Painting Scotland Yellow - a new campaign for a favourite tree

 

Aspen is a beautiful tree, especially in autumn when it's leaves turn a glorious intense yellow. However it's now scarce in Scotland due to overgrazing. I'm privileged to live where there are quite a few aspen in the local woods. All these pictures were taken within a short walk of my home.

Aspen is one of my favourite trees so I'm delighted that Scotland The Big Picture has just launched a campaign called Painting Scotland Yellow " to inform and inspire more people, at all levels, to recognise aspen as a key component of healthy woodlands". The result, it is hoped, will be more aspen in the landscape both through natural regeneration, as well as planting. I really hope so.

Restoring aspen to the landscape is difficult because "aspen rarely sets seed in Scotland and instead relies on the root system of one tree sending up ‘suckers’ to create clones of itself." This is why aspen often grows in straight lines. 

To produce aspen for planting " growers take cuttings from these roots and grow them on – a labour intensive job – or they wait for one of the few years in which aspen flowers in order to collect seed". It's not easy then to increase aspen numbers.

Whilst most spectacular in autumn aspen are wonderful trees year round. In winter they are pale and ghost-like, an appearance that lasts into the spring as their leaves come out later than on other trees.

When the wind moves aspen leaves they quiver and rustle, a feature reflected in the scientific name, Populus tremens. 

 

The bark of an aspen is a pale creamy grey, smooth in young trees, cracked and pitted in old ones and often splashed with lichen.

 

 More aspen, yes, please!

The Other Northern Corrie And A Quiet Side 0f Cairn Gorm

View over the El Alamein refuge to Beinn Mheadhoin

The day after the solstice summer started well with sunshine and a light breeze. I went up into the Cairngorms to walk in a favourite area that is always quiet even though it’s close to the ski resort and the summit of Cairn Gorm. The most northerly of the Northern Corries lies here, Coire Laogh Mor (the big corrie of the calves). Lacking the dramatic cliffs of Coire an t-Sneachda and Coire Lochain and not on the way to any summit (or anywhere really) it’s little-visited. There’s a softer, gentler, more subtle beauty here.

I was in the corrie earlier in the year to build igloos, as I’d also done six years earlier. On neither occasion had I ventured further than the mouth of the corrie though, the weather deterring going any higher. Unable to remember when I’d last walked right into the corrie, or even, in fact, if I’d ever done so, I decided I should go and have a look. A faint path led alongside old ski fencing above the Coire na Ciste car park but once past this it soon disappeared. Picking a way through the heather and round the occasional rock wasn’t hard and I was soon climbing gently into the corrie.

Coire Laogh Mor

The heart of the Coire Laogh Mor is green and lush. Little burns trickle down from the steep headwall, which is decorated by a few broken rocks. There’s no lochan on the sloping corrie floor. A few little trees, pine and juniper, are springing up all the way to 800 metres. This is a peaceful place. I sat on a rock gazing out over Glenmore Forest to Meall a’Bhuachaille before making the steep ascent up the west arm of the corrie onto the broad ridge above. The climb isn’t difficult, just arduous.

View to Meall a' Bhuachaille from Coire Laogh Mor

Crossing the flat stony ridge I angled down steep boulder slopes high above the long deep trench of Strath Nethy and made my way to the now sixty-year-old and long-abandoned El Alamein refuge, a s tiny metal and stone shelter now full of holes. With the breeze funnelling through them it felt chilly inside out of the sun. The refuge was built in the early 1960s when there was a short-lived trend for building such shelters in the Cairngorms, a trend ended by the Cairngorm Tragedy of 1971 when a school party failed to find the Curran Bothy on the Cairngorm Plateau and perished in a winter storm. The ensuing inquiry recommended that the three high level bothies should be removed. Two were but El Alamein was simply forgotten.

The El Alamein refuge

The location is unusual. Why build a refuge here, on a steep hillside few were ever likely to visit? It’s not on a route to or from anywhere. In fact it was never meant to be here but on the flat land above. A mistaken map reference led to it being constructed on this spot. For more on El Alamein and the other refuges see this post from David “Heavy” Whalley.

This is a lovely place. Quiet, peaceful, yet also dramatic. The views down into Strath Nethy and south to rocky Beinn Mheadhoin are superb. Maybe a rogue shelter builder just thought this was a more interesting place than the bare windswept plateau above.

The sun dropping below the ridge shook me out my reverie as I sat near the refuge absorbing the landscape. Suddenly the brightness vanished and there was a touch of coolness in the air. I soon warmed up again on the steep climb through the boulders back to the ridge. There was no sign of the cairns that apparently once indicated the way to the refuge which soon disappeared into the hillside.

Cnap Coire na Spreidhe

A short walk led to the little summit of Cnap Coire na Spreidhe, a subsidiary top of Cairn Gorm and my high point of the day. From here I looked across the hidden trench holding Loch Avon to Loch Etchachan, another splendid view.

Loch Etchachan from Cnap Coire na Spreidhe

A wander along the edge of the hollow of Ciste Mhearad showed there’s still a fairly large remnant of show here despite all the hot weather.

Custe Mhearad

As I began my descent a red hang glider appeared and floated across the sky in front of me to circle round the edge of Loch Morlich then turn and land in the Coire na Ciste car park.

The hang glider

The path down was dry and dusty, skidding on loose gravel the only hazard. It crosses a number of springs and seeps and wet areas and is often very muddy. Today there was just one patch of mud beside a tiny burn. My feet stayed dry.

Loch Morlich

The evening light starting to redden the mountains I stopped at Loch Morlich on the way home for a short stroll. The view of the hills over the loch was lovely but the highlight of this brief interlude was the sight of a female goosander and six ducklings on a small rock out in the water. A fine end to a fine day.

Goosander family, Loch Morlich

 

Contrasts: The Cairngorms & Liverpool, Thunderstorms & Sunshine, Cities & Nature

View over Strathspey from the Cairngorms, June 9

Last week the dry spell ended with thunderstorms and I went to Liverpool. Just before the weather broke I walked along the top of the Northern Corries in the Cairngorms on a day of increasingly hazy skies and enervating heat. Two days later I was on a train to Liverpool for the annual Outdoor Trade Show.

Glass & metal, June 12

Or rather a series of trains, four in total, one more than expected. The thunderstorms had begun and damaged the line outside Inverness so my train from Aviemore to Edinburgh was delayed. When it finally arrived it then stopped for good at Perth. I never found out why. Another train took me to Preston and was almost on time. From Carlisle south I watched dark rain storms sweeping across the sky to the west. The wonderful Blitzortung app showed a solid wedge of lightning strikes all the way south to Bristol and across the whole of North Wales.

A final train to Lime Street Station and I was outside on the streets of Liverpool, streets that were awash with water as torrential rain hammered down. Reaching my hotel, a twenty minute walk away, was exciting and challenging. Seeing through the sheets of rain was difficult, crossing roads hazardous, not skidding on the thin river underfoot required concentration. I could have done with trekking poles. I could have done with a better waterproof jacket, waterproof overtrousers and waterproof footwear. I was woefully under-equipped and entered the hotel lobby sodden and bedraggled. Welcome to Liverpool!

Bright halls, hard edges. June 13

The next morning there was no sign of the storm. The sky was blue, the sun hot, and the pavements dry. So it remained for the rest of my stay. For three days I wandered round the big exhibition hall looking at outdoor gear and chatting to acquaintances old and new. How many years had I been doing this? About 45! With only a few years missed. Unsurprisingly it was very familiar. And still interesting.

The Mersey. June 15

Outside in the sun I stared at the wide river Mersey. The water was murky, swirling dark and brown. I thought of the clear streams of the Cairngorms. I’d be glad to be back there.

Corridors, corridors. June 13

Glad to escape the spooky seemingly endless hotel corridors too. Unnervingly bland and characterless they spoke of horror films and sinister murder mysteries. Lights triggered by sensors came on just as you reached them. There was never anybody else about.

Albert Dock. June 14

Before the trains home I had time to amble round the renovated docks area. The developments are impressive, the history fascinating. The Museum of Liverpool provided much more of the latter.

By the time I was walking back to Lime Street Station my senses felt overwhelmed. Cities throw so much at you. Noise, smell, crowds, bright lights. A confusing clash of architectural styles. I needed the simplicity of the hills, the quietness of nature. I’m out of practice with city living, and happy to be so.

Lilies, lupins,hills. June 17.

Back home the Pyrenean lilies and lupins were in full bloom in the garden. The loudest noise was a cock pheasant strutting around calling. I watched rabbits, red squirrels, and roe deer. In the distance Bynack More rose into a pale blue sky. Peace!

Now it’s time for a walk in the hills.

Cairn Lochan, Cairngorms. June 9