out.” So the monkey and the partridge asked the elephant, as they were sitting altogether at the foot of the banyan tree: “Elephant, dear, how big was the banyan-tree at the time you first knew it?” “Friends!” said he, “when I was little I used to walk over this banyan, then a mere bush tree, keeping it between my thighs; and when I stood with it between my legs its highest branches touched me underneath. So I have known it since it was a shrub.”

 

Then they both asked the monkey in the same way. And he said: “Friends! when I was quite a little monkey I used to sit on the ground and eat the topmost shoots of this banyan, then quite young, by merely stretching out my neck. So that I have known it from my earliest infancy.”

 

Then again the two others asked the partridge as before. And he said: “Friends! there was once a lofty banyan-tree in such and such a place, whose fruits I ate and dropped the seeds here. From that this tree grew up; so that I have known it even before the time when it was born, and I am older than the either of you.”

 

Thereupon, the elephant and monkey said to the clever partridge: “You, friend, are the oldest of us all. Henceforth we will do all manner of service to you, and pay you reverence, and make salutations before you, and treat you with every respect and courtesy, and abide by your counsels.  Do you in future give us whatever counsel an instruction we require.”

 

Thenceforth the partridge gave them counsel and kept them up to their duty, and himself observed his own. So the three kept the five commandments; and since they were courteous and respectful to one another, and lived on befitting terms with each other, they became destined for heaven when their lives should end.

 

Such a tale was clearly used as a didactic aid in this Buddhist version and differs from the Lochaber ecotype in this respect. However, the common motif is clearly present: the search for an independent criterion. The tale itself appears both in Welsh and Irish traditions: it appears in ‘Culhwch and Olwen’, one of the oldest tales contained in the Mabinogion; and also, under the title of ‘The Hawk of Achill’, in an early sixteenth century Irish manuscript written in Leinster.

 

The Lochaber version of the tale, given in An Gàidheal, tells of how an eagle travelled to discover an older creature than herself, and was sent by an old wren to a still older blackbird which had made a hole in an anvil by cleaning its beak on it, which sent the eagle to a still older stag, which sent her to a still older trout, which had become blind when his eye froze to a rock on the coldest night. Jackson rightly points out, “...that the Eastern motif of the Oldest Animals was modified in the British Isles into a new form which appears in strikingly similar guise in Wales, Ireland and Scotland.” In fact, Jackson goes onto suggest, “...that the Lochaber version is very likely the most primitive, since the point of the quest here, to find and older animal, is closer to the Oriental story than any of the others are.”

 

References:

Abrach [D. C. MacPherson], ‘Iolaire Loch Tréig’, An Gàidheal, no. 11 (January 1873), pp. 285–86 [Published with English translation in Somerled MacMillan, Bygone Lochaber: Historical and Traditional (Glasgow: Privately printed, 1971), pp. 196–98]

T. W. Rhys Davids (trans.), Buddhist Birth Stories, or Jataka Tales, vol. I. (London: Routledge, 1880), pp. 312–14

Kenneth H. Jackson, The International Popular Tale and Early Welsh Tradition (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 1961)

Eleanor Hull, ‘The Hawk of Achill or the Legend of the Oldest Animals’, Folklore, vol. XLIII (1932), pp. 384–85

SSS NB 1, pp. 48–51

 

Image:

Iolaire / Eagle