The Last of the Eagles

Author S.R. Crockett described the fate, in the 1870s, of the last of the eagles of the Southern Uplands.

"As we mount, we leave away to the south the green, sheep-studded, sun-flecked side of Curleywee. The name is surely one which is given to its whaup-haunted solitudes, because of that most characteristic of moorland sounds – the wailing pipe of the curlew. “Curleywee-Curleywee-Curlywee.” That is exactly what the whaups say in their airy moorland diminuendo, as with a curve like their own Roman noses they sink downward into the bogs.

"Waterfalls are gleaming in the clefts - “jaws of water,” as the hill folks call them – the distant sound coming to us pleasant and cool, for we begin to desire great water-draughts, climbing upward in the fervent heat. But our guide knows every spring of water on the hillside, as well as every rock that has sheltered a fox or eagle. There on the face of that cliff, is the apparently very accessible eyrie where nested the last of the eagles of the southern uplands.

"Year after year they built up there, protected by the enlightened tenants of Glenhead, who did not begrudge a stray dead lamb, in order that the noble bird might dwell in his ancient fastness and possess his soul – for surely so noble a bird has a soul – in peace. As a reward for his hospitality, our guides keeps a better understanding of that great Isian text, “They shall mount up with wings as eagles,” than he could obtain from any sermon or commentary in the round world. For has he not seen the great bird strike a grouse on the wing, recover itself from the blow, then, stooping earthwards, catch the bird before it had time to fall to the ground?

"Also he has seen the pair floating far up in the blue, twin specks against the supreme azure. Generally only one of the young was reared to eaglehood, though sometimes there might be two. But on every occasion the old ones beat off their offspring as soon as these could fly, and compelled their children to seek pastures new.

"Some years ago, however, in the later [18]seventies – the eagles left Glenhead and removed to a more inaccessible rock-crevice upon the rocky side of the Black Hill o' Buchan. But not for long. Disturbed in his ancient seat, though his friends had done all in their power to protect him, he finally withdrew himself. He was shot by some ignorant scoundrel prowling with a gun, somewhere over in the neighbourhood of Loch Doon. We have no doubt that the carcass is the proud possession of some local collector, to whom, as well as to the original “gunning idiot” we would gladly present, at our own expense, tight-fitting suits of tar and feather"

Picture: Looking towards Glenhead from Bruce's Stone, Loch Trool.

Pages 59-56. Crockett, S.R. Raiderland, All About Grey Galloway. 1904. Hodder and Stoughton, London. D&G Library Service: (GK91) Crockett, S.R. Raiderland.