Think Mel Gibson in his kilt, charging down rolling hills, sword in hand. The highlands are what you picture when you think of Scotland — rugged hills, mist clinging to the moors and a population density of eight people per square kilometer.
My study abroad group (a program of 30 students) left for the highlands on a recent Friday morning from our cozy resort town of St. Andrews. With plans to visit a sheep farm, Loch Ness and a whiskey distillery, we were all pumped about our first group excursion into the “heartland.”
Stepping off the 16-wheel tour bus that couldn’t have looked more out of place parked on a dirt road at the entrance of a farm, we were instantly greeted by a herd of dogs and sheep. I wish I could recreate the “bahing” sounds the long-haired sheep made as they grazed our legs and even let us pat their matted coats. It was a scene straight from “Babe.” Well, minus the pigs.
Soon enough, the sheep herder rounded us up. He gave a demonstration of his calls, commanding five of his dogs to gather herds of sheep from miles and miles into the moors. We couldn’t really understand a word he said as he attempted to explain what each inflection of the whistle commanded a dog to do. It seems the further north you go in Scotland, the stronger the Scottish accent. After about five minutes, the dogs reappeared from the moors with a herd of sheep prancing behind in formation. The herder then singled out one particularly frightened sheep, grabbed it behind its legs and wrangled it between his feet. We all gasped and made pained sounds, even as the herder promised that the sheep — who now looked dead with its head cocked to one side — was actually feeling no pain or discomfort at all.
Next we headed to Loch Ness, home of the infamous Loch Ness monster, Nessie. As we boated down 23 miles of the deep loch, rain began to drizzle and waves of freezing cold water splashed overboard onto our laps. Still, the dreary weather that had suddenly appeared only added to our passionate search for Nessie. We learned Nessie was first sighted by St. Columba in the sixth century, and since then believers have clung to black and white photographs taken in the 1930s depicting an eel-like head reaching up over the water.
The last event was a trip to Glenlivet Distillery, home to “the single malt that started it all.” Drinking is a big part of Scottish culture, and whiskey is particularly special since it was created here and is one of the country’s leading exports. The term “whiskey” derives from the Gaelic word meaning “water of life,” and Scottish people take their whiskey very seriously indeed. I told the tour guide I went to school an hour away from the Jack Daniel’s Distillery. He was thoroughly impressed, but he couldn’t seem to understand the concept of a “dry county.”
Driving back home to St. Andrews through the craggy mountains sprinkled with highland cows and sheep, I thought about how easy it is to feel at home with this rugged and inspiring beauty. The cobblestone street began to creep up and bright lights of the Old Course Hotel shone through the thick darkness, and I suddenly realized how lucky I am to call this home for the semester.
To see a slideshow of the Scottishhighlands, click here.
