Shared Stories. A year in the Cairngorms. An anthology
Cairngorms NATIONAL PARK Pàirc Nàiseanta a’ Mhonaidh Ruaidh
SHARED STORIES
A Year in the Cairngorms
An Anthology
Edited by Anna Fleming Merryn Glover
SHARED STORIES
A Year in the Cairngorms
An Anthology
Edited by Anna Fleming Merryn Glover
CAIRNGORMS NATIONAL PARK AUTHORITY SCOT CREATIVE LAND
UGHDARRAS PAIRC NAISEANTA A’ MHONAIDH RUAIDH WOODLAND TRUST ALBA CHRUTHACHAIL
First produced 2019 by the Cairngorms National Park Authority, 14 The Square, Grantown PH26 3HG
The authors’ right to be identified as an author of this book under the Copyright, Patents and Designs Act 1988 has been asserted.
Printed and bound by Groverprint & Design, Newtonmore
Designed by Victoria Barlow Designs
Cover image by Steffan Gwyn
This book is available by donation to the Cairngorms Trust. See the back of the anthology for information about the Trust’s work.
A PDF edition is available at www.cairngorms.co.uk
Cairngorms National Park Authority 2019
Contents
Introduction 5 How to use this Book 9 The Cairngorms Lyric 11
APPROACH 13
A Rocky Beginning Jane Mackenzie 14 Blastie morning Isabell Sanderson 15 Conspectus Alec Finlay 16 Coorying behind a cairn Nancy Chambers 20 Snowy kippen up Cairn Toul Lucy Grant 21 Embodiment Samantha Walton 22 First Awake Ronnie Mackintosh 24
HERE 25
The High Tongue Merryn Glover 26 Braeriach Anna Fleming .30 It’s blastie in the mountains Emma Jones 33 Cairngorms seen from Loch Morlich Anna Filipek 34 Avon (Ath-fhinn) Ryan Dziadowiec 35 Mither Dee Mary Munro 36 Regeneration Neil Reid 37 Into the Mountain Neil Reid 38 A‑slop, a‑squelch, a‑splorrach Victoria Myles 41 Bàideanach Moira Webster 42
LEAVES AND BEASTIES 45
Weaving High Worlds Linda Cracknell 46 Redpolls and siskins Carolyn Robertson 49 The bird song is nothing Xander Johnston .50 Lepus timidus Lynn Valentine 51 Robin Julia Duncan 52 Four Lyrics Anon 54 Birch and Rowan Hazel Eleanor Rose 55 Capercaillie Tavia 56 La Mosca de Glen Tanar Eunice Janssen 57 The Birch Katy Turton 58 There is unexpected beauty Eileen Sutherland 59 Gean leaves reddening Jane Macaulay 60
LIVING 61
sixty two words for rainy weather Amanda Thomson 62 Caul in the Gorms Grant Moir 65 The Black Spout Malcolm Duckworth 66 Shut up, ye blethering haver Cara McCubbin 68 Living in the Wilds Ruth Edward 69 Sitting on the grey water Anon 70 Glen Ey Interglacial Mike Wilkes 71 My feet squelched Eoin Jones 72 The Dweller and the Guest Karen Hodgson Pryce 73 Winter Roost Adam Streeter-Smith 75 I feel free Anon 76 Love Lynn Cassells 77 Atop the cnoc Catriona Clubb 78
Author Biographies 80 Acknowledgements 82 The Cairngorms Trust 83
Introduction MERRYN GLOVER
It’s a very powerful thing to fall in love. Lynn Cassells, p 77
This book is a story of the heart. It is a collection of writings from very different people with one thing in common: their interactions with the rocky heart of Scotland, the Cairngorms. As you will see, it is what Nan Shepherd called ‘a traffic of love’.
The anthology arises from the 2019 project Shared Stories: A Year in the Cairngorms. Organised and part-funded by the Cairngorms National Park Authority, with additional funding from the Woodland Trust and Creative Scotland, the project set out to encourage people to write creatively about how we and nature thrive together. As the first Writer in Residence for the Cairngorms National Park, my role was to facilitate this work through a varied programme of activities taking me all over the bens and glens of the Cairngorms and into the company of countless folk. There were open workshops in three locations, drop-ins at the Cairngorms Nature Big Weekend and Forest Fest, and workshops with schools, rangers, health walk groups, educators, land-based workers, outdoor instructors and Park volunteers. We invited everyone to the table and welcomed every voice.
Throughout the year, rich conversations emerged about people’s experiences of the natural world of the Cairngorms, whether they were born-and-bred locals, settlers or tourists passing through. Inevitably, there are as many perspectives as there are people. There can be controversy and conflicts of interest across the National Park, but the space for shared creative activity enabled us to exchange views with open-ness and interest, rather than argument.
The groups I attended had some really great insights into the landscape, nature and ways of life that I had not seen before. BLAIR ATHOLL PARTICIPANT
A Year in the Cairngorms | 5
6 Most people claim to value nature, to see it as both beautiful and necessary, but most of us have blind spots about the ways in which we threaten it. A key element of the project, therefore, was to address blind spots. Not by exposing ignorance or harmful lifestyles, but by turning the focus the other way and opening our eyes to nature: encouraging us to peer deeply, to pay attention, to discover the complexity and wonder of the world around. We appealed to the senses, going outside wherever possible to tune into the sights, smells, sounds and feelings of a place. Sometimes I spread forest finds across a table – moss, lichen, leaves, stones and branches – and we focused on one small thing. Much like Linda Cracknell in Weaving High Worlds on page 46, people discovered infinite dimensions.
Attending the Shared Stories workshops changed the way I appreciated the Cairngorms. I saw a richness of colour and depth of texture that had previously passed me by. BALLATER PARTICIPANT
But more than just discovery, the project invited people to capture their encounters in words. In trying to find the right words, we are forced to pay even closer attention and move beyond assumptions. What exactly is the colour of that sky – here, now? How surprising that this clump of earthy moss smells like medicine, not dirt. And when we make attention a habit – a way of being in the world – we begin to notice how astonishing, how precious and how vulnerable nature is. Alec Finlay in Conspectus, page 16 talks of ‘the power of looking.’ We become aware of what is here, what is lost and what is on the brink. It becomes a gaze of love. And, I hope, of committed action. We will look after what we love.
Thank you for opening our eyes and ears. | Shared Stories KINGUSSIE PARTICIPANT
An important thread through Shared Stories has been the celebration of languages. In the workshops, we explored the Gaelic, Scots and Pictish place names of the Cairngorms, along with the rich lexicon of local words for the outdoors. Amanda Thomson’s A Scots Dictionary of Nature was an inspirational source, as you will see from her sixty two words for rainy weather on page 62 Early in the year, I invented the poetic form the Cairngorms Lyric (page 11) which proved a dynamic tool for enabling all kinds of people to capture a Cairngorms moment while also enjoying language diversity. Folks were delighted to discover they could write the entire Lyric in their own language and I was delighted in turn to hear many different languages joining the Shared Stories throng. That is why a Spanish Lyric is included in this collection, along with poems in Gaelic and Doric.
Being able to use my own language makes me feel I belong. ABERNETHY PARTICIPANT
A fundamental aspect of the project has been the sharing of the stories. This always happened in the workshops, of course, but also spilled out onto eight banners displayed in Local Information Centres across the Park. We held an open mic night as part of the new Badenoch Festival in September, drawing both workshop participants and others to tell their tales. In addition, we encouraged input from anybody, anywhere, who would like to express their Cairngorms nature encounters, and these pieces – from as far afield as the US and Australia – appear on our project blog: sharedstoriescairngorms. tumblr.com It has been exciting, too, to see Shared Stories activities in other contexts, such as RSPB’s Sarah Walker getting Junior Rangers to write Cairngorms Lyrics at Insh Marshes.
For me, it has been a year of gifts. I have learnt so much from my own traffic with this place and its people and have a head humming with experiences, images and words. Some of these have taken shape in A Year in the Cairngorms | 7
8 my blog about the project, Writing the Way, and others are emerging as poems, but much of it if will continue to find voice in the years to come, I am sure. For this store of treasure, I am deeply grateful.
This anthology, therefore, seeks to capture the range of voices and experiences that have responded to Shared Stories: A Year in the Cairngorms. The work here spans young children to a woman in her 80s; academics to farmers; ‘locals’ to visitors. There are works commissioned from four professional authors and anonymous pieces found amongst papers at the end of drop-in workshops; there are poems and prose pieces; serious reflections and comic encounters; enduring memories and luminous visions.
Throughout, these voices express the shared sense that we, in our humanity, are part of nature and integral to this place. In the earth’s thriving, is our own thriving; in the well-being of the Cairngorms environment, is the well-being of its community. As Samantha Walton says in Embodiment, page 22 ‘How rare to be alive to all this’.
We invite you to celebrate with us this shared life – and this shared love – of the Cairngorms. Shared Stories
How to use this Book ANNA FLEMING
Within these pages, you will find a variety of poetry and prose. There are stories of joy and curiosity, moments of fear and lyrical descriptions of deep reverence.
The book is arranged into four thematic sections. Approach features discovery, beginnings and routes into the Cairngorms. Here focuses on specific places, including mountains and rivers, and ways of depicting them, such as through place names and stories. Leaves and Beasties looks at the more-than-human life in plants, animals, birds and insects. Finally, Living explores the texture of daily life in the Park, with writing on weather, adventure, love and neighbours. While the book is carefully arranged, you can read it in any order. Dip in and out. Find the pieces that speak to you and come back to them.
We would like you to see this anthology as a guide to your explorations of the Cairngorms National Park. Through the words here, you will find company: people who have trodden the path before you; someone else who has gazed on a rowan or an ant; or a person whose experience and perspective lies far beyond your own. Words come to life when you read them aloud. Read parts with friends, your dog, your family or even a nearby tree. Enjoy the sounds of the words. Feel them shape your tongue. Make your own mountain voice. Take this book out to the hills and woods or bring the Cairngorms indoors.
We hope the anthology helps you to see old things in new ways and new things in different ways. Play with language. Be inspired. Have a go at making your own creative responses to the incredible world we live in. A Year in the Cairngorms | 9
10 Suggested activities Teachers, outdoor instructors, rangers and group facilitators can use this anthology for Outdoor Learning and experiences.
Select a few pieces to read outdoors or in the classroom. Discuss: • How do the writers capture their experiences? • What do you find surprising? • How does one piece compare to another?
Think about the structure of this anthology. We chose the thematic sections: APPROACH, HERE, LEAVES and BEASTIES, AND LIVING. • Do you think some of the pieces would fit in a different section? • How else could the book have been organised? • Can you think of different thematic headings?
Make your own creative responses to the words, ideas and images. Try drawing, painting, collage, dance or acting. For instance, how could you perform Amanda Thomson’s sixty two words for rainy weather?
Write your own Cairngorms Lyrics. an interactive Use the anthology alongside Literary Landscapes map and resource on place names, culture, nature and heritage in the Cairngorms. Literary Landscapes can be found on the Cairngorms National Park website.
For more activities and resources visit: https://cairngorms.co.uk/caring-future/education/ Shared Stories
The Cairngorms Lyric This is a new kind of poem invented for Shared Stories: A Year in the Cairngorms. It is inspired by forms like the Japanese Haiku and the American Sentence, but unique to the Cairngorms. A ‘Lyric’ is a poetic form that expresses personal feelings but includes a wide range of styles and structures.
The Cairngorms Lyric is made up of • fifteen words* • an element of nature from the Cairngorms • a word or name of non-English origin (e.g. Pictish, Scots and Gaelic place-names)
It can be in any language. It can be any line length, number of lines, number of sentences and punctuation. It can include rhyme or not and can have a title, including or in addition to the 15 words.
You will find a growing number of Cairngorms Lyrics online as well as a selection in this anthology, including the connected series The High Tongue by Merryn Glover.
Read through the selection in this anthology, follow the steps above and have a go at writing your own!
- 15 words because: the Park was established in 2003. It includes 5 local authorities. It has 5 of the 6 highest mountains in Scotland: Ben Macdui, Braeriach, Cairn Toul, Sgor an Lochain Uaine, Cairn Gorm Its waters flow into 5 of Scotland’s most famous rivers. The Spey, The Dee, The Don, The Tay and The Esk 3 x 5 = 15 A Year in the Cairngorms | 11
12 Shared Stories
APPROACH A Year in the Cairngorms | 13
14 A Rocky Beginning Shared Stories The first time I walked in the Cairngorms, I almost didn’t. We took a ‘shortcut’ straight up the route of the ski-lift at Glenshee, on scudding scree, and unforgiving shale, with knees frail and heart protesting. I turned back twice, heaving my breath in ragged rasps; not my idea of leisure. Then staggering, over the burst lip, an atlas unfurled to the horizon, ancient gods stretching out their calloused hands, to greet mine, inviting me onward in unutterable tongues. JANE MACKENZIE
On a blastie morning we gather to wander through the woods watching squirrels at play ISABELL SANDERSON A Year in the Cairngorms | 15
Conspectus ALEC FINLAY Where are we? It’s a question that matters to some people more than others. There are climbers who will spend days in a fever climbing peaks whose names they don’t know. In the pub the hikers tell their route, placing the salt and pepper shaker. Remember to turn left at the fork. Names are what’s needed to get you to and from the car park. The riskier a journey is the more names it has. There are traditional poems in the Hebrides which list sailor’s landmarks. Each reef and skerry needed a name. Even today Ian Stephen has a love poem that will guide your tiller safely into Stornoway harbour. I don’t walk far. I’ve never climbed a mountain. Illness produces dark pools of lactic if I go up a minor slope. What I need, what I love, are places to gaze at the landscape. Conspectus. They are the right places to look out from. They’ve always existed. I only gave them their name, conspectus, to insist on the importance of viewpoints and appreciate what we gain – especially those of us with constrained walking – if we see with attention. If, as Emerson says, the eye needs a horizon for its own good, must the line be made by walking? There are traditions that understood the power of looking. Maps of the Highlands name seats, suidhe, and chairs, cathaoir, where kings, chiefs and saints asserted their power. There are dumha slega and eilreig, the ancient mounds of the blood rite where Gaels would watch the hunt. Later these became spying hillocks for deer-stalkers. Go to a dùn and you’ll usually find yourself a good view. A conspectus is a place where terrain reveals itself. A viewpoint where the landscape makes the kind of sense we need. The eye falls on the here, here, and here, of the hills that surround us. What makes a conspectus exist is saying the names of each summit in turn. All I do is write them down. This conspectus was made at Auchtavan, in upper Glen Feardar, with the help of Gill Russell. It contains the names of wild-cats, Gaelic colours, tits, hags, a priest, a saddle, and a spoon-like crag. Between the names there are stories. 16 Shared Stories
BRINGING THE HILLS TO A SINGLE POINT conspectus N
MEIKLE PAP CAISTEAL NA CAILLICH MOUNT KEEN CONACHCRAIG CREAG NAN GALL CARN AN T‑SAIGART MOR THE STUIC CAC CARN BEAG CNAPAN NATHRAICHEAN MEALL AN TIONAIL RIPE HILL CRAIG DOIN MEALL ALVIE CREAG NA SPAINE CANUP LEAC GORM CARN NAM BLAITHEAN CARN NA DROCHAIDE MEALL GORM CNOCAN MOR CREAG A’ CHAIT CREAG BHALG
Auchtavan ΝΟ 20684 95567 A Year in the Cairngorms 17
Colour Trend A conspectus is a reminder that eye-lines travel around a circular field, until they reach where we button up at the back. Colour place- names, arranged into colour wheels, poems, or trends (paths), are a kind of looking that return us to walking. Bealach Dearg, is the Red-way Pass, leading from Invercauld, on by Loch Builg, to Tomintoul. Ballochbuie, from Bealach Buidhe, is the Yellow-way Pass. These names belong to ancient drove roads, or, to one continuing drove that stretches on either side of the River Dee. Dearg is named for pinkish red granite, even if it is grey with lichen. Ballochbuie refers to the moorgrass beyond the great wood. These path names are common-sense judgements of what is underfoot. To the east, past Gairnside, there’s another drove, the Ca’ Du, Dark Crossing, between Glen Conrie and Glen Carvie. Another path of the same name led from Dunandhu to Blairnamarrow, in Glen Conglass. Ca is from cadha, a narrow pass. These are things you needed to know. And the dark or black, well, John Milne says they were known as black roads. His translations can be fanciful but, in this case, I agree, as dark names refer to moss or peat roads. They were a warning to take care if cattle were being driven in wet weather. More helpful advice comes from Peter Drummond, who notes that liath names indicate grey mica schist, which should be sure to stand on. In a wonderful passage of observation John MacInnes gives glas as the colour of the land that one walks over between the arable land and the moor, putting the township at one’s back. In my first book on place-awareness, Some Colour Trends, the English translation I gave for the dark roads was Peatsmirched-trends. Imagine cleaning that off your boots. 18 Shared Stories
D red yellow H way way É A Year in the Cairngorms | 19
20 Shared Stories Coorying behind a cairn Cold wind hurtling Eyes squinting Lashes filtering snow Grimace, Brace, Go… NANCY CHAMBERS
Snowy kippen up Cairn Toul. Blending wi’ the snaw, Bletherin’ wi’ the imaky-amaky. Scary, scary! LUCY GRANT, SPEYSIDE HIGH SCHOOL A Year in the Cairngorms | 21
22 Embodiment after Nan Shepherd I’ve tasted ice high on the hull of the hill plunged hands into snow & counted ten to taste time to feel the cold world dreaming Clouds, grey on the undersides race by ile flottante pierced by lunar rays, cosmic radiation the valley spread around me like a bed laid with the carelessness of glaciers The eye is choked with so much trash dead men’s thoughts I stand on my head lift arms high so the light touches my fingertips first anything to dismiss the tired old ways of seeing I want more than a sea change I want freezing wind a sheet of snow a wave, an ice storm something fierce as a hurricane to blast the stony world Shared Stories
The body is like a sheet the body is a flute the body is a kind of cool and teasing air I float, I sing with it, patiently, I dance eyes flickering to the path whose purpose can be seen for miles inviting witness from the greyest reaches of sight, from the sky from the earth itself I swallow light, sound cup the hands round the shell of the ear & hear crystal the planet’s sticky insides melting, reforming how rare to be alive to all this, & so open I walk with my hands with my tongue over the purple skin of the blaeberry touch the skein of the moor’s root with skin that is barely (that is completely) human SAMANTHA WALTON A Year in the Cairngorms | 23
24 | Shared Stories First Awake Morning sun sits atop pine in bright, clear sky. Woodsmoke lifts and drifts above; white wisps captured in icy air. Hot coffee, held in trembling hands, mimics the chimney’s morning breath. Overhead, a hawk hovers, stills, swoops then catches. Hunter and prey, for a moment, captured against the powder blue. RONNIE MACKINTOSH
HERE A Year in the Cairngorms | 25
26 | Shared Stories The High Tongue MERRYN GLOVER A series of Cairngorms Lyrics on the Gaelic names of the Cairngorms mountains
Ben MacDui – Beinn MacDuibh The Mountain of the Son of Duff High King of Thunder Old Grey Man Chief of the Range Head of the Clan
Cairn Gorm – An Càrn Gorm The Blue Mountain Rainbow height: blaeberry bog brown red deer snow white blackbird dog violet moss green bright
Cairn Toul – Càrn an t‑Sabhail The Barn Shaped Mountain Storehouse of stone Boulders shouldering like beasts in this dark byre Hail drumming the watershed
Ben Vuirich – Beinn a’ Bhùirich Mountain of the Roaring Once the haunt of wolves howling at night now just their ghosts in failing light
Carn Ealer – Carn an Fhidhleir Mountain of the Fiddler She plays the rock with the bow of the wind for the stars to dance A Year in the Cairngorms | 27
Braeriach — Am Bràigh Riabhach The Brindled Upland freckled speckled wind rippled shape shifting fallen sky dark light shadow bright land up high
Beinn a’ Bhuird The Mountain of the Table Giants gather in clouds of black for a bite and a blether, bit of craic.
Coire an t‑Sneachda – Coire an t‑Sneachdaidh Corrie of the Snow Bowl of white light black rock wind run ice hold hollow of the mountain’s hand 28 | Shared Stories
Ben A’an – Beinn Athfhinn Mountain of the River A’an in a cleft of silence hidden loch secret river name breathed out like a sigh
Am Monadh Ruadh The Red Mountains Range of russet hills forged in fire at first sunrise old rust rock glowing still A Year in the Cairngorms | 29
30 Braeriach ANNA FLEMING How does one know a mountain? Of all the mountains in the Cairngorms, there is something about Braeriach. It is not the tallest one here across the Lairig Ghru, Ben Macdui stands a little higher. Bynack More and Ben Mheadhoin have more interesting summits, studded with weathered granite tors that delight hand and eye. Braeriach is vast and subtle. At the top, one does not find a peak, but a widening plateau that rolls out into Am Moine Mhor (the Great Moss) and sharpens at the edges, leading on into the more defined peaks of Sgòr an Lochain Uaine and Cairn Toul. Braeriach means ‘brindled upland’ and, perhaps more than any other single mountain here, the hill encapsulates the Cairngorms. From Strathspey, Braeriach seems accessible. A coating of snow brings light and shadow, revealing vivid details in Braeriach’s exposed flanks and corries. The mountain advances. But looks are deceptive. Braeriach is a long way. You must allow for eight hours of steady walking, ascending over one thousand metres. On short winter days, this means starting in the dark. The first time I walked up Braeriach, the mist was down. We spent hours walking in thick, damp cloud, following a trail of disturbed pink granite through grass, lichen and boulders. I was desperate to know the mountain: I wanted to reach the summit and take in the views – but there were no views. With visibility reduced to a few damp metres, I wondered, what makes this Braeriach and not any other cloud-clad hill? What can my body tell me about this place? I noticed the rise and fall of the ground. The gradient eased and I grew cold. A ptarmigan scuttled away, snarling through the rocks. We passed iron-brown tubes scattered among clean, shining metal plates: the mangled remains of an airplane. Wind blasted up gullies and granite buttresses. We found an edge and called it the top. Last October, I discovered another aspect of Braeriach. One Sunday a surprise snowfall dusted the autumn leaves. The mountains gleamed white. I headed up Glen Einich to the deep glacial loch that Shared Stories
nestles within a towering horseshoe of hills. I walked with longing. Overhead, Braeriach shone. Perhaps I should change my plans, make a detour, push up the slopes, and climb the hill. But the snow was fresh and deep. The effort would be immense. All was not lost. At the loch, I found Braeriach. The mountain was held in the water. The distant skyline landed at my feet in a perfect mirror image. I studied the surface, reading the hollows, pockets, streams and corries. Each line was sharpened by snow. Then I looked through the mirror. In the crystal water, I saw the rocky surface of a distant planet. Softening my eyes, I allowed the elements to mingle. Water, mountain, snow, stone and sky. Smooth and rough. Dark and light. Reflection and shadow. The mountain was in the loch and the loch was in the mountain. As I watched, the dark stream-lines began to stretch and bend. The mountain was pulled apart – bars twisted in widening zig-zags before the elastic snapped and the image fragmented. Braeriach retreated. Wind had ruffled the surface. Recently, I returned for another shot at the problem. This May, surely, I would get the summit views. Surely, this time, I would grasp Braeriach. The forecast seemed fair; the days were long. Down in the strath, green surged across the fields. Gorse burned golden and the hills deepened into indigo. Cuckoos and willow warblers sang from new leafed birch. Yet spring had not reached the mountain. The hillside was bleached brown and yellow. A caterpillar sat on the corner of a stone, clad in a thick coat. Higher up, the boulder field was half-submerged in a still white sea. The snow formed frozen crusts and eddies around the stones. Higher still, the sun broke through, igniting the crystals. The moment was Alpine. (Pause for sun lotion and sunglasses). Higher again: I reached the summit ridge, and snow blew in. Thick feather flakes flew and swirled on a slight breeze, pattering against my hood. The hills disappeared. All turned white and grey. The flakes hardened into polystyrene balls. I had climbed back into winter. Time stretched as I paced the drifts, hoping for a clearing. Space A Year in the Cairngorms | 31
became surreal. I had walked into the immense and remote plateau but as the storm moved in, I could see and hear only a few metres. I hunkered down inside my hood, hat and mittens. The quiet was eerie. The air was still, yet full of snow. I had met no one all day, but as I waded back to the summit, suddenly someone was right at my heels, crunching the snow behind me. I span around – and there was no one there. Unsettled, I continued. Back at the summit, I got my window. The snow eased and space expanded. Distance returned. I saw thick cornices hanging over the Lairig Ghru and there was Lochan Uaine, a steely grey mirror below the Angel’s peak. Sun light fell on a southern hill. I turned back, and the elements intensified. Sky met ground in a driving flurry of wet snow. Footprints faded. The white-out was bewildering. Everything looked the same. I could be anywhere. I turned around to check the conditions behind me, and was instantly disorientated. In this skyless, groundless, featureless white, I almost went the wrong way. And so my journeys into Braeriach reveal and frustrate. The mountain advances – I am drawn in; the mountain retreats – I am pushed back. When the mountain is generous, I land and soar. An eye blinks, and the mountain closes in. Braeriach sharpens its teeth and I become a ptarmigan, scurrying for shelter, snarling through the boulders. 32 | Shared Stories
It’s blastie in the mountains On the side of the crag Where the eagle rests. EMMA JONES, KINGUSSIE HIGH SCHOOL A Year in the Cairngorms | 33
Cairngorms seen from Loch Morlich Today they are grim, discontent, monochromatic, looking down with a cold stare. You are not worthy to face them. If you are lucky, wind may bring hope. Suddenly, a tentative ray of gold, a spotlight gets their approval, the world’s gears shift… And they bathe in sunlight, flares of caramel, summer fields, shades of green. They relax and breathe, a smile reveals all their wrinkles. Go, the elders are calling! 34 | Shared Stories ANNA FILIPEK
Avon (Ath-fhinn) The Ford of Fionn, a tale of tears, glacial melt across the years. RYAN DZIADOWIEC A Year in the Cairngorms | 35
Mither Dee Hotterin an oozin fae the Wells o’ Dee, The river winds lang on her wey tae the Sea. Ower Braeriach’s grim cliff, she loups tae the Glen, Neath craggy, auld faces o’ harsh mountain bens. Bubblin an chatterin in grey-granite rills, Swalled wi the peat-burns fae shelterin hills. Doon at the Linn, roarin thro’ the scoored gorge, Then spreadin her fingers afore bonny Mar Lodge. She hoves doon the Valley fae Braemar tae the Sea, Past auld Scots pines an bonny, green lea. Thro’ low-hingin laricks an fir-scented tang, She gaithers her bairns, growin wider an strang. The hert o’ the Valley, aye lo’ed by her ain, The Dee cuts the land, like a life-bringin vein. Fyles, roarin in spate or flowin sae calm, The soon o’ her waaters aye like a balm. The fowk o’ the Glen are bit here for a fyle, Bit eternal, auld Dee flows on mile upon mile, Teemin her bounty intae the muckle saat Sea, Like a Mither, aye faithful, this bonny-bit Dee. 36 | Shared Stories MARY MUNRO
Regeneration Loused fae the darg: sunrise on weel kent hills, new trees keekin ower the heather. NEIL REID A Year in the Cairngorms | 37
38 Into the Mountain: Garbh Choire Mor NEIL REID A dished out hollow of snow, sharp, granite scree rising steeply before me, disappearing into a cold grey void. A crack, a clack, a rattle. Impossible to identify a direction, but it’s not the first stone that has fallen while I’ve stood here, nor will it be the last. I am alone. I feel alone. Uneasily so. Nan Shepherd talks of walking out of the body and into the mountain as a metaphor for heightened focus and perception; here, in the furthest reaches of the Garbh Choire Mor I feel I have walked out of the world and into the mountain – literally. The Cairngorms have many faces and I have loved – and do love them all: the lush river banks, the birdsong-filled quiet of the pinewoods, the austere beauty of the wind-scoured desert plateau. I enjoy auld mannie naps on the hillsides in summer sun, have stood for an hour in contented contemplation in a winter white-out. The Cairngorms have been mine since I was a child, and I theirs. But here is different. There is no welcome here, no comfort. To journey into the Garbh Choire Mor is, as truly as is possible, to journey into the mountain; a pilgrimage not into its heart, but into an open sore, unhealed, raw edges actively plucking at the smooth waves of plateau which are thus