Losing oneself in a forest of ferns...

July nature diary 🌿

Today, we decided to visit Creag Meagaidh, a National Nature Reserve, located just off the winding road between Fort William and the Cairngorms western border.

This is a favourite spot of ours. According to the website, this reserve, with its hills, forests and rivers, feels like all of the Highlands compressed into one reserve. And I can see why.

It’s also quieter when compared to the tourist-ridden Glencoe or my home of the Cairngorms. Now the summer holidays are here, I find myself escaping the crowds by seeking out these hidden gems, where I can still find peace in nature.

Skye and I arrived just after 8am and there were a few other vehicles in the expansive car park. A couple of campervans, that likely stayed overnight, alongside serious looking hikers, who were packing their rucksacks and lacing their boots, no doubt looking to tackle Creag Meagaidh, a Munro popular with hill-baggers.

Not being much of a hillwalker myself, I’m instead planning to follow a different route, following directions from my trusty ‘WalkHighlands’ app.

The air feels cooler after the heavy rain we had last night, washing away the mugginess that’s clung to the first days of July. Clouds gently skim the hill-tops and moisture still clings to the pollen laden hedgerows, making grass heads droop and nod.

A heron glides in front of the magnificent mountain backdrop. It’s prehistoric flight making the day feel timeless. Truly awe-inspiring birds.

We start the walk in the shaded alder woods, where I have to watch my step to avoid trampling black slugs that are slowly making their way across the path. I keep an eye on Skye’s paws, ensuring she also takes care.

I had an embarrassing moment a few weeks ago, where I was crouched down in order to inspect a slug that Skye had unfortunately run over and, at that exact moment, a runner appeared around the corner. I felt the need to explain my unusual position and, unable to think of a suitable lie, decided to tell the truth. This raised a slightly quizzical look, hurriedly hidden by polite words reassuring me that they would also endeavour to avoid the slug.

You’ll be pleased to hear that the slug appeared perfectly fine.

Back on the trail and before long we are leaving the trees and the crashing river to enter the hush of the hills. These landscapes always emit an echoey kind of quietness, unlike the moss-muted forests that are another favourite haunt of ours.

The sun is starting to beat in earnest, and I’m soon engulfed in the scent of ferns. Sweet and stagnant. A smell that I instantly associate with clammy summer fieldwork in my past life as a conservationist.

This is not always a pleasant association, as I found summer fieldwork to be the most challenging.

I remember when I first moved to the Highlands and, no doubt struggling for small talk, asked my mentor at the time what was their least favourite survey weather. I expected him to describe winter weather, the snow and ice that the Cairngorms is famous for, but instead he firmly replied with ‘wet and warm’. Although I dismissed this at the time, by the end of my first summer survey season, I couldn’t agree more.

There is something distinctly unpleasant about sweating under waterproofs. No matter how lightweight, they seem to weigh down every step, clinging stickily to any exposed flesh.

Although it’s tempting to wear as little as possible on warm days, I’d learnt long ago that bare skin was not practical for fieldwork. Legs will quickly be scratched to ribbons by rough heather and arms are too easily lacerated by thorns. But it is the insects that pose the biggest threat. Skin can quickly become riddled with midge bites and the ticks, in particular, pose serious health risks.

At this time of year, ferns can encase entire landscapes. The tight fists of spring are fully unfurled and the sheer extent of them feels like a forest all in its own. One you can get lost in.

Although the names ferns and bracken are often used interchangeably, according to the scientific literature, bracken is actually a type of fern. The name fern is used to describe a class of non-flowering, vascular plants, and there are thought to be as many as 15,000 different species worldwide.

Bracken is thought to be the most common plant in the world as its present on all continents, apart from Antarctica. This is the largest fern in the UK and reproduces by spores rather than seeds. Leaves, also called fronds, unfurl from the base of the plant in spring, becoming a glossy green in summer, before dying back to a shade of orange in autumn.

They have a neat trick to dissuade damage from herbivores as, when fronds become damaged from grazing, it produces hydrogen cyanide in order to poison the perpetrator. It does offer value to wildlife as a form of shelter and is an especially important habitat for Fritillary butterflies.

They can grow almost anywhere there are well-drained soils. I have had more than my fair share of encounters with bracken, more than once wading through plants almost as high as my head. Keeping my arms outstretched above me in a vain attempt to avoid ticks.

Although a native plant, the prolific nature of this species means it can devalue our habitats by outcompeting other species, like tree seedlings, so often need to be managed, which with these hardy plants can feel like holding back a tide.

On finishing our hour-long route, we return to my wee camper for a biscuit (Skye) and cup of tea (me). Both fully content that this was the perfect way to spend a Wednesday morning.

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July nature challenge

I’ve found that one of the most satisfying ways to connect with the natural world is to become conscious of all our senses. Smell, although difficult to describe, can be the most immersive. So, this month, I challenge you to engage your nostrils and try your hand at describing a few different scents in your local area. I always find this to be a fun exercise!

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Until next time,

Molly xx