Saddlin the Mare, Or Why I Pushed a Rock Up a Boulder

I spent last week in the Sma Glen and lifted one of the most unusual stones in Scotland. The Saddlin Mare looks ordinary from the road. A rounded stone of about two hundred pounds lies at its base. The task is straightforward. Pick up the stone. Bring it to the plinth. Work it up the smooth slope until it stays put. That is it.

As someone who studies the history of fitness, this sort of test makes complete sense. It is strength shaped by place. It exists outside organised sport. It asks you to solve a problem using whatever technique you can piece together. It also reminds you that physical culture did not begin with gym machines or weightlifting federations. People set challenges using the tools they had. Stones like the Mare show that better than any textbook.

The history behind the Mare

With the trees now cleared, the plinth stands openly beside the old drove road. The area is quiet but full of traces of past activity. Roman soldiers camped nearby. Drovers moved cattle through the Glen toward Crieff. Caterans watched from the hillsides. Among all of this, people stopped and tried a test that became part of the Glen’s identity.

Peter Martin’s work is the foundation for what we know today. He pointed out that most writers focused on the scenery and ignored the local practices, even though, in his words, the people of the Glen “had a strength culture which is so unique in Scotland, that any failure to mention would be a travesty.”

Martin uncovered references in church records and travel accounts. One minister described the Mare as “a tall, druid-like boulder stone” and noted that men often failed as the saddle stone slipped back toward their feet. Clifton Johnson, visiting in the 1890s, wrote that the stones “slid off with surprising ease” and that few travellers had the ability to place all three original stones on the plinth.

The setup is simple but awkward. The plinth rises from about five feet to over seven. The top is flat and smooth. The saddle stone carries a natural jug-handle grip. Attempts were marked by initials carved into the stone, with the last clear date from 1941. Everything about the site suggests it was well known and regularly attempted rather than a one-off oddity.

Scotland and the wider revival

The Saddlin Mare fits into the broader pattern of Scottish stone lifting, which has always been varied rather than standardised. Different areas produced different tests. Some stones were shouldered. Others were carried. Some were boundary markers. Others were tied to work on farms or at gatherings. As Martin noted, “there is no generic or standard that was applied throughout the country.” The landscape shaped the task.

The recent revival of interest in traditional stones has made this history more visible. Lifters are travelling to original sites instead of relying on replicas. What makes this interesting from a historical and sociological perspective is that these stones show how communities once understood strength. These tests sat between work and play. They reinforced reputation and belonging without organised rules or scoring. They also demonstrate how memory can persist through physical objects. In this sense the Saddlin Mare is more than a difficult lift. It is a record of local life, preserved in the material of the Glen itself.

Lifting the Mare today

When I visited, the weather was cold and wet. My hands went numb almost immediately. The ground around the plinth was soft and muddy. I wiped the stone with my sleeves, lapped it and stood with it. The weight was manageable. The difficulty came when I pressed it against the plinth and began working it upward.

The slope forces you to move in short, controlled efforts. You shift your grip and check your footing. You leave room for your fingers in case the stone slides. The test demands awareness more than brute force. When the stone settled and held, it confirmed what the history suggests. This is a task shaped by a particular rock and the people who used it.

The value in lifting the Mare lies in what it teaches. You engage with a challenge defined entirely by the landscape. You adapt to an object that does not care whether you succeed. You see why these tests mattered to the communities that created them. The Mare is not a showpiece. It is a quiet measure of ability that has been part of the Glen for generations. It remains one of the most interesting stones in Scotland for that reason.