In the mid-1820s, a traveller climber to the top of Ben Lomond on a September morning to view the sunrise over Loch Lomond, and there met an old highlander. The old man said he had been a guide for the north side of the mountain for forty years but that he would soon go and live with his daughter and her husband near Aberfoyle and give up his outdoor life. Over the years, he explained, he had made a living from tourists “but that Walter Scott, that every body makes such work about; I wish I had him to ferry over Loch Lomond; I should be after sinking the boat if I drowned myself into the bargain; for ever since he wrote his “Lady of the Lake,” as they call it, every body goes to see that filthy hole, Loch Catrine, then comes round by Luss, and I have had only two gentlemen to guide all this blessed season, which is now at an end. I shall never see the top of Ben Lomond again. The devil...