Full circle. We’ve come full circle. Trekking has been my family’s only past time: it’s understandable if, like homing pigeons, we felt its call, the urge to get up and go, shoulder the pack and get out early, when it’s still chilly and no one’s about.
It could be earlier, I lament to myself. There are some cars already in the parking lot and the sun is already above the ridge lines, painting the flanks of the hills gold. Back then we’d have said that we were late.
A trail loops the Glen Affric, starting with an inviting slope leading to the water’s edge. Light flows between the trees, still nude at this tail end of winter. Walking between them we can glimpse the loch, the glacial valley around it, the ancient mountains that surround it from all sides. We walk rapidly, soles scraping the gravel of the path, water rumbling in the background and fronds rustling in the wind.
The path is large and dry and we’re happy about it. Our shoes, trousers and gear are still caked in the mud of yesterday’s trail. Rain, sleet and the thawing snow turned Meall Fuar-mhonaidh into 1917 Somme.
Not today, not here. We talk intermittently, hands sunk in pockets and faces behind zipped-up jackets. We chat as we walk down the path at a brisk pace, waiting for the sun to shine like he means it, and for our bodies to build up the required heat.
The Glen Affric trail is long but not steep, an 18-km loop coasting the lochs, rising and falling with the whims of orography, weaving in and out of thickets of ancient scot pines, past rust-red ferns and venerably old mountains eroded by eons of wind. It’s what we wanted: long, quiet, isolated and as different from London as it can be without leaving the country (back then, in early March, travel was still possible but getting sketchier by the day).
A battle – or, rather, a series of skirmishes, of ambushes – was fought here in 1721, firefights in these woods between the Ross clan and the joined forces of the MacKenzie and MacRae. It’s the wobbly lid of the Pandora’s box that is Scottish history with its endless chain of rebellions, domestic strife and blood feuds too nebulous to navigate without a detailed flow chart. XVIII century Scotland wasn’t that far from today’s Middle East.
A handsome lodge sits pretty on a rocky promontory abutting the loch. Nothing flashy, just solid, florid, well-built and impeccably kept; the kind of place where I dream to weather this quarantine, writing my memoirs whilst the venison stew slow cooks in the kitchen and the dogs snooze in warm pools of light coming from the south-facing windows.
Dream on, I tell myself as I walk past, coasting the fences that protect fragile woods from over-enthusiastic deer and sheep. Woody Guthrie might’ve sang “This land’s your land” but what’s true for the redwood forests to the Gulf stream ain’t valid for Scotland.
No one knows exactly who owns what in Scotland. Holyrood launched, in 2014, a 10-year-project to map land ownership in the nation but, halfway through the lifetime of the initiative, barely a third of the country’s ownership map has been completed. Still, there’s enough evidence to suggest that my lodge-ownership dreams are destined to stay in a drawer for the foreseeable future. There’s Green MSP Andy Wightman’s estimates, according to which half of Scotland’s rural land is owned by less than 450 people. There’s the fact that 87 families possess a chunk of the country bigger than Kuwait. And that less than 3% of Scotland is community owned.
Glen Affric is not different. Over the years it passed hands between people with kilometric pedigrees: from Dudley Marjoribanks – a.k.a. Lord Tweedmouth – to the 6th Earl of Portsmouth to Viscount Marmaduke Furness. Today the lodge belongs to one David Williams, whose son James happens to be married to Pippa Middleton, Prince William’s sister-in-law.
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At times it feels as if the views were Jurassic. As if, from behind the canopy of these ageless pines, the head of a brontosaurus could emerge, chewing on a branch. It’s just for a second, enough for a bank of clouds to roll in, trailing wind and rain in their wake. Then you’re in an endless bog.
Traipsing in a bog is a miserable experience. Traipsing in a bog whilst being lashed by cold rain face-on is even worse. Eventually, mercifully, the clouds crab-walked away and the views returned to be, to borrow from our American friends, aww-some.
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Strawberry cottage had the name the cannibalistic witch would’ve given to the marzipan house where she lured Hansel and Gretel. The reality is simpler, more rugged, void of human presence. A trail uncoiled in the distance. Another descended from the snowy flank of Beinn Fadha.
The wind picks up as we round the loch, alone and snacking on the dried fruit we’ve taken with us. A hut sits near the water edge and a herd of deer follow their stag up the woods, away from us. In that moment I felt the same sense of satisfaction, of content isolation, that filled me up on the Altiplano, where Argentina, Chile and Bolivia all rushed to meet each other in an embrace that no one but us was there to witness. Atahualpa Yupanqui began singing in my mind.
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The road climbs on, through the woods and back out in the open. We smile and carry on.
I’ve never been to Scotland, but see that I must get there one day. As you say the views are awwww-some despite the weather, as are your photos.
Alison
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Thanks Alison, hope you get to go there. It’s a great part of the UK and people are fantastic too.
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Thanks Alison! Hope you manage to get there, Scotland is great and the Scots are great as well.
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Really, really, a lovely piece. Nice feeling and environment. Bravo! 🙂
Marco
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Thanks!
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There is always a bit of psyching up to do before heading outside in Scotland. I never got to do a long hike during my time there, but the shorter ones that I did were rewarding.
The photos are magnificent.
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Thanks Julie! In fairness I’d love to have done a multi-day trek in that weather, in that environment…
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I’ve traipsed through lots of mud in my life; it looks like it was worth the effort on your hike. I didn’t expect to see all those snowy mountains. Gorgeous scenery.
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Me neither, in fairness. It was almost Icelandic… just without salty licorice. Thanks for reading Caroline!
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It looks like a great place for an early season hike. I can feel the chilly air in your pictures. So are you hiking on private land or is there a park?
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It was partially private land with free access from the public; it’s surprisingly frequent over in Scotland, although the concentration of ownership is quite bad.
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We have never been to Scotland so it was interesting to see your beautiful photos of the landscape there and to read your well written post. Sounds and looks like a great hike.
Peta
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Hi Peta, it was indeed and I’d like to go out there for more, maybe a multi-day one…. tent and all. Who knows.
Fabrizio
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I needed to be transported to this incredible sky-land today – thank you! Magnificent. Have you seen the documentaries about sculptor Andy Goldsworthy ? I adore his work and the life he has made in country like that. (I think he is in Scotland, in fact.)
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Hi Tricia, thanks for reading. I haven’t seen that documentary, what’s its name?
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The first one was River & Tides – if you don’t know his work, a good one to watch first and because it makes the 2nd one – at least 10 or more years later, even more interesting to watch – you know – time! Leaning into the Wind is more recent. Almost a love letter to the landscape of … pretty sure it’s Scotland – at least pretty far north in UK. I’d say he’s my favorite living sculptor – stunning stuff.
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Great Tricia, will check ‘em out!!
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When my younger self learned about the original name of Scotland (Alba), I immediately thought of my watch back then — an Alba which is a brand owned by the Japanese watch manufacturer, Seiko. Nothing Scottish here. But my true interest in Scotland began when I found out that the language is so different from English, about its raw landscape, and how its people are more keen on remaining in the EU. But I digress. I love those shots of the snow-capped mountains, Fabrizio.
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Thanks Bama. Indeed Scotland makes a point of being different from “the English”… and in a sense they are, especially from the north. I was staggered by the number of “Yes” stickers for IndyRef 2 that were plastered on cars and even boats!
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OMG, Glen Affric. I lost a dear friend late last year, and this was her beloved stomping ground. Long, quiet, isolated, indeed. And you were lucky to find a dry path. The images are breathtaking and have me longing to follow in your footsteps along the trail. I feel blessed to have spent a few moments virtually with you here today—definitely Pinnable and Tweetable.
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Thanks Lisa for reading… Who knew?! I hope it’s been a nice reading and that it brought good memories of your friend, and sorry about your loss.
BTW, not very ‘millennial’ of me to say that… but I have never understood what pinterest is all about!
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For me, Pinterest is a visual scrapbook of my travel dreams, and that is why I added your image to my book! Someday, I am going to Glen Affric. You brought great memories of my friend back to me. Thank you for your supportive words.
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Thanks for the explanatoon Lisa! 🙂 hope you do get there.
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I think there’s an equation somewhere that defines Dramatic = Scottish Highlands. And unexpected too, it’s not the sort of place one expects when thinking UK. Who knew there were snow clad mountains? Lovely pics, and well written as always.
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Indeed, I honestly wasn’t expecting them either, especially as they barely got to 1000 meters. Thanks for reading Dave.
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The story of who owns the land is the same no matter what the country. Loving your shots of Scotland. Wishing you well.
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Thanks a lot BT! Hope you’re doing well too.
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Great post and photos!
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Thanks!!!
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A nice read! Big skies, skudding clouds, a ruggedly beautiful backdrop… there’s not much more I’m wanting. Oh, go on, then- throw some sunshine in 🙂 🙂
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Thanks Jo! Sorry about the sunshine, wished there was some more..
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