Walking Wild

Scottish Snowdrop Festival

2012-02-12T22:29:00.000Z

Few things lift my spirits as much as seeing the first snowdrops of the year. Their gleaming white flowers light up swathes of deciduous woodland, reminding me that nature is working away in the background. Arriving just when everything seems locked in winter cold, they offer hope that spring is on its way.


The promise of spring

I have seen snowdrops on several recent walks, especially in riparian woods, where they seem to be more advanced than in our garden. I suspect that this is because trees help protect the ground from frost, and frequent flooding tends to ‘warm’ frozen ground. Certainly, the Water of Ruchill, which I often walk beside on my way into Comrie, has burst its banks several times this winter.

A carpet of snowdrops by the Water of Ruchill

Over 50 gardens across Scotland are now open for the Scottish Snowdrop Festival (4 February to 18 March 2012), but there are also drifts of white, nodding flowers in many wilder places. Perthshire not only has lots of woodland gardens open for the festival – such as those at Blair Castle, Scone Palace, Cluny House and Glendoik – but also many waymarked walks that lead through snowdrop rich woods, including the Birks of Aberfeldy, Weem Wood and Black Spout Wood.

Snowdrops at the start of the Weem Wood walk

A remarkable flower
At a quick glance, most snowdrops look very much alike, but there are actually more than a hundred species and cultivars. The common snowdrop, which grows prolifically in the wild in Britain, has a simple flower with three spreading outer petals and three inner ones, each with a small green marking. Some of the cultivated varieties are double-flowered or have more than one flower per stem.

Perfect simplicity – common snowdrop

Snowdrops appear so small and delicate, yet they brave the crispest frosts and emerge undamaged after being buried by snow. In fact, they are very hardy and the colder the weather, the longer the flowers last. The common snowdrop’s scientific name – Galanthus nivalis – is very apt, as Galanthus means ‘milk flower’ and nivalis ‘of the snow’.

Surviving –10C and a blanket of snow

The first signs of snowdrops are the slender leaves that grow from the bulbs before Christmas, and persist for several weeks after flowering. Furled white flowers gradually appear, but may wait in suspended animation before opening fully. Some years ago I tried to capture this moment in a short poem.

Winter white

        Snowdrops

        The advance guard of spring has arrived.
        Standing erect among blue-green spears,
        the warriors bow their heads.
        Soon they will raise their white helmets
        and open their faces
        to the waiting air.

Wintry walk

2012-02-05T13:35:00.001Z

A month ago I described revisiting a walk after the January hurricane in my What a difference a day makes post. I returned last Sunday to lead the Strathearn Ramblers over the route, and again the scene was radically different.

With fresh snow, fog and grey cloud the world closed in around us. There was only a hint of the views to be had from Dalrannoch Hill – two church spires breaking the veil of mist over Comrie and a farm on the far side of Glen Artney, with the hill above fading into white.

Climbing onto Dalrannoch Hill with a 'view' to Comrie behind

We had a remarkably large group – 25. So large, in fact, that I had difficulty counting everyone (a smaller person always seemed to be hidden behind a taller one). I was grateful to have Susan and Anne helping to keep the group together, as I didn't want to find we were missing one or two in those conditions.

The temperature was around 1C and snow fell lightly for most of the walk, until we paused for a rather chilly picnic lunch. We made quite good progress over the pathless terrain (taking advantage of deer and sheep tracks where possible). The only thing that really slowed us was crossing two high stiles in deer fences, which must have taken us at least 10 minutes each time.

One of the high stiles in a deer fence that protects some new native woodland

Our route ran along the undulating crest of Dalrannoch Hill, a hummocky ridge orientated along the Highland Boundary fault. From there we dropped across a boggy dip, locating a narrow point to step across Cuilt Burn, and up on to the high moorland of Tomanour or Little Hill. I think the 'Little' refers to its size relative to Ben Halton, which forms a backdrop.

Here we climbed to our high point, but only lingered long enough to watch two small herds of red deer moving across the snowy landscape (and to learn that some of the group had seen a fox). The landscape is a complex one, where many heathery knolls with small rock outcrops are interspersed with marshes. It would make great orienteering country and in the misty conditions I relied on my memory of little landmarks to weave a way through.

Walkers threading through the knolls on Tomanour Hill

We descended to a track that originally served the slate quarries on Ben Halton and followed it downhill past sheep pastures and Aberuchill's policy woodlands. The lunch stop had chilled us, so we stepped out at a good pace to warm up.

Coming down the Ben Halton track

Most of the specimen trees around the castle grounds – tall firs and redwoods – had survived the great storms of December and January, though we saw a lot of sawn timber where oak and beech trees had come down across the track and access drive. In the still conditions, the sawdust had a rich warm scent, like incense.

A glimpse of Aberuchill Castle, still surrounded by fine trees

The greatest storm damage we spotted was when we took a shortcut across the fields back to our start point beside the Water of Ruchill. One whole swathe of spruce planation had been flattened and was lying across the fence. The forest either side was intact, but in a belt 100m wide the trees had either keeled over or been snapped in half.

Passing the flattened forest

I was glad that we had scheduled this walk for the end of January, as it wasn't the sort of weather in which you would want to drive far from the village. However, I was disappointed that I hadn't been able to share the fabulous views that are to be had on a clear day. Especially as I knew that few of the local ramblers would have ventured across this pathless terrain on their own.

Have you been walking in snow yet this winter?

Robert Burns in Perthshire

2012-01-25T19:10:00.003Z

The anniversary of the birth of Robert Burns is 25 January and, as usual around this time, numerous Burns Suppers are being held in Scotland and throughout the world to celebrate his life and work. Although our national poet is inextricably linked to south-west Scotland, he wrote several poems and songs about Perthshire, and in the process helped to popularise some of our beauty spots.

Born in 1759 to a poor farming family in Ayrshire, he had a slim education but was a great reader. He published his first volume of poetry in 1786 and it received glowing reviews. He had been planning to emigrate to the Indies, but visited Edinburgh instead and within a few days became a celebrity.

The cottage where Burns was born in in Alloway, Ayrshire

Following publication of a new and enlarged edition of poems, he toured Scotland in triumph and stayed as a guest in many big houses. On his 1787 tour he spent a couple of nights with the Duke of Atholl and stayed at other estates, such as Ochtertyre near Crieff.

Blair Castle, where Robert Burns stayed with the Duke of Atholl

His poetry reveals an understanding of the nature of people and a great love of the natural world. In Perthshire he was particularly struck by the magnificence of the scenery, which is reflected in the verses he penned, many on the spur of the moment.

Portrait of Robert Burns in a stained glass window

Here are some of the locations that Burns visited. In case you are interested in exploring on foot, I have noted for each which of my Experience Big Tree Country guidebooks include walks to that location or nearby. See the menu option Walks guidebooks above for details.

Inver Inn
While visiting Dunkeld, Burns was invited to breakfast by Dr Stewart of Bonskeid. Another guest at the meal was Inver's famous son, Neil Gow. Burns liked the ageing fiddler and recorded his character rather than his music, describing him as having "an interesting face, marking strong sense, kind open-heartedness, mixed with unmistrusting simplicity."

Neil Gow's Oak, on the banks of the River Tay

Burns also drank at the since demolished Inver Inn, where he evidently had sympathy for the landlord, who was scolded by his wife. He revealed his sense of humour in a few lines he scratched on the parlour window of the inn:
Ye gods, ye gave to me a wife out o' your grace and pleasure,
To be the partner of my life, and I was glad to have her,
But if your providence divine for better things design her,
T' obey your will, at any time, I'm willing to resign her.

(See Experience Big Tree Country volume 2 for a walk that goes through Inver and past Neil Gow's Oak and climbs to Pinecone viewpoint).

Kenmore Hotel
Inver was not the only place where Burns wrote poetry off the top of his head. At the Kenmore Hotel he wrote verses in pencil on the wall over the chimneypiece. The words can still be seen to this day, protected by a sheet of glass. They are evidence of his great fluency with words and ability to write rhyming verse without revision.

Kenmore Hotel, the oldest inn in Scotland

They also reveal that he wandered extensively around the rivers, woods, hills and lochs of the Breadalbane. Like many a hill-walker he was exhausted by his walk, but he argued that the natural world could provide solace to anyone suffering misfortune and grief. The poem begins:
Admiring Nature in her wildest grace,
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace;
O'er many a winding dale and painful steep,
Th' abodes of covey'd grouse and timid sheep,
My savage journey, curious, I pursue,
Till fam'd Breadalbane opens to my view.

View of Kenmore and Loch Tay from Black Rock

(See Experience Big Tree Country volume 2 for a walk from Kenmore to Black Rock viewpoint).

Birks of Aberfeldy
A little farther down Strath Tay, Burns also visited the Falls of Moness above Aberfeldy. The song he wrote about them gave the wooded gorge the name by which it is known today – The Birks of Aberfeldy. Perth & Kinross Council now own the area and maintain the paths, steps and bridges on the circular walk of the falls.

Falls of Moness viewpoint in the Birks of Aberfeldy

Halfway up on the east side you can rest at Burns Seat, a rocky ledge cut into the side of the gorge. Here Burns is said to have rested when he visited the waterfalls, which are a little higher up. The song he was inspired to write is to the tune of an earlier song, The Birks of Abergeldie, which perhaps explains the name. Although birches are still to be found here, they are just one of many species of tree clinging to the steep slopes.

You can sit beside a statue of Robert Burns in the Birks of Aberfeldy

(See Experience Big Tree Country volume 1 for a walk around the Birks of Aberfeldy).

Falls of Bruar
Other waterfalls visited by Burns included the Falls of Bruar, which in the 18th century fell through a bare, rocky gorge. In a vision of how the falls could be graced by trees, Burns wrote a poem to his host, the Duke of Atholl, called The Humble Petition of Bruar Water. He speaks as if he is the river and begs the duke to plant trees to soften the landscape:
Would, then, my noble master please
To grant my highest wishes,
He'll shade my banks wi' tow'ring trees
And bonie spreading bushes.

Within ten years the Duke responded to Burns' wishes and planted thousands of larch and Scots pine trees around the Bruar, creating the landscape that visitors enjoy to this day. Unfortunately Burns died in 1796 and never saw the result.

Lower Falls at the Falls of Bruar

(See Experience Big Tree Country volume 4 for a walk around the Falls and on to the hill above, where the view stretches over Blair Atholl and into the Cairngorms).

Loch Turret
Since Burns visited Loch Turret, above Crieff, the glen has been dammed to create a much larger reservoir. In his day it must have been a wilder place – "Far from human haunts and ways" – without the concrete dam-wall, service building and car park.

However, the smaller expanse of water was sheltered by the surrounding hills and attractive to wildfowl. They were certainly present when Burns visited and his resulting poem is a reflection on how humans impinge on wild creatures. The poem On Scaring Some Water-Fowl in Loch Turit is subtitled A Wild Scene Among the Hills of Oughtertyre. He apologises for man's inclination to kill birds for pleasure and reflects that at least ducks and geese can,
Swiftly seek, on clanging wings,
Other lakes, and other springs.

View to Glen Turret and Ben Chonzie from the Knock of Crieff

(See Experience Big Tree Country volume 1 for a walk over the Knock of Crieff, which has views to Glen Turret and Ochtertyre).

Kinross
Burns also stayed in the Kinross area, possibly lodging in the Red Lion, a popular coaching inn. A schoolmaster from nearby Cleish, William Michie, once fell asleep at a party in his lodgings. As a witty rebuke Burns penned an epitaph to his friend (who was to live for many years more):
Here lie Willie Michie's banes:
O Satan, when ye tak him
Gie him the schulin o your weans
For clever deils he'll mak them.

Burleigh Sands on Loch Leven, Scotland's largest lowland lake

(See Experience Big Tree Country volume 1 for a walk from Kinross to Loch Leven, a national nature reserve and volume 3 for a walk by the loch from Burleigh Sands).

New found land

2012-01-22T10:39:00.001Z

Winter sun highlights Glen Lednock's topography (the foreground was recently planted with native woodland)

Since moving to Comrie nearly two years ago I have gradually been walking the area, piecing together the complex, three-dimensional landscape that surrounds the village. Back in November, I became aware of a hill that I hadn’t registered before. Over the succeeding weeks I viewed it from different angles, until a recent sunny day when I set off to climb to its summit.

I first noticed this hill at sunset in November, when I climbed above fog shrouding Glen Lednock to a hilltop stone circle. Emerging into the clear air, I was slightly confused to find another hill to my west, in roughly the direction of Dun Mor, but without that hill’s monument. Anyway, it seemed too close to be one of the lumps on the far side of the glen.

The unknown hill shows through the mist (mid ground, R of stone) as the sun sets behind Ben Vorlich & Stuc a' Chroin

It was only when I arrived back home (in the dark) and looked at the map that I saw its position and name – Creag Bhalg. It lies midway between the bottom of green floored Glen Lednock and heather covered Carn Chois (the southern outlier of the Munro Ben Chonzie) and is of modest height (320m), but has a commanding position. I am always interested in photographic viewpoints and this appeared to be a promising one.

So I took another walk to the area, this time setting off soon after sunrise, when low rays were casting an apricot light over the bracken and grass covered hillsides. I was accompanied by my new walking companion, as I described in the last blog post.

My walking companion – Braan – blends into the background

By now I had a mental map of my approach route, though I hadn’t factored in a deer fence, which not only surrounds the adjacent forest, but also – I discoverd – includes Creag Bhalg. A bit of backtracking allowed us to enter the enclosure where deer and sheep had created a route through the now redundant fence.

The top of the hill proved to be just the sort terrain I love – a jumble of rocky knolls. And, as anticipated, it offered an unobstructed view over its surrounds. It was sufficiently high to let me see Ben Vorlich and Stuc a’ Chroin over the ridge bounding the western edge of Glen Lednock, but low enough to feel intimately connected to the glen itself.

Zoomed in view to Stuc a’ Chroin (back middle) and Ben Vorlich (back right)

Below me to the south was a mile wide shelf of land populated by a swarm of knolls, looking rather like drumlins, the egg-shaped hills formed of glacial deposits. Like drumlins, these too had been smoothed by a glacier, but – rather than gravelly deposits – were outcrops of solid rock with softer green hollows in between.

Glacier-scoured rocks on Creag Bhalg (looking towards Carn Chois)

What particularly struck me was the network of old earth banks rising up from the valley and threading across this area. Despite their altitude, they marked the bounds of the land that, until a century or two ago, would have been cultivated. Now all the ground was rough, bracken infested pasture, although the occasional molehill revealed a rich, dark soil underneath.

Looking back into Glen Lednock from Creag Bhalg (iPhone photo)

Unfortunately, my camera started malfunctioning before I reached the hilltop, so I had to resort to taking pictures on my iPhone. I will have to return again in good light to capture the nuances of this landscape. Moreover, I can see new ways across good walking/running country that I have yet to tread.

Am I alone in my love of learning the intricacies of the landscape through my feet and eyes? Who else enjoys generating a personal mental map through experience?

My new walking companion

2012-01-15T22:21:00.000Z

Life changed in May 2011 when a 10-week-old border collie puppy joined our household. Looking back over the year, I realise that she has not only stolen my heart, but also had a profound effect on my walking habits.

A new outlook on life (in Glen Lednock)

Gone are the times when several days might pass without me pulling on my boots. Walking is now a much more regular habit, even if it is pouring with rain. On the other hand, I have managed fewer long, high walks, because we were advised not to overstretch our youngster while she was growing.

During 2011, I usually opted to explore local hills and woods with the dog, rather than head for the mountains alone or with other companions. In 2012, I expect this pattern to change and am looking forward to some committing walks and backpacking trips together.

Company in the hills (on Uamh Beag)

She is very much ‘our dog’ – Andrew’s and mine, so during the course of a week, he walks her at least as much as me. And we already enjoy many walks as a threesome, though these don’t feel do different to our previous walks together. The walks that are significantly changed in nature are my solo rambles, where I go ‘walking wild’. Rather than exploring alone I have a silent companion to share the experience – one who seems to love it as much as me.

Sussing out the route in Glen Artney

When we decided to add a dog to our lives, we knew we wanted one that we could take to as many places as possible. One that was big and strong enough to be a hill companion, but small enough to curl up happily in a corner. And one with a sound character and the intelligence to learn good behaviour.

She passed her Bronze Good Citizen award in October

A border collie fitted the bill, albeit that bringing such a working dog into the home meant that we would have to provide plenty of mental and physical stimulation. The fact that Andrew has fond memories of the brown and white border collie bitches he has had in the past gave us confidence in this choice.

The new puppy comes home

So, we became owned by Braan, or Astra Braan to give her her full name. She is now 10 months old and is registered with the International Sheepdog Society, like her parents Tay and Lady. Astra is her kennel name and we called her Braan after the tributary of the River Tay that flows through Amulree and Inver.

The River Braan at The Hermitage

She is brown and white with tan markings (technically speaking a red tricolour). Thankfully, considering how wet and muddy it was here in 2011, she is smooth coated and cleans up well. Her fur has a characteristic that outdoor gear manufacturers would do well to mimic – it has an intrinsic ability to shed dirt as it dries, so her legs quickly return to white regardless of how mucky she gets. Needless to say, a lot of that dirt ends up in the living room carpet!

Young Braan stretches her legs

It has been great fun introducing her to new things and observing her reaction. Tentativeness can quickly turn to eagerness, as we found when we took her to the sea for the first time. She is very keen on meeting other dogs and people of all ages, though her greeting can still have a bit too much puppyish enthusiasm.

Braan meets her first hedgehog

As she has matured, Braan has developed an affectionate and gentle nature, and has bonded closely with us. I’m not sure how much of her character is hereditary, but I’m sure that our spending a lot of time playing with her and training her has helped. She has learnt obedience through love, trust and reward without losing any of her lively spirit.

Braan and me at Kilchurn Castle, Argyll

From early days, we have been taking her out into pathless places in woods and on hills so that she can run free and explore the environment. She has learnt to move swiftly and smoothly over rough terrain, keeping in touch with us and returning when we call her, even if she has just spotted a hare or deer to chase. We have also taught her to walk at heel so that she is under close control when need be, including near sheep, cattle or pheasants.

When we say ‘look’ it means watch but leave alone

What we haven’t done quite so well is to familiarise her with traffic. Too little exposure to roads at a very young age allowed her to develop an aversion to traffic noise that took months to overcome.

There are many things she has picked up without being deliberately taught. For instance, she knows when I get my camera out that it’s time to amuse herself for a while, unless I ask her to pose, which she will patiently do.

Braan posing by a stone circle

There is still plenty for Braan to learn and for us to teach her (and vice versa), but we’ve had a great start together. Her presence will help set the agenda for 2012 – no foreign holidays, but plenty of travel around Scotland. And more of the healthy activities we three all enjoy: exploring new hills, woodland wanders, mountain biking, wild camping...

Where to next?

Footnote
My apologies if I have been too gushing about Braan in this blog, but I have joined the ranks of dog lovers who are infatuated with their pets! Are you one too? If so, please leave a comment and tell me what makes your dog special to you.

What a difference a day makes

2012-01-06T16:13:00.000Z

Enjoying the view to Ben Chonzie and Comrie

Visiting the same place on separate occasions can result in wildly contrasting experiences. Not only does varying weather transform the appearance of the landscape, it can also physically alter it.

On New Year’s Day I walked up Dalrannoch Hill, on the west of Comrie, to blow some fresh air into my fuzzy head and to check out a route for a walk I am leading at the end of the month. I was concerned after the hurricane on 8 December 2011 that trees might be blocking the way through the wood at the foot of the hill.

Although not particularly high (268m), the hill is a marvellous viewpoint but is rarely visited as there is no path up it. That day I was glad to find that only a few trees had snapped or been uprooted, because the hill itself had sheltered Dalrannoch wood. The woodland ride I followed was largely unobstructed, but the conditions felt raw beyond the shelter of the trees.

New Year's Day view south over Glen Artney from just above the treeline (taken with Pro HDR iPhone app)

A damp, chilly wind buffeted the ridge, making walking difficult. The clouds were above Dalrannoch Hill, but they shrouded our local Munro Ben Chonzie and the other mountains to the north. Gradually, the visibility deteriorated and drizzly gusts turned into lashing rain. Rather than check out the full route, I turned tail and retreated downhill chased by the squall.

Yesterday, I returned with a couple of friends to recce the full route, a walk we had postponed until a rare sunny day came along. I needed to trace the driest, least taxing way through the maze of rocky knolls and rushy marshes on the moorland that we would be crossing beyond Dalrannoch Hill.

Looking west from the high point of the walk

What I wasn’t expecting – having been there only four days previously – was to struggle finding a way through Dalrannoch Wood. However, another major storm on Tuesday (with a more northerly wind direction) had wrought havoc among the Norway spruce and larch, which were lying like matchwood across the woodland ride. Hardly surprising when 50 miles away in Edinburgh, the wind speed was recorded as 102 mph on 4 January and dozens of trees were blown over in the Royal Botanic Garden, as reported by the BBC.

Having picked various detours around and over the debris, we emerged via a ‘red deer motorway’ onto the open hill and the most glorious views. It felt like a different place compared to New Year’s Day with bright colours and sharp details in the landscape. Our mood was buoyed up simply by walking along the narrow, undulating hill, drinking in the views. We felt on top of the world.

The three of us climbing the ridge

On days like this – when the surrounding hills are covered in snow – upper Strathearn (the area around Comrie) has an Alpine look. I thought that particularly as our route took us close to the foot of Ben Halton, one of the rugged hills to the west of the village.

Ben Halton shares a similar geology to Birnam Hill and Newtyle Hill, further east above Dunkeld. All three lie on the northern edge of the Highland Boundary fault and are seamed with slate, which historically has been quarried for roofing and other uses.

Photo: Ben Halton is a rough hill to climb, thick with bracken and heather

Our route took us northwards towards Aberuchill Castle. Beyond the castle and across the valley of Strathearn we could see the Dunira, the other big estate to the west of Comrie. Last year I took a long walk, as described in an earlier blog post, into the hills that we were now seeing on the horizon. This wonderfully varied landscape around the upper reaches of the River Earn is a National Scenic Area.

Photo: View over whitewashed Aberuchill Castle to the Dunira hills and snowy Ben Chonzie

As we descended from the high moorland, the walking became easier. We found a quad bike track that led us to a well maintained sheep fold and short-grazed pasture. Beyond that, we picked up a hard track near Tomanour and followed it gently downhill. We noticed that the estate have surfaced the track with spoil from the slate quarries.

Coming down from the moorland on a quad bike track

The route made a fine circuit, albeit that I need to return to Dalrannoch Wood and find a less tortuous way to the open ground through the storm damaged trees. I love walking on my own, but it was very pleasant to have company and to enjoy a good laugh over lunch, sheltered from the icy wind on the lee of the hill.

To show how different the experience was on two occasions only four days apart, here are two short videos panning around the horizon from similar spots on Dalrannoch Hill.

As well as experimenting with video, I have also Photomerged three handheld photographs of Tomanour cottage at the foot of Mor Bheinn. This is a Photoshop technique I have not tried before, but I was amazed how quickly and effectively it turned them into a panorama (using the Auto setting). It may not be 100% perfect, but has inspired me to try more panoramas.

Click on the image to view it larger.

Panoramic background to Tomanour Cottage

The turning of the year

2012-01-04T22:36:00.001Z

A wet walk with friends

Good food, friends, family and a (wee!) bit of drink have kept me away from this blog over the holidays. We kept the fire burning over Christmas, trying to ward off the cold greyness outside, and we needed it again yesterday when another storm with 100+ mph winds resulted in a power cut.

The new year arrived with lashing rain while we celebrated in Melville Square at the centre of Comrie. The flambeaux torches were lit on the stroke of midnight and paraded around the village, driving out evil spirits (but failing to deter the rain gods). Everyone was drenched before the flames were extinguished.

I have been out walking every day, hoping for a glimpse of sun but usually getting soaked instead. The ground is sodden underfoot, so all the paths are squelchy and slippery with mud. Many friends have commented that they would rather have last year's deep and persistent snow.

Although not blogging, I have been experimenting with iMovie and putting together some short clips that I have recorded on my iPhone or compact camera. These are a bit shaky, but they give a flavour of the past fortnight. You can play them on this page or click on the links to see them larger in YouTube.

Snow falling in Comrie on 30 December 2011

Comrie Flambeaux seeing in the New Year

View from a walk up Dalrannoch Hill on 1 January 2011

Roe in the snow from last winter

Season's greetings

2011-12-24T17:21:00.001Z

Walkers at the Melville Monument, above Comrie, as the sun's last rays illuminate Glen Lednock

We don't have snow this year for the festive season, but temperatures in double figures. In fact, a couple of night's ago, it was 30C higher than the same night last year (+10C versus -20C). Many people are grateful for the milder weather, as it makes moving around easier, but you have to admit that snow and blue skies are more photogenic than drab vegetation under drizzly clouds.

So, I've picked a photograph taken near home last January to pass on my best wishes to all readers of this blog. I hope you all enjoy good food, drink and laughter with friends and family. If you consume too much, remember that Boxing Day is the traditional time for sporting activity. I'll be out walking near Glen Lednock with friends from Strathearn Ramblers.

I don't have time to write much now, as we have neighbours coming round shortly. Next week, I'll post my last ramblings of 2011 and look forward to the New Year.

Winter walking with Radio Scotland

2011-12-15T16:30:00.001Z

Yesterday, I met Denise Glass, a reporter for BBC Radio Scotland’s Out of Doors programme, and took her on a winter walk around Dunkeld. It is a place where the local micro-climate can create spellbinding conditions. The surrounding hills often trap freezing fog, which covers every tree and twig with a lacework of hoar frost. When the sun breaks through, tiny ice crystals tinkle down out of the blue sky like a rain of diamonds.

Birch trees laced with ice crystals

Although the weather was rather less entrancing this Wednesday, I knew Dunkeld would offer plenty of interest, as it lies at the heart of Big Tree Country. The soaring trees that now grace the landscape around the town were planted in the 18th and 19th centuries by the Dukes of Atholl. In order to explore these heritage trees and the local wildlife with Denise, I chose a suitable route from volume 4 of my Perthshire walks guides.

Dunkeld Trees and Lochs walk from Experience Big Tree Country volume 4

Only a month ago I did this walk with Strathearn Ramblers, as related in a previous post. However, I found that last week’s ‘Hurricane Bawbag’ had wrought a change to the landscape. The first casualty we saw was at the start of the Big Tree Trail between Dunkeld Cathedral and Dunkeld House Hotel where a tall Colorado White fir had crashed to the ground, scalping all the branches off one side of the UK Champion Douglas fir.

Denise Glass on the Big Tree Trail (in the background a fallen tree is lying in the river)

As we continued along the Trail we passed several more fallen trees and encountered a hotel groundsman who was clearing away the storm's wreckage. Fortunately, most of the significant heritage trees were undamaged.

A Noble fir that survived the storm unscathed

This part of our walk ran beside the River Tay, Scotland’s largest river, where I had hoped to spot some ducks and rising salmon. But the river was running very high after torrential overnight rain, washing any flotsam downstream at a frightening speed.

Further on, at the still waters of Polney Loch, most of the surface was frozen. A lone grey heron stood hunched on the far shore, exuding an air of resignation. The steep wooded slopes behind the loch rise up to the climbing crags of Craig a’ Barns, which would be uninvitingly dank and cold at present.

Silver birch reflected on ice-covered Polney Loch

Halfway along the loch shore a tangle of trunks, branches and upturned root plates blocked the path. Previously, we had been able to skirt any fallen trees, but this time there was no way around. The tops of the trees extended into the loch on our left, while on our right the whole edge of the wood had been knocked over, creating a mass of debris.

We retreated to the road and walked along it towards Polney Sawmill, where a path into the woods enabled us to return to our route. We negotiated more toppled trees as we followed the track leading to Cally car park, but were able to detour through the open forest on either side.

Fallen trees block the path beside Polney Loch

At Cally car park we stopped to speak to the Atholl Estates Ranger, Polly Freeman, who was working with a team to clear trees that had fallen across the parking area. They had already unblocked the entrance drive, but had much more to do. She reckoned that the clean up wouldn’t be completed until the New Year.

As Denise had another interview to do in the Pitlochry area, we cut the walk short and returned to Dunkeld. I had hoped that some of the fallow deer that live in the woods around Cally would put in an appearance, but they left it until too late – we only saw them in a nearby field as we were packing up to leave. The full 7-mile route would have taken us along the foot of Newtyle Hill to Loch of the Lowes, a Scottish Wildlife Trust nature reserve, before returning past Craig Wood, famous for its bluebells in spring.

Like a dusting of icing sugar, frost lingers on trees fringing Loch of the Lowes

This winter walk will probably feature on Out of Doors this Saturday morning (6:30–9am) and will be available to listen again on BBC iPlayer for a week after that.

Winter arrives with a vengeance

2011-12-09T11:21:00.001Z

I am writing this by flickering candlelight, but won’t be able to post it until power is restored. We had the warmest November on record in Scotland, but during the first four days of this week the weather has been running through its classic winter repertoire – ice, snow, gales and flood.

On Monday morning we opened the curtains to a magical scene – the garden was blanketed in snow and a golden glow on the horizon indicated that it would be a clear sunrise. I wandered out and marvelled at how fresh and clean the world looked after months of rain and mud. Having taken some photographs in the rosy glow of the sun’s first rays, clouds blew over and the sparkle went out of the light.

Winter dog walking on Cowden Road, Comrie

More sunshine and snow showers followed, then on Wednesday the wind began. A radical change in the weather was forecast, so I decided to take a walk before the storm arrived. I headed to nearby Crieff for a change of scene.

I started at Glenturret Distillery, home of the Famous Grouse Experience, because I knew the car park would have been cleared of snow and the restaurant would be open. The route I followed was what I described in Experience Big Tree Country: 12 walks around Perthshire volume 1 as the Knock of Crieff and the Hosh walk. It has plenty of woodland shelter and different view every time you emerge from the trees.

View from one of the paths

Slithering slightly on the slushy snow, I climbed paths uphill from Turret Burn to the Knock of Crieff via the Crieff Hydro Hotel, which is a popular resort for active family holidays and Crieff’s largest employer. The hotel has an extensive estate with golf course, riding stables, high ropes course, woods and much more. Much of my walk was on their land, which is criss-crossed with paths and tracks.

A few of Crieff Hydro Hotel’s many lodges

The temperature had risen in the blustery wind, bringing a thaw. Fingers of snow balanced precariously on every twig and branch were the first to succumb. They melted, and dripped onto the ground, gradually dissolving the thinner layer of snow that had settled on the woodland floor.

A seat in the woods

Out in the open, the deeper snow was more resistant to thawing. It lay in mounds over the heather and crunched as I walked through it. On closer examination, I saw that it had developed an icy crust. The snow was slowly melting underneath this shell, leaving glassy panes of unsupported crystals.

Thawing snow, glazed with an icy crust

By mid afternoon, the sun was sinking fast and its horizontal light throwing the hills into relief. Storm clouds in the west stole its rays before sunset, leaving only shreds of high, icy stratus illuminated.

Glen Turret in the of the last sunshine, with Ben Chonzie in cloud

Churned snow around the viewpoint indicator on the Knock of Crieff showed that many people had visited. But dusk was falling fast and I only saw one other person up there. He was staying at the Crieff Hydro and told me that he had come, without fail, every year since he was 13. His 52 years of uninterrupted visits included his honeymoon in the 1970s and every wedding anniversary since.

Looking north from the Knock of Crieff to Blue Craigs

It was pretty dark by the time I had trotted back down to the Hosh. Passing an enclosure that would soon be home to Christmas reindeer, I crossed the Turret bridge back to the distillery, which looked inviting with its glowing lights.

December evening at Glenturret Distillery

Today, the world outside has changed completely, as the weather has grown wild. Howling wind and lashing rain have washed away the snow. The storm has brought down trees and powerlines, and filled the rivers to overflowing. Maybe this is a taste of what the winter has in store for us?

Postscript Friday morning: Power was restored overnight, although 70,000 homes across Scotland are still without electricity. The local radio transmitter is working again, so that I have now heard that the wind was recorded at 165 mph on Cairngorm and 106 mph on the Tay Bridge, downstream from us. I wonder how many more evenings we might have in the dark this winter, huddled around a log fire with a warming dram?

Whisky barrels at Glen Turret Distillery

Dawn on Creag Ruadh and heading home

2011-12-04T16:30:00.000Z

I love the rawness of sleeping out under the stars, with nothing to separate me from elemental nature. However after the walk I described in my previous post, I could have done with a warmer sleeping bag because – despite trying to shelter under a crag – I was exposed to considerable wind chill. The brighter the milky way shone, the colder I felt, though I did manage some sleep towards morning.

The sky brightened very early, the glow reappearing not so very far round from where it had faded away after dusk. I quickly climbed up to the summit of Creag Ruadh to welcome the sun as it broke the horizon a little north (left) of the Ben Chonzie.

Sunrise from Creag Ruadh

I found the top of Creag Ruadh to be a mini rock plateau, with scree-girt crags on the south side. The lumpy plateau stretched for about 250m each way and a little cairn marked the highest point, on the southwest corner. In the chill morning air, I jogged around to keep warm while enjoying the views in all directions. This area between Loch Earn and Loch Tay, with its complex contours and many small hills, was used at the end of October for Day 1 of the Original Mountain Marathon (OMM formerly known as the KIMM).

Creag Ruadh catches the first rays of sun – view to Ben Vorlich (and a glimpse of Loch Earn on left)

The vegetation in the hollows, where it was sheltered from the wind, was covered in frost – no wonder I had felt cold during the night. So much for the old tradition of bathing one's face in the morning dew on the 1st of May! I needed water and somewhere out of the heat-sapping wind to eat my breakfast, so I headed down into the hollow that cradles Lochan na Crieige Ruaidhe.

Looking over crags to Lochan na Crieige Ruaidhe

I found a spot on the loch shore that was bathed by the sun's rays and where I gradually warmed up out of the tugging breeze, as I ate my muesli and yoghurt.

Breakfast location on the shore of Lochan na Crieige Ruaidhe

The easy way back from my overnight bivvy would have been to head east to Gleann Mathaig to pick up a hill track running down the shallow glen. But I find that once I’m on a track I am not quite so connected to my surroundings and am less inclined to explore every knoll, crag and lochan. It’s too easy just to march on and not notice the wildlife or subtleties of landscape. My alternative was to keep to the high ground to the north of the glen, where my view was unimpeded.

Looking over the head of Glen Lednock to Ben Lawers, Scotland's 10th highest Munro

A friend once showed me a photograph of what appeared to be an infinity pool set in the hills. I was keen to visit this spot and had identified it as Lochan Mhaoil na Meidhe. It lay improbably on the crest of the broad ridge that I was following. A rowing boat on the shore was the first sign that I was nearing civilisation.

A rowing boat at Lochan Mhaoil na Meidhe

I continued off road to Creag nan Eun, above the Lednock Dam, then dropped downhill to the pre-clearance hamlet of Glenmaik. After poking around the tumbled stone walls of former homes and finding the abutments of an old bridge, I joined the Hydro road by the ruined shepherd’s cottage that superseded the old settlement.

Ruined cottage at Glenmaik

Gleann Mathaig lead into relatively lush Glen Lednock, where I passed Invergeldie, the most popular start point for climbing Ben Chonzie. Wanting to avoid several miles of road walking, I turned off the tarmac at Funtullich and took the delightful way down the east side of the River Lednock.

Grassy track through the green pastures of Glen Lednock

Having had a 5am start to the day, I was back home in time to head into Perth mid afternoon to join the audience for the BBC Leader’s Debate. From red deer and mountain hares, red grouse and peregrine falcons, I was suddenly catapulted back into everyday life and the frenzy of a Scottish Parliament election four days away.

After my 24 hours in the hills, I felt tired and grubby, but refreshed and somehow cleansed. I vowed to bivvy out again soon. But then the weather broke and, although we have had some sunny days since, they never seem to come more than one at a time. If I was more hardy, I wouldn’t let the rain and cold deter me and would follow the example of Finnish blogger Peter Nylund, who last March bivvied in snow at -12C when snow crust riding.

Who else is braving the rain and wind to sleep outdoors? Any tips to keep warm? And why don’t we have facilities like the Vajosuo shelter for walkers and cyclists in Scotland?

The last spell of sunshine and blue skies

2011-11-30T23:01:00.001Z

While wondering when we will enjoy some relief from grey clouds and flooding, my mind went back to the last settled spell of weather we enjoyed. That was in April. As far as I remember, we had a whole month when sky was clear blue and the sun shone from dawn to dusk.

I took advantage of that fine spell to bivvy out overnight on a weekend walk. It was at the end of the month, shortly before the weather broke. My chosen area for this wild walk was the rough, hilly ground between Loch Earn and Loch Tay. It is an area of lochans, heather moorland and small rocky hills, the highest of which is Creag Ruadh (712m/2336ft).

Dawn on Creag Ruadh, looking over Loch Eas Domhain to Stob Binnien and Ben More

My objective was to ‘get away from it all’ in the middle of this unpopulated, pathless area. I was fairly confident that I would see no other walkers, as there are no Munros or Corbetts between Glen Lednock and Glen Ogle. A light pack, with my compact camera rather than a DSLR, freed me to wander at will.

I had no definite destination, but was happy to see where my feet carried me. My idea was to start by exploring the chain of craggy knolls that bound the west side of Glen Lednock. I climbed onto the ridge via the Maam Road, an old track that crosses the ridge behind Melville’s Monument, the obelisk above Comrie.

Picking a way up through crags onto Sgorr Racaineach

Dunira estate has bull-dozed a controversial new track along the ridge from the Maam Road to Chapel Pass, on the edge of the River Earn National Scenic Area. I was determined to avoid it and instead took a more challenging route, scrambling from hilltop to hilltop and gaining a different view from each.

Many local people deplore this new track through a wild area

At Craig nan Eun, I paused to appreciate how far I had come and where I might head next. As on several of the rocky hillocks I climbed, it had a rusting metal holder for a flaming torch. I wonder when they were last used and what a sight it would have been from Strathearn to see these pricks of light along the skyline.

Looking back over my route from Craig nan Eun

Only a few steps beyond the summit of Craig nan Eun, I discovered a lovely little lochan. A closer look at my OS Explorer showed that it was mapped. The water must be trapped near the summit by impermeable rocks. Ben Chonzie, my most local Munro, stood out clear on the other side of Glen Lednock.

Lochan nan Craig Eun with Ben Chonzie in the background

As I headed further northwest over Meall nam Fiadh, the land seemed to spread out into more featureless moorland. Fortunately, the peaty ground was fairly crisp from the prolonged dry weather and there were many deer tracks to follow through the heather. I had started my walk after lunch and by now the sun was rapidly sinking.

Red deer on the edge of the creeping shadow

A strong easterly wind had been at my back all day and as the sun set it began to feel decidedly cold. I wanted to sleep high up, but needed some protection. In the last of the light, I made my way up on to Creag Ruadh and found a grassy spot below a crag on the west side to lay down my sleeping mat.

View over Loch Eas Domhain to Stob Binnien and Ben More after sunset

For warmth, I clambered into my sleeping bag before eating the meal I had prepared in advance. I could see a wide sweep of horizon, punctuated by many mountains, from my sitting position. The most prominent were Ben Vorlich in the south, Ben More in the west, then round past the Tarmachan range, to Ben Lawers in the north.

The sun’s lingering glow behind the Tarmachan hills

It was difficult to sleep. There was so much to see. Every few minutes I would look round to see how the sky’s colours had changed. Eventually, after midnight, the stars became the main show, looking very bright as they had no man-made glow for competition.

Next post – my return journey on the 1st of May.

Finding harmony in the landscape – River Earn National Scenic Area

2011-11-27T20:00:00.000Z

I have long loved upper Strathearn, particularly the stretch around Comrie and upstream to St Fillans, where the River Earn flows out of Loch Earn. I find the scenery here deeply satisfying and endlessly intriguing. Rocky, wooded knolls punctuate the flat river pastures and rugged, heather-covered hills enclose the valley.

View over Dunira estate from Bioran Dalchonzie

For me this is a particularly three-dimensional landscape, a feature that is best appreciated by moving through it rather than by viewing two-dimensional photographs. As I wander about the area, I find a different view around every corner and meet some of the rich wildlife it supports. The place is alive with buzzards and red kites, red and grey squirrels, roe and red deer.

A red deer stag blends into the autumn heather on Bioran Dalchonzie

If you are looking for waymarked paths, rather than wild walking, three of the routes in the Local walks around Comrie leaflet (available in Comrie PO) go through the River Earn National Scenic Area. They are the Earthquake Walk (to the Earthquake House and Aberuchill), Maam Road Walk (using a path between Pollyrigg and Twenty Shilling Woods) and the Glen Lednock Circular Walk (which visits the Deil's Cauldron waterfall). I described the latter walk, and the climb to nearby Melville's Monument, in more detail in Experience Big Tree Country: 12 walks around Perthshire Volume 2, published by Catkin Press.

The Deil's Cauldron viewpoint

In my previous post, I wrote about one part of upper Strathearn – Comrie Woods, which are a Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI). However, the wider landscape has a more weighty designation. The woods lie at the eastern end of the River Earn National Scenic Area (NSA), which stretches between Comrie and St Fillans in Perth & Kinross.

Dawn mist over Comrie’s oakwoods

NSA designation gives the River Earn the same status and protection as iconic Scottish places such as the Cuillin Hills and Glen Coe, or Knoydart and St Kilda. It marks the landscape as being in some way unique and worthy of national recognition.

Looking towards St Fillans and Loch Earn from Mor Bheinn

Scottish Natural Heritage’s Commissioned Report No.374 defines the special qualities of the National Scenic Areas. I think it is spot on in what it says about the River Earn NSA:

“This upper part of Strathearn lies at the conjunction of highland and lowland scenery and the variety of landscape elements that derive from this combination result in a very distinctive character of pleasing appearance.

“There is an intimacy of scale reinforced by the strong human influence of well managed farmland and woodland but the hill tops have a wild rugged character.”

Dunira, as seen from the A85 trunk road

The report identifies several of the elements that make the landscape visually pleasing:

“There is a strong textured pattern resulting from the variety of vegetation and landform. The hillsides are punctuated by rocky outcrops and patterned with heather, bracken, grass or plantation.”

East Dundurn Wood laps Mor Bheinn, the slopes warmed by the rising sun

“There are very fine strands of broadleaved trees in the form of woodlands, parklands and hedgerow plantings, and the river is alternatively swift and leisurely, open-meadowed or alder enclosed.”

A tranquil stretch of the River Earn

“Buildings are generally traditional in appearance and in tune with their surroundings.”

A house at the western end of Comrie

After further detailed analysis, the report concludes, “This is a landscape of great harmony.”
With that I concur. The place makes me happy, whether I am pottering by the river of hiking up one of the rough hills to take photographs at dawn. It touches something deep inside and makes me feel at peace.

Dawn mist over Aberuchill estate

Do you have a special place that inspires you, or a landscape where you feel relaxed and happy?

Photographing autumn colours in Comrie Woods SSSI

2011-11-24T13:50:00.000Z

As usual, I have been out and about with my camera this autumn, trying to capture the spirit of the season. In previous years I’ve travelled widely around Perthshire, but now I live in Comrie I have wonderful scenery on my doorstep.

My favourite area for wandering – with or without camera – is through the oakwoods that cover several billowing hills to the northwest of Comrie. This is the largest area of acid sessile oakwood in Perth and Kinross and is designated as a Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI). It is a distinctive type of native woodland that is found in upland areas of Scotland and contains a characterisic mix of oak, birch and moss.

The sun never climbs very high in the sky during November in Scotland. Although I dislike seeing the days grow so short, there are two advantages photographically. Firstly, the later mornings means that it is easier to get up and out in time for the sunrise and secondly the lower angle of sun during the day throws the landscape into relief.

Comrie Woods at dawn, from south of the village

Monument Wood closer up

In my wanderings I am always searching out different viewpoints. If it is sunny, I often take photographs of the woods from outside, trying to show how the rugged hills wear their covering of trees like a soft duvet.

View across a field to the oakwoods

Sometimes I use a polarising filter, which cuts out reflected light and makes the colours richer. The filter’s effect is greatest when the sun is at 90 degrees to the subject. However, the last time I used it I felt that the result was almost too lurid and only used it for one shot (see below).

Oak trees and sky through a polarising filter

Within the woods, it can be difficult to “see the wood for the trees”. There is so much detail for the eye to explore that I find it hard to isolate a simple, clear subject to focus on. Here a path can come in handy, leading the eye into the picture.

Silver birches line a path in Pollyrigg Wood

I find that choosing my shooting angle is vital to achieving a pleasing result. When the sun is striking the trees almost horizontally it can backlight the leaves, illuminating their colours. The higher contrast picks out the shape of trunk and branches.

Backlit oak tree and bracken

Sunny days have been rarer than usual in Perthshire this year. When the skies are grey I focus on details, such as individual leaves rather than on capturing a whole scene. The more even light can be good for close ups.

Oak leaves on a mossy boulder

Since moving to Comrie last year, I have climbed up various local hills to explore the viewpoints they offer. I try to anticipate what photographs I might take, but I usually discover interesting angles that I had not pre-imagined. It is a bonus to find morning mist draped around the landscape.

Comrie and its woods from Bioran Dalchonzie

Most of the leaves have now fallen from the trees and I’ll have to wait until next year to visit some autumn scenes I’ve missed. Meantime, I’m looking forward to photographing the natural world under snow and frost.

Western approach to Comrie, past Twenty Shilling Wood

Have you been out photographing autumn colours? If you have interesting images to share, please leave a link to them in comments.

Dunkeld trees and lochs walk

2011-11-20T16:00:00.000Z

Last Sunday, I had the interesting experience of revisiting, as a participant rather than leader, a walk that I had written in a guidebook. The route was from Volume 4 of Experience Big Tree Country:12 walks around Perthshire, published by Catkin Press.

Cover of Experience Big Tree Country Volume 4

Seventeen members of Strathearn Ramblers, my local walking group, were hoping to enjoy an autumn day like the one two years ago when I shot the photograph below. Instead, the weather was grey and drizzly, though we could still appreciate the magnificent soaring specimens on the Tree Trail beside the River Tay between Dunkeld Cathedral and the Hilton Dunkeld House Hotel.

Dunkeld on the banks of the River Tay in autumn

The first tree we passed was the ‘Parent Larch’, which dates from 1738 and was one of the earliest European larches planted in Scotland. It was the seed source for millions of trees planted around Dunkeld and Blair Atholl. On the other side of the path as you enter the wood is the Dunkeld Douglas fir, which has the largest girth of its species in the United Kingdom: 7 metres (23 feet).

The Parent Larch

We stopped for a coffee break at Polney Loch, below the climbing cliffs of Craig a’ Barns. The tranquil loch is always a good place for reflections of the trees rising up the steep slope above. With such a large group, it was hardly surprising that we didn’t see any of the fallow deer that frequent the woods hereabouts.

The route included a stretch of beech wood that can be particularly atmospheric in autumn. Lack of sunshine meant that the autumn colours were muted, but in the dull light the moss on trunks and boulders appeared more vivid.

Strathearn Ramblers walking through the beech wood

After our lunch stop by the wee hamlet of Fungarth, the group divided, with some going on to Loch of the Lowes and others continuing the loop back to Dunkeld. The Scottish Wildlife Trust reserve at Loch of the Lowes is famous for its nesting ospreys, but is also a good place for grebes, ducks geese and other wildfowl, as well as woodland creatures.

Loch of the Lowes in autumn

The reserve visitor centre has a full wall window looking out onto feeders where red squirrels, great spotted woodpeckers and a host of small birds visit daily. Pine martens and roe deer are also often seen, but tend to be around at dusk or after dark.

Red squirrel at Loch of the Lowes

The walk returns to Dunkeld past Craig Wood, a lovely oak wood that is a mass of bluebells in spring (usually around the second half of May).

Craig Wood is carpeted with bluebells in spring

My aim when I wrote this circuit for the guidebook was to capture a flavour of the area’s various qualities and to give walkers an opportunity to enjoy its trees and wildlife. Even on a dreich November day we enjoyed our outing and found plenty of interest.

Dunkeld is a place for all seasons, with something different to see throughout the year – the Dunkeld and Birnam Tourist Association has more information. The surrounding wooded hills offer a wonderful range of walks and give the town its own micro climate, where freezing fog often lingers in the valley bottom. I am looking forward to those winter mornings when the sun breaks through the mist to reveal a filigree of hoar frost on every twig.

Birch trees silvered with winter frost at Loch of the Lowes

Chasing the sun around Capel Curig

2011-11-16T12:22:00.000Z

I don’t normally opt out of climbing a mountain, but having pulled a leg muscle while acting as a model for action photography the day before (see previous post), I wasn’t sure whether my limp would vanish or worsen if I joined the planned walk up Snowdon.

A shorter, archaeological walk was also on offer on the Sunday of the OWPG weekend, but after 24 hours of non stop listening and talking to my fellow members, I felt I needed quiet time to take in all that we had discussed.

What better to balance my brain activity and soothe my soul than a wander through the countryside around Capel Curig? So I borrowed a map from the Plas y Brenin kit store and headed across the road to the nearest footpath.

View west towards Plas y Brenin

I followed bridleways to the north of the main road to Gelli then cut back down to the road junction in the centre of Capel Curig. To my delight I found an outdoor shop with a small café that could satisfy my mid morning urge for a coffee.

During my break the weather improved. Instead of drizzle, bursts of sunshine came through the dark clouds. I headed due east up a path rising into interesting looking country where patches of native woodland lapped up the sides of low, knobbly hills. The panorama of surrounding mountains opened up as I gained height.

Looking towards the Carneddau

The Carneddau mountains to the north were sharply delineated against a distant blue sky, but Snowdon in the south-west was lost in grey clouds. I feared that my colleagues up there were receiving a soaking.

My route took me along the south face of Clogwyn-mawr, where I had lovely views back down on Capel Curig. A sunny hole seemed to have developed over the village and I determined to try and stay within it.

Sunshine over Capel Curig with dark clouds to the west

For a while I followed the Nant y Geuallt upstream, but seeing that I was heading for more black clouds I turned south-east. A peaty path across a plateau, punctuated by a large boulder, led me down into an area of native oak woods.

Clogwym Cigfran broods under the clouds

Within the woods, the low autumn sun threw the twisted trunks into relief. I wandered around with my camera, totally lost in the pleasure of viewing and framing the scenes I saw. The stillness was only broken by a flock of long-tailed tits tumbling through the trees around me.

Wild woods – Welsh oak woodland

Although many of the trees had shed most of their leaves, there was enough foliage to give a warm autumn glow. I found that I could capture that best by shooting towards the sun, through the backlit vegetation.

The sun shines through the autumn leaves

The map showed a footbridge that provided a convenient crossing point of the Afon Llygwy, enabling me to return through the deciduous woods on the south of the river. The bridge also proved to be a marvellous viewpoint for the falls cascading down to this point.

Using the bridge parapet as my tripod, I tried a range of shutter speeds to see the effect it had on the flowing water – freezing it or creating a softer effect. Most of the shots I framed so that golden autumn woods formed a backdrop.

A shutter speed of a thirteenth of a second shows the water's movement

A narrow, muddy path along the rocky banks soon led to a track that I followed back westwards. But I couldn’t resist a short diversion into a beech wood, illuminated by the last of the afternoon sunlight. Here an angular, moss-covered boulder contrasted with the vertical stems and mass of shimmering foliage.

Boulder and beech trees – a restful autumn scene

The track led me straight to the door of Byrn-engan farmhouse, part of the Plas y Brenin accommodation, where I was staying. I had time to change out of my muddy trousers (from kneeling in damp woods), before meeting my friends who had been on rather wetter walks in the west.

Action photography at Plas y Brenin

2011-11-14T11:46:00.000Z

For the first time in years I visited Wales this autumn, for an Outdoor Writers and Photographers Guild (OWPG) weekend at Plas y Brenin, the National Mountain Centre in Snowdonia.

Plas y Brenin was established in 1955 and is based on a complex of old stone buildings with modern extensions connected by steps and steep walkways. The centre tumbles downhill – by way of a dry ski slope – to where a small river flows out of a lake.

Plas y Brenin in Capel Curing, Wales

My last visit was years ago, when I was postgraduate student studying outdoor education for a year in Bangor. We used Plas y Brenin’s small pool to practise Eskimo rolls in kayaks. Mountaineering and canoeing courses are still the mainstay, but now there is a greater range of courses, including mountain biking and nature photography.

Some 60 members of OWPG came together for our AGM plus a series of workshops and outdoor activity taster sessions. One of these was an Action Photography workshop, where Jon Sparks and Chiz Dakin went over the technical issues to consider when capturing motion before we went outside for some practical photography.

Most of the time when taking photos, I try to portray a landscape with all elements in focus (i.e. maximum depth of field). But with action shutter speed is far more important.

Trying to freeze the action – a runner by Llynnau Mymbyr

During our workshop, I started off trying to freeze the motion, but with drizzly, grey weather the light levels were too low for a fast enough shutter speed to achieve a really clear image. So I switched to a slower shutter speed and tried panning the camera to follow the movement, letting the background blur. I also experimented with flash, which helps to illuminate and sharpen up the subject while still recording a degree of motion blur.

Members of the OWPG belay each other on the Plas y Brenin indoor wall

When the rain became too heavy, we moved indoors where some our colleagues were testing themselves on the climbing wall. Here the light levels were even worse, but at least our subjects were moving more slowly (unless they fell off!).

Watching a difficult move

I upped the ISO to 1600 and, having not taken a tripod, relied on leaning against a wall to help stabilise the camera during the relatively long exposures. Camera shake was even more of a risk when I zoomed in to capture the climbers high up the wall.

Climbers near the top of the wall

The OWPG members were climbing, top-roped and fairly sedately, on the high wall. By contrast a couple of young lads who worked at Plas y Brenin were straining to accomplish impossible looking moves on the lower overhang. It was harder to record their action, but I was reasonably pleased with one or two shots.

Member of the Plas y Brenin staff tackling an overhang

The next day I went for a walk on my own around Capel Curig and explored the native woodland, which was looking glorious in the bursts of autumn sunlight – more in my next post.

Golden lining

2011-11-09T21:13:00.000Z

Sometimes there is magic in the air that makes it worth going for a walk, even in the most unpromising conditions. On Monday, Comrie was shrouded in a thick mist and I felt a damp smirr on my face when I went out in the morning.

I set off towards higher ground and above 150m began to see the sun illuminating the swirling top of the fog bank. The blanket rose and fell like a lapping sea, occasionally revealing landmarks such as Cultybraggan, the old prisoner of war camp that is now being developed for leisure, food and business use by the local community. Beyond, the Ben Halton and Mor Bheinn stood proud of the fog, their outlines crisp in the crystal clear air.

Cultybraggan Camp is momentarily revealed

I spent a while photographing larch, birch and oak trees on the fluctuating boundary between blue sky and milky haze. The sun was warm and bright, so I walked a mile or so across the ridge to gain a view over the village as the sun finally burnt off the mist.

The end of a fog bow glows between two larch trees

Back home, the sunshine only lasted a couple of hours before the fog rolled back in again. But I knew how lovely it was above, so I decided to drive Braan, our young border collie, up Glen Lednock for an afternoon walk. I had no clear objective, other than to escape the dreary conditions.

The western half of the glen was already in shade by the time I parked, so I headed across the Shaky Bridge to the eastern side. A lovely grassy track led us uphill above Carroglen, a remote farm that catches the last rays of the sun.

The track lead to a conifer plantation that I had never visited, but an open ride continued ahead. Muddy hoof prints showed that this was a red deer highway. I followed the trail, expecting fairly soon to come to the far side of the trees, but the twisting way went on and on, ever climbing.

Eventually, I found myself in a boggy, semi-open area with stunted spruce trees and peaty wallows where rutting red deer stags had anointed themselves. And there, just 20m away, was a stag watching me through the trees. It quickly moved off as I restrained Braan from following. Of course, my camera was in my rucksack at this point.

By now I felt frustrated by my loss of momentum and wanted to escape the forest before the sun set. Fortunately, I appeared to be near the edge and by backtracking a bit I managed to find a way out.

We emerged onto a hillside of burnt heather. I wasn’t sure where we were, though I could see the flanks of Ben Chonzie, our local Munro, rising on my left. Guessing that the hill in front of me was crowned by a stone circle I knew, I headed on upwards.

Braan poses at the stone circle

A rich golden light etched the scene when we arrived among the stones, only one of which is still upright. Below, fog filled Strathearn to the brim, with only a windfarm on the Ochils and the even more distant West Lomond visible in the south. The nearly full moon had already risen and its serene glow gave a sense of peace to the scene.

The treetops cut the low beams of the sun into a comb pattern

I waited and watched as the sun slowly disappeared, moving as much horizontally as vertically as it skimmed the summits. It was tempting to linger in this private and perfect world above the mist, but I knew darkness would fall quickly once I descended into it and I didn’t have a torch, never having planned to come so far.

My last sight of the sun this week?

Hurriedly, I packed up my camera and tripod and set off with Braan, hoping I could remember the route back. I certainly wasn’t going to return via the dark, peaty forest, so I was relying on my mental map of the hill tracks in this area.

Last view of the afterglow before we descended into the soup

As we traversed the smoky upper edge of the mist I had tantalising glimpses of the silhouetted hills. After entering the soupy layer, the world consisted of nearby rocks and tussocks delineating the grassy tracks along whose soft surface we jogged gently downhill.

Three miles later we arrived back at the car in the dim gloom, warm and damp after our wee adventure. I felt privileged to have experienced that sense of infinite space above the fog and to have seen the clouds fringed with gold by the setting sun.

This image will linger in my mind for a long time

Discovering the hidden nature of Comrie's own wild place

2011-05-22T17:13:00.004+01:00

Dripping wet yellow pimpernel

Here is my report on a rather wet walk we did yesterday. This is how Comrie Development Trust’s publicity advertised the event:

To celebrate Scottish Biodiversity Week we will be exploring the trees and wild flowers growing on the community owned hill land on a nature ramble led by Felicity Martin and Chris Palmer. We can expect to see May blossom, bluebells, orange-tip butterflies and a host of other wildlife.

To join the 2-hour walk, please meet at 2.30pm on Saturday, 21st May at the entrance to Cultybraggan Camp. Please bring waterproofs and be prepared for pathless, wet ground underfoot.

The ‘hill land’ is a strip of rough grazing near Cultybraggan Camp, which Comrie community bought from the Ministry of Defence along with the ex prisoner of war camp. It is on sloping ground between flat fields (improved pasture) and a hilltop wood.

Waterproofs were definitely needed as it was pouring with rain for the whole time we were out. Surprisingly, the seven strong band who braved the conditions stayed out half an hour longer than planned.

Everyone was very impressed by the sheer biodiversity of the area, with a much larger range of wildflowers than we were expecting. The area appears not to have been fertilised, reseeded or generally ‘improved’ – regimes that would kill off many native plants that thrive in nutrient poor soils.

The hill land is a mix of marshes and drier, grassy areas with scattered trees. The presence of woodland wildflowers – such as bluebell and wood sorrel – in the grassy areas suggests that they were probably once wooded. But because the area is grazed by sheep, these plants are very stunted compared to those over the fence in the adjacent wood.

Driving rain and saturated vegetation meant that we saw no butterflies and few birds, but several small frogs. The real stars of the show were the wildflowers. We identified (with varying degrees of certainty!) 50 species, plus 15 species of tree, several of which were also in flower. Different species will appear as spring turns into summer – we saw a lot of plants not yet in flower that we couldn’t identify by leaf alone.

So more nature rambles are needed if we are to catalogue the secrets of this wonderful wild place.

Returning across the lower marshy area

Here is our list of wildflowers and trees:

WILDFLOWERS

Marsh lousewort

Wood cranesbill
Daisy
Dandelion
Tansy
Tufted vetch
Germander speedwell
Yarrow
Lesser stitchwort
Tormentil
Raspberry
Burdock?
Forget-me-knot
Buttercup
Ribwort plantain
Marsh marigold
Water mint
Wavy bittercress
Large bittercress
Field vetchling?
Sheep’s sorrel
Water chickweed
Marsh St John’s Wort?
Smith’s pepperwort?
Broom
Bird’s foot trefoil
Heath spotted orchid
Silverweed
Bluebell
Lady’s mantle
Primrose
Hogweed
Perennial cornflower
Stinging nettle
Herb Robert
Opposite leaved golden saxifrage
Yellow pimpernel
Pignut
Common Violet
Wood sorrel
Cuckoo flower
Lousewort
Bog asphodel?
Bog stitchwort?
Marsh violet
Fleabane?
Wild strawberry
Meadowsweet
Butterwort
Marsh lousewort
Northern marsh orchid?
Bugle
TREES
Hawthorn
Alder
Oak
Goat willow
Silver birch
European larch
Rowan
Crab apple
Sweet chestnut
Blackthorn
Eared willow
Ash
Sycamore
Bird cherry
Gean

Scottish scientists shocked as wild wallabies go white in winter

2011-04-01T08:01:00.001+01:00

Wildlife experts in Scotland have discovered that naturalised wallabies have adapted to snowy Highland conditions by turning white in winter.

The speed at which the creatures have adapted to their new environment – poles apart from their native Australia – has surprised scientists.

Within a few generations of escaping and breeding in the wild, wallabies have developed the ability to change the colour of their coats twice a year.

In autumn, their normal brown coat grows thick and white. In spring, the white fur moults and they return to their natural colour.

This adaptation mirrors that of the mountain hare and ptarmigan, which have evolved over thousands of years to survive in snow-covered landscapes where a dark-coloured coat would make them highly visible to predators, such as the golden eagle.

Even the young of wild-living Highland wallabies develop coats of pure white as they grow within their mother's pouch.

Hill walkers and cross-country skiers are being asked to help scientists find out how far these specially-adapted wallabies have spread by reporting any sightings to april1@btinternet.com.

Strathearn businesses team up in fitness venture

2011-03-26T22:13:00.001Z

Two Comrie-based businesswomen have hit on an innovative collaboration to encourage more people to get fit outdoors amid Perthshire’s glorious scenery. Fran Loots of Breathing Space Outdoors is running a series of Nordic Walking workshops, based on walks in Felicity Martin’s Experience Big Tree Country guidebooks, which are published by Catkin Press.

The Nordic Walking workshops are running on the last Friday of each month, starting at 9:30am and finishing by 12:30pm. Led by Fran, who is an International Nordic Walking Association qualified instructor, they are suitable both for beginners and those with previous experience.

The first workshop was on Friday, March 25 in Braco, where Fran and Felicity guided the group around a 19th century designed landscape and Ardoch Roman Fort. It is an opportunity to improve fitness and burn calories, while learning about the beautiful surroundings.

Nordic Walking exercises the whole body, working 90% of muscles by walking with specially designed fitness poles. Tension in back, shoulder, and arm muscles is released, and the spine strengthened – this can help to ease back pain. Nordic walking also provides an excellent cardiovascular workout and improves endurance.

If you would like to join a workshop or find our more about Nordic, please contact Fran on 01764 670541 or email fran@breathingspaceoutdoors.com.

Felicity's walk guidebooks are available from Catkin Press. Each of the four volumes describe 12 of the best walks around Perthshire Big Tree Country.

Dramatic thaw causes flooding

2011-01-15T23:18:00.002Z

A sudden rise in temperature and heavy rain has caused serious flooding in Perthshire with rivers across Scotland rising and threatening to break their banks.

Fields that had a thick covering of snow and ice a couple of days ago are now mini lagoons. Where there is a slope, the water is forming new streams that are gushing onto and flooding roads.

The first river to flood was the Earn in west Perthshire (shown above at Kinkell Bridge, near Auchertarder this afternoon). This was followed by the Almond, just to the north.

SEPA (Scottish Environmental Protection Agency) is responsible for issuing flood warnings. As well giving Severe Flood Warnings for the Earn and Almond, they are currently listing 9 Flood Warnings, mainly for the Tay and its tributaries, and a further 17 (less urgent) Flood Watches across Scotland.

Live Flood Updates on SEPA's website show the current status. From March 2011, they will be using new, much more easily understood symbols, which make it clearer what action is needed - see here.

For a light-hearted look at the latest weather around the Strathearn part of Perthshire, and to find out how it is affecting roads, see Windy Wilson's weather updates on Facebook.