Atop Mountains High
Back in April, I ventured to Scotland - and at last I’ve had the time to write about my adventure. Enjoy!
The train had become empty now. Dense coniferous woodland obscured my view, with the occasional glimpses of hidden valleys with churning waterfalls and moss-covered rocks. The carriage emerged from the woods, the trees giving way to an expansive loch, the mountains in the distance reflected in the still water with the evening light shining gold across the scene. It was a chocolate box image, one made from fairy tales. Yet it was real - and I was looking at it. I won’t lie when I say I stopped myself from shedding a tear or two.
I had begun my day in London, dragging around three pieces of luggage from train to train. Heaving my bags amongst the crowds, the excitement for my journey was outweighed momentarily by the thought of having to navigate my way through the bustling stations. Yet I still found myself lost in the buzz of it all – a city alive and flowing with people all with their own lives. It all reminds me vaguely of a river, all constant motion, everyone moving like shoals of fish.
I love to visit; yet each time part of me longs to leave.
The contrast from my morning scenery of grey concrete and skies, (sat sipping at a far too sickly-sweet hot chocolate in Kings Cross) to snow-covered mountains and towering pines was quite unlike anything I had experienced. The change in scenery was both a gradual one yet all at once. Soft grassy fields teeming with sheep and dotted with sparse trees became vast heathland and dense forest. As dusk drew in, roe deer and hare populated the landscape – unbothered by the thundering hunk of metal speeding past. I had arrived in Scotland.
Pulling in to Aviemore, I was greeted by one of my close friends, Carys – we hadn’t seen each other since October, and before that it had been quite a few years. For the week, I’d be staying with her and her family in a house in Grantown on Spey, about a twenty-minute journey from Aviemore.
Despite feeling rather shattered from my journey, I was buzzing – a week of exploring lay ahead, and I felt restless and eager to experience as much of what Scotland had to throw at me.
Morning light at Anagach Woods, Grantown-on-Spey.
Where we were staying happened to be a few minute walk to Anagach Woods, which we soon realised you could spend a whole lifetime exploring. We ended up spending much of our time within these woodlands, given their proximity and the wildlife on offer here. Roe deer, red squirrels, herons, goosander, treecreepers are just a few of the species we saw. The seemingly endless landscape opportunities had us overwhelmed, every tree draped in a cloak of moss and lichen, bejewelled with the occasional fungus. When the morning light fell through, I was reminded once more of a charming chocolate box picture.
The red squirrels were one of the target species on our trip – well, they’re everyone’s when coming to Scotland! How can you resist?
The heron we were photographing before it got spooked!
On a wander around the lake at Anagach, we ended up chatting to one of the locals (after he accidentally spooked the heron we were photographing, he was very apologetic) who informed us that there was a feeding station about ten minutes from town where you could get some very good photography opportunities with red squirrels. We got out Google maps to confirm location, then planned for the next two mornings to be at the feeding station.
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Coal tit photographed at the feeding station.
The first morning, as so often is the case, was unsuccessful in terms of red squirrels. Though we did see plenty of coal tits, chaffinches, treecreepers, a pair of woodpeckers, siskins, and many others. Coal tits are one of my personal favourites so it was a treat seeing so many – I spent some time trying to grab a photograph of one, but with them being so quick and the morning slightly overcast I did not get any award-winning shots. I try and think of getting a good photograph as a bonus when it comes to wildlife photography, that way if you don’t get any at least you know you had a good time being outside.
The second morning proved to be a lot more successful!
The squirrels did not arrive until we decided to call it a morning. We had been using the car as a hide, and it was as we were about to drive away did I happen to look up and spy a very distinguishable silhouette resting high in the branches.
‘Squirrel!’ I yelled in a hushed tone, camera in position. The squirrel darted across the branches – lithe and nimble, it manoeuvred through the pines with an acrobats grace, a master of its domain. Although it sounds rather obvious, I did not expect red squirrels to be as red as they are, and it was amazing how quickly something so vibrantly coloured could disappear from view.
The squirrels really put on a show that morning, posing and chasing each other across the canopy and round the tree trunks. They truly proved just how charismatic they can be! One such squirrel decided that a great place to hideaway in was one of the feeders, and it remained in there for quite some time.
These three kept us very entertained!
A very obliging red squirrel posed for us.
Red squirrels have their fortress in Scotland, though there are small pockets of them scattered across the UK. They were, like many species, once widespread yet due to habitat fragmentation and competition from grey squirrels their numbers have dwindled. As well as being that much larger, grey squirrels also carry squirrelpox, which does not harm them but is often fatal to the reds.
Thankfully much work is continuing to be accomplished to protect and conserve the red squirrel and its habitat. There are many organisations, charities, and trusts working towards safeguarding the species for future generations. Here are just a few links to some I found;
Home - Red Squirrel Survival Trust (rsst.org.uk)
Red squirrels project | Cumbria Wildlife Trust
Although we only managed to get one of the Scottish Big Five (red deer, otter, red squirrel, golden eagle and harbour seal) the sheer abundance and diversity of wildlife was unlike anywhere else I had been in the UK.
Brown hares were aplenty here, frequently we spotted them out the car window, hunkered down in their forms or darting across the fields. Lapwings populated the skies, and we saw all manner of waterfowl along the lochs. As dusk fell, roe deer emerged from the tree lines, small groups of them grazing together as the light faded.
In Anagach woods, many of the locals we spoke with mentioned the number of roe deer in the area. Both Carys and I learnt quickly how true this was – on a sunrise session as we were heading in, a buck lifted his head from the grasses. He swept his gaze over us, we were merely another human in his life, nothing out of the ordinary to him. Yet for us he would become a treasured memory, a brief encounter with the extraordinary.
He continued his walk with a flick of his ear, unphased by us gawping at him. We did not manage to get a photograph as by the time we went to change our lenses, he had already melted back into the woods.
Although we didn’t glimpse the buck again, on one evening I went back to see if I could capture a photograph of one of the roe deer. We had found plenty of signs of deer and had numerous locals telling us they saw them regularly, so I knew that if I timed it right I would see one, maybe even photograph one. I took my time when I set off, pausing regularly, listening, and observing everything. I circled round the lake, mesmerised by the just how still it was, made even more beautiful by the sunset painting the sky all manner of bright colours. The quiet was interrupted by two red squirrels, the branches rattling as they leapt and chased each other across the treetops. The mallards then began quacking as they spotted people approaching the lake, feeding time for them. I headed off deeper into the woods.
It did not take me long to meet a roe deer; although we were both surprised to see each other so she ran before I managed a photograph. I had reached a point in the path where I could either head towards home or explore that little longer. I chose the obvious – to continue my evening adventure.
Like the buck from the other morning, she was unphased by me. The light had more or less gone now, if I hadn’t been purposefully looking for deer I would not had noticed her – blending in so well with the blue-black twilight, not so much as stirring a leaf. The elegance that deer hold is nothing short of magic, it’s easy to see why they’re popular in stories of fairies and folklore. Silently, I raised my camera to snap the photograph before leaving her be.
The light had more or less gone when I snapped this photograph - a high ISO and keeping as steady as possible meant I managed one picture to remember the moment.
It wasn’t the last time I’d have such an encounter. Our last evening, myself, Carys and her mum, Alison, decided that we would see the deer again. Alison had only briefly seen them out the car window, she wanted to see one up close. We headed to where I had seen the deer the previous evening, roughly around the same time too, and met an empty patch of forest. Instead of leaving disheartened, we ventured further towards the River Spey in the hopes of spying deer or even, if very lucky, otter.
There was no otter to be seen, yet deer roamed between the trees beyond the river, dark outlines seamlessly moving between the shadows. The river was wide, yet the water moved softly over the stones, quietly murmuring. Campervans lined the layby besides the river, some still with their lights on, and I remember feeling envious that they would wake up to such serenity.
The light had begun to rapidly fade, so we decided to head home. Then, as we came to the woods: there she was – a small roe, practically on the path. We hesitated for a few moments, unsure as to whether us going past would spook her. She seemed, like many of the deer, relatively uninterested so we decided to approach her, walking only a little slower than normal. She had moved off the path a little by the time we got to her; we were only 3 meters or so away now, her ears twitching as we spoke in excited hushed whispers. The deer had obliged in granting Alison’s wish to see one – and so close too. Gradually, the roe made her way deeper into the undergrowth, disappearing to continue her evening, unknowingly having made the day for three very happy humans.
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A stunning male snow bunting.
I could write forever about my adventure in Scotland – everything from snow buntings and frogs galore, to one of the tastiest takeaway curries I’ve eaten and drinking Prosecco in pint glasses. The wildlife was unlike that of anywhere else I’d been in the UK, and served as a reminder of just how nature depleted other parts of the country are. We need to do more before it gets a lot worse.
The backdrop for all this wildlife was utterly bewitching. I’m trying to think of the words to describe it all, but I don’t think writing nor imagery can bring this place to light. Perhaps one of the closest pieces of writing you could get to describing the landscape of Scotland is from Nan’s Shepherd book, The Living Mountain:
‘The mountain is one and indivisible, and rock, soil, water, and air are no more integral to it than what grows from the soil and breathes the air. All are aspects of one entity, the living mountain. The disintegrating rock, the nurturing rain, the quickening sun, the seed, the root, the bird – all are one. ’
The Cairngorms.
Although beautiful in all manner of ways, Scotland is still not without its issues. Like many places, litter is abundant. On one of the roads alongside Loch Ness, the amount of rubbish we bore witness to alongside laybys were astounding and not what you’d expect to see. Tyres, crisp packets, bottles of spring water and sweet wrappers lined the water banks and roadside – plastic that will inevitably end up in our ecosystem, but that is a whole other blog post for another day.
It was really quite surreal when coming back home – snowdrops had not all yet fully bloomed in Scotland, yet along the hedgerows and verges of Cornwall they had long since gone. Now, wild garlic had begun to sprout, the early signs of cowslips and bluebells, lilies of the valley and cuckoo pint. I’d skipped a season, time-travelled – the thought made me laugh.