A Sad, Damaged Landscape

The heather moorland landscape I walked through on the walk described in my last post typified what is happening in much of the Eastern Highlands (and also the Southern Uplands). I hadn’t visited this area before, but I suspected it would be similar ones in terms of environmentally damaging developments and, sadly, it was.

 

Lower down there are positive developments with large fenced areas for forest renewal, achieved by a mix of regeneration and planting. The track through the trees was new and wide however and showed signs of heavy vehicle use. It continued above the forest, climbing into the hills all the way to the skyline. Soon I could see a big digger high above. Around me the boggy moor showed many signs of management for grouse shooting – burned areas, old shooting butts, drainage ditches, Fenn traps over every burn.

I passed the digger and reached a junction with a No Entry sign and an arrow and the letters SSE. I was to see several more of these during the day. I guess the signs are for the Tom nan Clach windfarm, which is under construction not far to the north, and is to keep heavy vehicles off the estate tracks. At one point the new and old tracks paralleled each other for quite a way. The old estate tracks have blended in a little. The news ones may do so but they are better constructed and drained and dug deeper into the peat, so I suspect they won’t. 

 

On reaching the broad ridge I came on a sand and gravel quarry, presumably providing material for the new tracks. 

 

I was in the mist now and the sound of machinery soon faded as I headed for the summit of Carn Glas-choire. For a short while I could imagine I was somewhere relatively unspoilt. Then I reached the top. Just beyond the trig point was a new fence, with construction materials littering the ground and the cairn. I’m not sure what this fence is for as it’s not high enough to keep out deer. The base is folded flat on the ground to stop creatures getting under it. I’ve seen this used to keep rabbits out down in the glens but up here?

 

On the descent I soon came on another mix of old and new tracks. Dropping down a big corrie I saw many more Fenn traps on logs over streams. These are legal if set properly (this is a good piece on these traps and their requirements). I don’t like traps of any sort that maim and kill any creatures though and seeing them is always dispiriting. That there are so many of these here shows the estate is really keen to protect grouse to the detriment of other wildlife. 

 

Over-managed grouse moors, traps for wildlife, bulldozed roads, wind farms – a typical estate in the Eastern Highlands. I won’t be back.

The Rain Returns: A Wet And Misty Hill Walk

One of the few views of the hills 

Rain, soft and gentle, falling in a fine mist. The hills hidden in grey cloud. The dusty ground darkening, yellowing vegetation glistening with moisture, rich earthy smells emanating from the ground (the last has the wonderful name petrichor). An unusual start to the day after weeks of hot, dry weather.

Having just completed a batch of work I’d planned on a day in the hills regardless of the weather. I had thought of lower ones to avoid too much exhausting ascent in the heat. Seeing the low clouds, I now thought of lower ones in the hope of staying below the mist.

Despite having lived in this part of the Highlands for nearly thirty years there are still smaller hills I haven’t explored, ones always left for another day. This was to be that day for at least one of them. Carn Glas-choire (hill of the green corrie) is on the Dava Moor not far from Carrbridge. At 659 metres high it’s classified as a ‘Graham’  - a Scottish hill between 2000 feet (609.6 metres) and 2500 feet (762 metres). Whatever its place in a list it’s the highest hill for quite a distance in any direction and said to have extensive views of the coast and the Cairngorms. Whether I’d see anything on this day was another matter.

This is heather moorland country with grouse shooting as a major activity, along, these days, with wind farm construction. Much of the day I was on tracks built for one or other of these activities. I’ll put up another post about the effects on the hills. This one’s about the rain, the walking, and the wildlife.

A new forest emerges

Initially I walked through regenerating and recently planted forest, mostly Scots Pine, with some birches and rowan. This was heartening. There are deer fences, but trees are growing either side of them and the only deer I saw all day was inside a fenced area. For a while I looked down on an attractive winding valley with a rushing burn, little crags and scattered trees.

How did you get in there?

Above the trees and away from the tracks the ground was a mix of heather, deep peat hags, and stony ground with sparse vegetation. There were masses of cloudberries, more than I can remember seeing anywhere else, the fruit a bright red, along with the bright yellow spikes of bog asphodel in the wetter areas. I saw many mountain hares speeding across the ground, well-camouflaged in their darker summer coat. One that loomed up on the skyline in the mist looked deer size!

Cloudberry

I put up several families of red grouse, the chicks scuttling off in every direction. High up golden plover piped loudly, the only sound other than the rain lightly pattering on my jacket. Meadow pipits fluttered in the heather and it was probably a flock of these I saw mobbing a cuckoo. On the lower moorland wheatears perched on stones then flashed the white rumps that give them their name – it comes from ‘white arse’ - as they flew off.

Despite the relatively low height of the hills I was in the mist long before I reached the summit of Carn Glas-choire. Away from the tracks I had to concentrate on navigation as the terrain is fairly featureless though there are some little crags and many rock outcrops. Visibility was very poor, even close-up views hazy in the falling rain and drifting cloud. 

On the summit

The rain was never heavy, barely more than drizzle, but it was constant and penetrating. There was no wind and I wasn’t really conscious of feeling wet as I was warm. I didn’t bother with waterproofs, feeling I’d be too hot. When I got back to the car I found I was soaked to the skin. It really had been a wet day.

Whilst I hope it doesn’t last the rest of the summer the rain is welcome. It’ll damp down the high fire risk, freshen fading vegetation, and eventually refill rivers and lochs, which are very low. On this trip I walked over dry peat bogs that are probably usually quagmires. It was easier to walk on the black peat and follow its channels than on the heather tussocks above. That’s not usual. But then, it’s not been a usual summer.

Stoves Review Coming Up In The Great Outdoors

Every time I've been out this year I've taken a different stove with me, whether on camping trips or to make brews during the day. That's because I've been trying a selection for a review that'll appear in the August issue of The Great Outdoors.

I've just submitted the review and can now think about something else! That'll be trail shoes for the September issue.

Here are pictures of some of the stoves.

Heatwave in the Cairngorms

The heat has been extraordinary. 30°C in the glens, 20°C on the summit of Cairn Gorm. And much, much hotter in the blazing sun under cloudless skies. To take advantage of the conditions I wanted a night out in the Cairngorms, and to see dawn and dusk high in the hills. But I didn’t want to climb up there in this heat. I knew what it would be like – exhausting, enervating, a feeling of fighting through thick dense air, the heat almost palpable.

Cairn Lochan

 

To avoid this I decided to head up late in the evening, walking into the half-dark gloom that constitutes night at this time of year. I went for a long gradual ascent without any really steep slopes. Even so the air felt heavy and the walking was sweaty and arduous. Only after 10pm did the temperature start to slowly fall. The cliffs of Cairn Lochan were turning golden brown in the low sun as I passed below them before watching the sun set over Creag an Leth-choin.

Sunset

I camped on wide open slopes in the heart of the Cairngorm Plateau with extensive views towards Cairn Gorm and Bynack More. The air was still. A big moon rose, just one day after full. The ground was dry and crunchy. I walked barefoot and sat outside. The last red haze from the sun stretched across the sky behind Cairn Gorm.

Before sunrise

After a few hours sleep I was up at 3.30am to watch the dawn. To the east the sky was paler. Red, yellow and orange streaks coloured the sky above Cairn Gorm. The air was cool, 10°C, and I needed a jacket. I watched and waited in the silence. Then the sun came, a red disc slowly climbing over Bynack More through thin clouds. 

Sunrise

 

After an hour I retreated to the tent for a little more sleep before the heat woke me. Even with the doors wide open my little tent was too hot once the sun was high in the sky. I sat outside for breakfast. It was 7.30am. A bird called and I could just hear the trickle of a stream. Otherwise silence.

Before departing I spread my gear out in front of the tent. It’s rare to be able to do this at 1150 metres in the Cairngorms. It’s usually too cold, too windy, too wet, or too midgey. Not today. Today was perfect.

By the time I left this idyllic camp the sun was savagely hot. The walk up Ben Macdui, only a kilometre and a 150 metres of ascent away, was draining. The pale stones underfoot felt hot and reflected the heat back at me. On the summit a man in shorts and boots – no shirt, no rucksack – appeared followed by a mountain biker carrying his bike. I met no others all day. I wandered to favourite viewpoints and stared down the Lairig Ghru to the dark outline of Beinn a’Ghlo.

View down the Lairig Ghru from Ben Macdui

On the slopes above the rushing Garbh Uisge Mor were many snow patches, some quite extensive. It’ll be a while yet before it all melts. Beside the burn and in boggy areas the ground was bright red and green with moss and vegetation. Away from the water the land was dry and dusty and bleached by the sun. I was reminded of the deserts of the American Southwest where there is the same pattern of fresh succulent water-given life and parched arid sand and rock but on a much greater scale. I’m not often reminded of hot deserts in the Cairngorms.

The Garbh Uisge Mor

At the top of the slabs running down to Loch Avon, a brilliant blue in the sunlight, I found a seat and sat and watched the landscape shimmering. On Hell’s Lum crag I could see pairs of climbers inching upwards, the sun shining directly on them. It must be so, so hot, I thought.

Crossing the Plateau again I startled two families of ptarmigan that scuttled away across the rocks, heads down, the mothers doing their broken wing act to lure me away, and a cluster of dotterel either side of a burn that relied on immobility as protection.

View down to Loch Avon

Even descending the heat was overwhelming even though there was now a breeze. The usually busy edge of the Northern Corries was strangely deserted for a dry summer day. There were few cars in the Coire Cas car park. Down in Glenmore I found out where everyone was. Loch Morlich with its golden sand beach. Cars were crammed along the verges, every car park full.

I posted the pictures of my gear laid out on social media and received quite a few comments, what tent is that, how do you get your gear so light, that gear looks heavy, what hat are you wearing. A few people suggested I should write about the gear and I will do that in a future post though not for a while as this weekend I’m finishing pieces for The Great Outdoors and then on Monday I’m heading down to Manchester to the Outdoor Trade Show to look at more gear. There was also a suggestion that I should do some YouTube videos. I’m thinking about it!