Great Chieftain o’ the Puddin-race!

The almost-forgotten haggis.

The 25th of January is Burns Night, when we celebrate Robert (or Rabbie) Burns—he of Auld Lang Syne fame and the national poet of Scotland—with a Burns Supper, recitals of his poetry and a dram of single malt whisky (please, not whiskey, nor bourbon, nor a cheap blended variety).

Some of you may be from Scotland, some may have Scottish ancestry, and others may simply be a fan of the nation of whisky, of shortbread, of rain, Irn-Bru, midges, rain, Nessie, the Edinburgh festivals, rain, and, of course, the haggis¹. And did I mention the rain?

Some of you may have no idea what a haggis is, others may have heard it is a pudding made from a sheep’s stomach stuffed with minced sheep heart, lungs, liver, onion, suet, and oats, heavily seasoned with black pepper, spices, and stock, then boiled, to be served with neeps and tatties (and mince, if you are in the north-east of Scotland or, in Orkney, clapshot).

Still others may have heard that, in reality, the haggis is a small animal peculiar to the Highlands of Scotland, the legs longer on one side of its body than the other, all the better to circle the mountainous terrain upon which it lives (which, of course, makes catching them that little bit simpler—you just need to encourage them to turn around, then their uneven legs cause them to roll downhill into your waiting nets).

Even if you know this, however, I suspect there are not many of you who know there are actually two subspecies of haggis resident in Scotland.

The first—Haggis scoticus vulgaris, or the common haggis (sadly no longer very common)—is the one you may know of: the one which has evolved to living on the steep slopes of Scotland’s mountains.

The second? Now, that is the one I want to talk about here.

Strath haggis (Haggis scoticus chloris). I cannot be 100% sure of what this haggis was doing, but I believe it was collecting spider’s silk—for what purpose, I do not know.

This photo (from the collection of the author) is an incredibly rare example of a strath haggis (Haggis scoticus chloris), a relative of the better-known, but still often misunderstood, common haggis (Haggis scoticus vulgaris).

Whereas the common haggis is famously an upland dweller, the strath haggis frequents the straths and glens: the stream and river valleys of the Highlands of Scotland. Its superb camouflage is the perfect example of evolution, growing thicker for the colder winters and moulting in early summer. The longer coarse, reddish guard hairs (visible in these photos) remain all year, it is the woolly green fur that is shed for a thinner coat, some time between May and early June.

Like the comparison between woodland red deer (Cervus elaphus sp.) of, for example, Dartmoor in England, and those of the harsher uplands of the Scottish Highlands (Cervus elaphus scoticus), the strath haggis is larger than its mountain-dwelling cousin. A male H. scoticus chloris can be easily twice the size of the equivalent H. Scoticus vulgaris. As the records are so scant, it is not known whether the two species interbreed.

Unlike its more common, but still rare, cousin, the strath haggis does not have shorter legs on one side of its body, instead the longer back legs have evolved to serve as enhanced mobility, in much the same way as a hare. It can be argued that the shorter front legs are more like arms, ending in five digits—not unlike a human. These near-fingers have remarkable dexterity and a powerful grip.

One old fisherman once told me of seeing a strath haggis crouched on a rock along the beat he was working. He was surprised when it swiftly reached beneath the water and brought out a small trout, which it proceeded to grasp tightly as it leapt to the shore and disappeared in a series of bounds, into the surrounding reeds.

Until I heard this tale I believed the literature to be correct in assuming the strath haggis to also exist entirely on a vegetarian diet, as it is said its Highland cousin does. I believe, although I have no proof, that it is likely both species are omnivorous and either the early records of this have been lost (or disbelieved), or the evidence has simply never been sufficiently recorded (highlighting the importance of keeping a well-maintained nature journal, see here for more ideas regarding this, at the wonderful Cricklewood, by

Susannah Fisher

).

As is well known, H. scoticus vulgaris was almost hunted to extinction on account of its delicious flesh (the modern replacement—mutton haggis, heavy on pepper and oatmeal, as tasty as it is—cannot compare to the exuberant old records regarding the cooking and flavour of this beast).

Many years later, following the subsequent ban on haggis hunting, it appears both species are staging something of a comeback. This is good news for the ecology of the Highlands, but I do worry whether absentee estate owners will attempt to capitalise on this, encouraging rich people to pay extortionate sums in order to once more be able to go on a haggis hunt. Of course, H. scoticus chloris may escape such a fate simply by the locales in which it resides—the wooded straths of the Highlands are often hard to hunt, with too much cover and few clear sightlines.

In all my years of observing nature, including months living alone out in the woods, this is only the second strath haggis I have been lucky enough to see, and I know that is two more than many.

A closer view of the haggis, still turned away from the camera. The reddish-orange guard hairs are clearly visible, as is the spider’s web I believe it was collecting. You can also make out the right forearm, although the digits are curled. As soon as I captured this second image the haggis became aware of my presence and promptly and silently vanished into the hazel, birch and bird cherry woodland surrounding us.

Both of these photos were taken from behind the animal, from cover, and under bright sun. It has been written that the haggis is most active around dawn and dusk, so it may have difficulty seeing in full sunlight. This was close to the rapidly flowing Dunbeath Water, the wind also blowing towards me, masking my scent and any inadvertent noise I made.

However, despite my care, this particular beast quickly realised it was not alone and swiftly vanished into the woodland, leaving no tracks and only these photos and my account to prove it was ever there—such is often the way of wildlife observation.

I feel privileged to have witnessed such behaviour, behaviour which is unrecorded, as far as I am aware, and I wonder if I will ever be lucky enough to see another?

Have you ever seen a haggis? Or eaten one? Did you know there were two subspecies? Do you celebrate Burns Night? (What is your favourite whisky?) And do you also harbour a peculiar love for Scottish rain?

Finally, here’s the famous poem by the man himself.

Address to a Haggis

Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great Chieftain o’ the Puddin-race!
Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang ‘s my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o’ need,
While thro’ your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see Rustic-labour dight,
An’ cut ye up wi’ ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn, they stretch an’ strive:
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
Bethankit hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout,
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi’ perfect sconner,
Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither’d rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro’ bluidy flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He’ll make it whissle;
An’ legs, an’ arms, an’ heads will sned,
Like taps o’ thrissle.

Ye Pow’rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o’ fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!

…and a more modern translation, also available here (with lots more excellent information about Robert Burns—do have a peek!)

Address to a Haggis (Translation)

Good luck to you and your honest, plump face,
Great chieftain of the sausage race!
Above them all you take your place,
Stomach, tripe, or intestines:
Well are you worthy of a grace
As long as my arm.

The groaning trencher there you fill,
Your buttocks like a distant hill,
Your pin would help to mend a mill
In time of need,
While through your pores the dews distill
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour wipe,
And cut you up with ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like any ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm steaming, rich!

Then spoon for spoon, the stretch and strive:
Devil take the hindmost, on they drive,
Till all their well swollen bellies by-and-by
Are bent like drums;
Then old head of the table, most like to burst,
'The grace!' hums.

Is there that over his French ragout,
Or olio that would sicken a sow,
Or fricassee would make her vomit
With perfect disgust,
Looks down with sneering, scornful view
On such a dinner?

Poor devil! see him over his trash,
As feeble as a withered rush,
His thin legs a good whip-lash,
His fist a nut;
Through bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit.

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his ample fist a blade,
He'll make it whistle;
And legs, and arms, and heads will cut off
Like the heads of thistles.

You powers, who make mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill of fare,
Old Scotland wants no watery stuff,
That splashes in small wooden dishes;
But if you wish her grateful prayer,
Give her [Scotland] a Haggis!

1. As well as a remarkable list of other achievements, individuals, inventions, writers, artists, musicians, and more. For such a small nation, Scotland certainly punches far above her weight.