A Crown arouses a Viking. A true story from Munro Bagging near Cannich.

In June 2013 we, (Malcolm, Our David, and myself), found ourselves in the out of the way Cannich. You get there by heading west from Drumnadrochit on Loch Ness.

It's a small village which originally had a Hotel/Pub. We had stayed there a few times whilst exploring this area. Later, it became progressively run down and, eventually, we arrived to find that the word HOTEL, which had been painted boldly on the gable end, now read HOSTEL, just one letter change being required.

On this occasion our intention was to head up to the long, lonely Loch Mullardoch and return having picked up three new MUNRO Tops, whilst repeating two MUNROS.

There was no road from the end of the Loch to where we needed to be, and the Loch Shore footpath  was not worthy of the name “footpath”.

We decided to try to get a boat ride from the local Ghillie. This would save us a difficult five mile walk in and a three mile walk back.

As it was, we would still have a 10 mile day with 4800ft of ascent.  Approaching my mid seventies this was enough to be going on with.

We visited the end of Loch Mullardoch the day before, and found a 6ft 6” giant of a Scandinavian, obviously of Viking descent.

He was the local Stalker/Ghillie who led expeditions Deer Hunting for those prepared to pay close to £1000 per day for the privilege. He was in a shed, busy wielding a large axe whilst Gralloching Deer. (If you don't know the word look it up provided that you are not squeamish).

There was blood everywhere and here was a man not to be crossed, not to fall out with.

We enquired about the possibility of hiring his services, with the Estate Boat, the following day. A price of £15 was agreed to ferry three of us 5 miles up the Loch, then, later collect us from just 3 miles up.

The deal was agreed without the need to shake a bloodstained hand, and with a guttural Yah!  OK”.

Next morning we enjoyed a breezy ride up the Loch, disembarking at a small Stalkers Hut, by the Allt Socrach, for 9.30am. We duly Bagged our tops and repeat Munros (An Riabbachan and Sgurr na Lapaich), and by 5.15 we were being picked by the Allt Taige up for our shorter return sail.

At this time (and to this day) I had a fairly large number of CROWN COINS. These were Five Shilling pieces that commemorated  25 years of marriage between Queen Elizabeth and Phillip in 1972.

How I came by them (£300 worth) is another story.

Anyway, it became time to pay our Viking friend (he smiled just occasionally). I asked him if he would prefer to be paid £15 in cash or accept 2 CROWN COINS in lieu. 

He examined the coins and was impressed by their sturdy presentation, the commemorative value, and their silver look. He agreed to take the 2 Crowns, so we shook hands on the deal.

In truth I had acquired the coins many years ago at par value. So, in effect our boat ride cost us Ten Shillings, present day equivalent 50 pence.

After a quick change and shower we made ready for the evening, traditionally food and beer. It turned out that there was a Wedding Ceilidh at the local Village Hall. This is usually a lively affair with Jigs, Reels, Bagpipes, Fiddles, Accordions et al.

We thought that this sounded fun so made our way there to be invited in as if we were locals. Not that we dance much, but the chaos and banter of the occasion was right up our street. 

I was sat next to a young lady who had a baby on her knee, probably about one year old. She was tapping to the music, obviously wishing that she could join in, so I told her that, if she wanted to dance, then I would hold the baby. 

So the next half hour was spent jiggling the baby to the reels, chants, pipes etc. Fortunately it seemed quite happy and didn't cry, or throw up, or perform any other baby-like acts.

With baby under control with one hand and a pint in the other it was turning into a great evening.

But suddenly my serenity was brought to an abrupt halt. Who should be at the main door, scanning the crowd, arms folded in threatening mode, was our Viking Boatman. He  was obviously looking for something, or someone, and he didn't look very happy.

He spotted me, pointed, then pushed his way through the cavorting hoards. I sensed that there was trouble ahead. He must have found out that my Two Crowns for the boat trip were a poor deal, and be seeking retribution. At least he had smartened up and I was surrounded by witnesses.

As he drew nearer I moved the baby from one arm to the other, and held it a bit higher to make like a protective shield, knowing, or hoping desperately, that no one could offer violence to anyone in my, and the babies, vulnerable position.

He stopped in front of me. “You give me Crowns” he said.

“Here we go” I thought.

The Giant, towering over me, sat as I was, with baby at the ready said: “You give me Crowns”. “I show them my friends”. This must be it. His friends had no doubt told him that he had been sold a Dummy.

“Yes, I weakly replied”.

Amazingly, his reply was “I like more ! My friend like some also.” he continued. “You have more?”.

I eagerly agreed that I did indeed have more and would be delighted to oblige. (I would have given him 20 just to keep the peace, but this would have been a bit of a clue as to their value.)

 “I will give you two more” I said, “for Free!”.

To make the deal sound a bit more authentic I added, as an afterthought: “But you must buy me a Pint in return”.

The Big Man duly agreed and obliged, gave me a big Beaming Smile, broke two of my fingers shaking my hand, and retired to buy me a Pint.

I returned the baby to its original non-combative position.

In due course the mother reappeared, with yet another pint as my reward.

Little did she know!

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