The insect world is a bit marmite really. I’ve met a good number of people who adore insects more than they adore the furriest, softest koala bear. But then I’ve met plenty of people who loathe insects with every fibre of their being, who would purge the entire planet of every last creepy crawly if they could. Of course, the entire planetary ecosystem would collapse if they got their way so let’s just be thankful that none of them have found a genie in a lamp and wished all those bugs away. But my general impression is that the majority…

It’s wonderful when a place surprises you, when something you think might just make an interesting diversion actually turns out to be something extraordinary, something revelatory. Perhaps even something profound. The Bone Caves of Inchnadamph were somewhere I’d driven past innumerable times on my way to somewhere else, most likely to Kinlochbervie, the Assynt coast or some great big lump of Coigach rock. I’d certainly been aware of them both as a notable geological feature and as an important site in Scotland’s ecological history, but for some reason I’d never actually stopped to visit them until March this year. The…

On 15th February I went for a walk up West Lomond in Fife and, as I walked through the fields everything around me screamed ‘SPRING!’ for the first time this year. It was only 7C but it was a clear blue-sky day, utterly calm with a warm sun. There was some gorse blooming on the side of the path and skylarks twittered over the fields. It looked, felt and sounded like spring….but was it? None of those signs are unique to spring of course. Beautiful days occur all year round, as do gorse flowers. A winter sun can be warm…

When I get back to the car safely after a long and tiring walk in the hills I remove my shoes, pour myself tea from my flask, and then I sit down in the open car boot. This is my quiet meditative moment before driving home when I reflect on the walk I’ve just had, breathe deeply and soak up the atmosphere one last time. And that’s when it appears. Sometimes it does so from the extremes of my peripheral vision, other times it seems to materialise from nowhere right in front of me. But wherever it comes from it…

As I sit here at home I can hear the surging roar of approaching gusts of wind. They’re whooshing through the tree branches and clunking at the wheelie bins. They’re whistling through tiny gaps in the double glazing, prompting a couple of the interior doors to creak ever so slightly. And between the gusts I can hear a constant low hum as though someone has left a diesel engine running outside. These are the sounds of a Scottish gale and, strange as it may seem I think I’ve actually missed them. A bit. Not because I carry any particular torch…

It was hard not to feel impossibly smug as I propped my bike up against the ruined house at Gortenbuie. It was absolutely calm, not a breath of wind, and as I peered through the empty windows the only sound I could hear was the rigid dried-up leaves falling from the adjacent sycamore tree. As expected, I’d seen no-one. “How many people ever access the hill from this direction?” I wondered. I stepped out of the ruin’s shadow and looked to the south. The undulating skyline of Mull’s interior burned rusty red in the rising sun, the high hills scattering…

I get very excited on 1st September because this is when weather presenters announce the end of summer. Doubtless many of you in Scotland will wryly smile and say “Ha! That happened months ago!”….but despite appearances to the contrary 31st August is widely taken as the last day of summer and 1st September the first day of autumn. But can seasons run to such rigid timetables? If not, what DO they run to? Given the contentious nature of the topic I opened it up to completely unscientific debate by asking Twitter and Facebook the following: ‘For you, when does autumn…