For many of my contemporaries in the late ’60s and ’70s, an invitation to stay with Harry Calvert and his parents, Major Eddy and Mrs Calvert, at Fasnakyle, their 20,000-acre deer forest at the east end of Glen Affric, was a first introduction to the glories of a Highland estate. There were 10 pools on the River Glass, stags in the rut, walked-up grouse, ptarmigan on the high ground and, reputedly, a few capercaillie in the old Scot’s pine woodland behind the lodge. The Calverts were immensely kind and generous hosts and between them and Major Eddy’s stalker, Ian Shewan, they went to endless trouble to share their great depth of knowledge with the young.
As a Borderer, I had never seen a live caper and one afternoon, when we…
