A Walk In The Woods & First Use Of A New Stove

 

A breezy, sunny day in early March. The sun warm, shaded areas cool, the wind chilly out in the open. The distant mountains shining with fresh snow, their summits in and out fast-moving clouds.

The first buds are just appearing on birches, rowans and willows, only noticeable from close up. The grasses are still mostly faded yellow but again a close look reveals tiny spurts of fresh green in a few places. 

I wandered through meadows of sheep and down into some sheltered woods. Here amongst some ancient pines I found an old log for a seat and stopped to relax and enjoy the quiet beauty of the forest and the warmth of the sun. 

I'd brought a new stove unit with me to try out - the Fire Maple Star X1 Pro - and I set this up to boil water for a mug of coffee. I made a little video of this.

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Storm Loris & aftermath

Storm Loris blasted through yesterday with record-high wind speeds for the time of year. Storms in August are not unusual but they're normally not like this severe. 

While the storm raged I went outside very briefly and shot a few seconds of video with my phone. Rain was lashing down and the trees were thrashing wildly. I certainly wasn't go into the woods or even very near them. Watching the storm from inside seemed wise and I was soon back indoors.

Unlike many people, some not too far away, we didn't lose power and we weren't affected by road and rail closures as we'd no plans to go anywhere, having been following the build-up to the storm for several days. So a combination of luck and planning meant Loris didn't affect us. 

In fact the biggest shock was this morning when I woke up. It was unnervingly quiet. No wind in the chimney, no rain rattling the window. Just silence. 

In fact it was quite windy. Just normally windy though. It felt safe to venture into the woods so I went out for a walk to see what damage Loris had wrought. It was less than I'd expected. Plenty of twigs and dead branches everywhere of course but not that many fallen trees. Most of the latter were at two corners of the woods vulnerable to winds and where trees had come down in previous storms. 

At one of these spots the wind was still fierce and I recorded another little video, again having difficulty holding the phone still.

The weather looks unsettled the next few days but not abnormally stormy. The second half of August looks like it might be fine. I hope so. I have a walk planned.

The Light Returns, A Walk In The Woods

Old woods, old path

December is ending mild, cloudy, and grey. The last brief snowfall thawed over a week ago. There’ll be more snow of course, perhaps soon. Scottish winters have always been erratic, the snow coming and going. Climate change is making this more so, with more abrupt changes, fiercer storms, and overall warmer temperatures.

There’s often little snow at this time of year anyway though. Many years ago I walked right across the snowless Cairngorms from Glen Feshie to Corgaff in December. This year the month has actually had more snow than in many Decembers.

The path goes on, the woods go on

I was pondering this time of year as I went on what is almost certainly my last walk of any length of the year. There are three days left but I doubt I’ll get out for more than a short stroll. I haven’t done much more than most of the month anyway due to illness, which I’m glad to say is passing. I just need to get fit again.

Whilst memories of past Decembers came to mind what I was really thinking about was the significance of this time, of the succession of Solstice, Xmas, and New Year. For me these form a whole with the first the most significant. It’s all about the return of the light, the return of the sun. That’s really what is celebrated. The New Year really begins at the Solstice. That's when the world turns.

Larches, birches, and juniper.

That the big festivities take place after the Solstice makes sense. Confirmation that the light is growing, the darkness fading, is needed, the certainty that this is a process that will continue. The long cold nights will not last.

My walk led through birch woods, old and festooned with lichen and moss, mysterious, peaceful. A faint old path threaded a way through the trees. There was no wind, no bird song, no running water, just a deep silence.

The Cromdale Hills

Eventually I came out of the trees and could look across Strathspey to the Cromdale Hills, the summits trailing clouds. Further away thicker clouds blanketed the Cairngorms.

Hill Forts, Skeletal Trees & Blood Red Berries

Tangled forest in Clais an Dunain

An interesting exhibition on the First People Of The Spey at the excellent Grantown-on-Spey Museum (well worth a visit if you're in the area) had a sketch map of nine Iron Age hill forts in the area, two of which are within a few kilometres of my home. One stands out prominently on the hillside on the other side of our little glen. The other is hidden in trees above a steep ravine called the Clais an Dunain. I've visited both these in the past but inspired by the exhibition I decided I'd go and have a closer look at Grant's Fort, the one buried in the woods, and take some telephoto photographs of  the other one, Torran Ban. 

Torran Ban

Not much is known about these hill forts. The exhibition booklet says they are "oval enclosures sited on hill tops or glacial mounds" and that their purpose is unknown. They have ramparts of earth or rubble  and ditches or moats around them. Grant's Fort and Torran Ban are both on raised areas on the sides of hills. They ate opposite each other and would have commanded views up and down the glen. Torran Ban still does but Grant's Fort has no clear views now due to the trees.

Aspens 

Visiting Clais an Dunain and it's tangle of mixed woodland is always worth while but especially so in autumn. Many of the leaves had fallen but there was still enough colour left to add beautiful contrasts to the pale leafless skeletal trees, especially the almost-white aspens.

Grant's Fort, or part of it.

After crossing the steep ravine I wandered through the trees to the mounds that make up Grant's Fort. These can't be seen until you are almost on top of them and I found it hard to work out the exact shape and which slopes were part of the hill fort and which weren't. Through the trees I caught glimpses of distinctive Torran Ban, just two kilometres away. I wondered about the people who lived here 1500 years or longer ago. What was the landscape like then? Did they admire it? Worship it? Take it for granted? How did they live? What were these structures for? Many questions and much scope for speculation. The world was so different then. We know that, whatever it was like.

Rowan berries

From Grant's Fort I plunged back down into the Clais. Rowans appeared, leafless now but with astonishingly bright blood red berries not yet stripped by the birds. I've never seen so many berries on rowans as this year.

Bynack Mor, Beinn Mheadhoin, & Cairn Gorm

Back in the open fields I could see the Cairngorms in the distance, etched sharp against the cloud-streaked darkening sky. Dusk is 5pm now. Autumn is fading into winter.

More scenes in the Clais

More rowan berries

Autumn colours before Storm Ashley arrives and blows them all away

With the first named storm of the autumn forecast to bring very strong winds over the next two days (there is a Met Office weather warning) I thought I'd go for a local to see the autumn colours before more leaves are stripped from the trees.

The day was pleasant and warm with sunshine, an occasional breeze, and fluffy white clouds. No sign of the big storm that's on the way. The autumn colours were glorious, startlingly bright in places, subtle and gentle in others.

Some trees have already lost their leaves. On others the colour has hardly started to change. The woodland here is mixed outside the pine and spruce plantations, dominated by birch but also with aspen, rowan, oak, willow, cherry, and  hazel, giving a wonderful mix of colours and shapes. 

A few hours wandering in this glorious woodland was relaxing and invigorating at the same time. Several buzzards circled overhead, one rising from the ground just ahead of me. A raucous was a jay, flitting through the trees. A flock of starling perched high on the already leafless top branches of an aspen. Two roe deer watched me warily before disappearing into the dense trees.

Out of the trees the view towards the Cairngorms was hazy and bright, the hills cloud-capped. But here the sky was blue and the air sharp and clear.

 After the storm I'll return and see how much the woods have changed, how many more leaves have fallen, whether any trees have come down. But for now all is peaceful and calm in the autumn forest.

Sometimes the woods .....

I was almost in Aviemore when I heard the word 'thunder' on the radio. I was planning on a walk high in the Cairngorms, up on those bare, open, exposed slopes. But the forecast seemed to have changed. I stopped and checked . Rain and maybe thunder. Suddenly a walk in the woods seemed very attractive. I've had enough close calls with lightning, most recently in the Colorado Rockies last year, not to want any more.

Plan changed I went to Loch an Eilein. As I set off round the loch the hills were fading into thickening clouds. Spots of rain fell. By the time I was opposite the ruined castle on its little island the dark sky was dramatic and ominous.

The forest though was lovely, midsummer rich and verdant. I took the narrow path round reedy Loch Gamhna, soaking my trousers as I pushed through the vegetation.

Halfway round this second loch the rain started, dappling the water. The shelter of the trees gave some protection. It wasn't cold anyway and the dampness on my head was refreshing. The air felt alive, sharp and invigorating.

Up in the hills, on a long walk, or if camping out I would probably have pulled on waterproofs, not wanting my other clothes to get wet, but I was only out for a few hours. A little rain wouldn't hurt.

By the time I was completing the circuit of the two lochs it was more than a little rain. There were big puddles on the road back to Aviemore. I stopped to buy food and sat in the supermarket car park wondering whether to put my waterproof on for the dash across the open space to the door. I didn't bother and got wetter than I had in the woods.

I never heard any thunder. I didn't mind. The woods and the rain and the dramatic clouds were enough. If I'd gone up high I'd have had that word 'thunder' at the back of my mind, hurrying me on, keeping me on edge. The woods were a better choice.

A spring equinox walk in the woods, thoughts on a dark time

A beautiful sunny spring equinox, the air sharp and crisp after a deep frost. I went to see how spring is faring in some favourite local woods. It's barely noticeable. Only clusters of hazel catkins show any change from winter. There are no flowers on the forest floor, not even any green shoots. Leaf buds are tight and brown. But this will all change soon. Despite the chill east wind the sun felt warm on the skin. Every day its power grows.  Far across the trees the Cairngorms rose, shining white. More snow now than at any time this winter. Curlews called from a meadow, back from the coast to nest. They know the seasons are changing.


























Alone in the woods I could forget for a while the deep crisis affecting the human world. Whilst I was in the trees the government ordered all bars, restaurants, cafes, clubs, gyms and more closed, to try and halt the spread of coronavirus. The world in turmoil. Social distancing, self-isolation. I'm used to solitude and can probably cope more easily than most. I saw no-one all day and was quite happy with this.

Everybody is affected in some way though. For the outdoor world - my world - it means a closure of facilities from outdoor centres to walkers pubs. Many people are self-employed and working as much for love as for money. What now when the work ceases? I know guides, instructors, cafe owners and others who are seriously worried about the future. No-one knows what support will be available. Even the experts can't say how long it will last. Three months? A year? Too long, for certain.

I've only lost a little work so far. Books and magazines are still for sale. For those far from the hills this could be a time to catch up with outdoor reading and support the many self-employed outdoor writers. 

Nature brings solace, for those of us within easy reach. I am thankful I live here, on the edge of the Cairngorms National Park. Is it responsible to go out? I think so, as long as little contact is made with others. Advice from Mountain Rescue, Mountaineering Scotland, the British Mountaineering Council and others is that going to the hills is healthy and good but risks should be avoided. Sticking to familiar places and safe routes is wise.

I hadn't meant to write about the coronavirus crisis but I've found it's all-pervasive at present. We will have to live with it for quite a while. Once restrictions are eased supporting people and businesses will be important. Outdoor guides, cafes, pubs, campsites, accommodation will all need lots of customers.

I wish everyone as easy a journey as possible as we move through this dark time.

In the woods, in the snow.

The snow has been lying for several days now. The land is quiet, the light soft, the air chilled. Winter. December.

A thaw is predicted. All the snow will probably disappear in the next few days. No more is forecast until after Christmas.

I went for a walk in the woods and fields. All was still. Rabbit and fox tracks laced the fields. A buzzard perched on a high dead tree watching me then slowly flew into the woods. A flock of rooks passed overhead. Trees exposed to the wind and brief touches of sunshine were bare of snow. Down in hollows and ravines they were still white, spectral. Underfoot the snow crunched, hard and crisp. A burn too fast to freeze trickled, the green of water plants bright against the monochrome woods.

The woods are glorious

The sun is shining, the air is sharp, and spring is merging into summer. And I'm mostly indoors finishing my book on my Scottish Watershed walk, which is why this blog has been rather quiet. Along the Divide should be published in the autumn.

I have been out for an hour or two each day, wandering the local fields and woods and admiring the brilliant colours. Most trees are in leaf now, with just the aspens to come out fully, and glowing with spring freshness. There's much blossom on the bird cherries and geans too, more than I can remember ever seeing before. The sweet honey scent of these is delicious.

So until I'm back in the hills here's some more photos of my local woods. It really is no hardship to visit them!