A GHOST STORY
Growing up in Scotland, I had lots of adventures in the great outdoors. In my teens, my friends and I would spend our summers camping by the Wharry burn (Creek) on Sherriffmuir. This is a beautiful spot where an inconclusive battle took place on November 13, 1715 as part of a Jacobite rebellion. The whole area is steeped in antiquity. To camp on his land we needed to get permission from the laird, as Scotland is still very feudal in regard to land ownership. We were privileged in that we had blanket permission to camp there at any time. Our camping site was on a small plain on the banks of the burn which is a small stream running into the Allen river. This small valley was surrounded by low hills that were covered with gorse bushes.
We could get browns from the burn and rainbows had been stocked in two water reservoirs. With a .22 we could hunt rabbits and hares but the deer, pheasant and grouse were all reserved for the laird and his friends. The burn was not quite big enough to allow fly-casting. Our technique was to wade in the stream causing the fish to hide under the large rocks. We knew every rock and specifically we knew how many hands we needed to block every exit. It was then a matter of guddling (tickling) the trout. We had become skilled at this but the fish were small.
A moonless night, the wind crackling and rustling the gorse became the perfect setting for an evening of ghost stories as we huddled around the campfire. Occasionally a cow would come out of the inky darkness to drink from the burn, scaring all of us. In retrospect, all of this certainly went a long way to create an atmosphere for paranormal activity.
Around midnight, Ian Bruce and I said goodnight as we planned on getting up early to walk to Dunblane reservoir. I don’t know about Ian but I know that visions of giant cows and the like were swirling in my head as soon as I got in my sleeping bag.
We arose at 6 am. It was still quite dark. We had a quick breakfast, fried bacon on bread, and started on the path to the reservoir. Initially the trail followed the burn but soon climbed onto the open moor. A clinging mist swirled around us as we approached a stile in a dry stone dike. I cross the stile first and was very surprised to see a shepherd, in traditional Scottish garb and a small herd of sheep. The rising sun clears the mist and the moor is empty! Shocked and amazed we relate our vision to each other.
“Did you see that shepherd?”
“Did you see his Cameron clasp pin?”
“Did you see ..?”
“Did you see..?”
We went on to describe to each other what we had just “seen”. We spoke about his Cameron tartan kilt, his crook, his flask, his belt buckle, etc. But the shepherd and the sheep could not have been there. The moor was empty!
My scientifically trained mind still tries to explain this event. The best I can do is to suggest that we were preconditioned and that one of us had imagined the whole thing and somehow it was transmitted to the other.
Or maybe...
