I guess it’s not uncommon for those of us who live on this side of the Pond to occasionally borrow words from our transatlantic cousins, a trend that appears to have grown considerably since the Second World War when many American military troops were stationed in the UK. And more recently we adopted the word ‘backpacking’ from the US, a term that describes the activity of walking for a period of time, usually several days or weeks or even months, whilst carrying everything you need to survive carried in a pack on your back. I seem to recall the word…

I do like a walk with a purpose, so I revelled in planning the delivery of a newspaper-style publication to an MBA bothy. Uags is perched on the far southern tip of the Applecross peninsula, curled around by the waters of Loch Carron, the sweep of sea along Skye’s shores from Broadford to Loch Sligachan and the Inner Sound of Raasay. Since January my friend Charlotte and I had been planning this trip for the cusp of the spring equinox, imagining the awakening of the year, perhaps even some warmth as we overnighted in the spectacular spot we had pointed…

The first frogspawn of the year usually takes me by surprise. It shouldn’t of course, because it’s an annual event as reliable as the first green shoots of grass rising from the barren, brown hillsides. But when I see those first clumps of jelly I am usually on a cold and windswept hillside, bent double into a raging gale, perhaps trying not to slip on week-old ice, or more likely eyeing-up the sky for the first tell-tale snowflakes of an incoming cold spell. Spring therefore feels like it is still months away……but then there it is, crammed into a puddle…

Three years ago, in March 2015, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity arose to witness a 96% solar eclipse darken the skies over northern Scotland. My husband and I parked up behind Evanton before breakfast and began an hour-long ascent of Cnoc Fyrish. We quickly realised our idea wasn’t an original one when we crested the summit of the hill and found a couple of dozen people already gathered around the Fyrish Monument, overlooking the Cromarty Firth, waiting for the spectacle to unfold. Our efforts paid off in spite of the overcrowded hilltop and unseasonably cold wind. An eerie darkness descended over Ross…

Dawn leaked over the roof of the Rec’, a pale blue canvas, a promise. I was already late but it would do. I crept out of the still sleeping house, hard frosted back garden grass, hard frosted windscreen glass. Newtonmore stirred, turned over and went back to sleep as I passed, Laggan still rested, afloat in a frozen floodplain. To the west, a milky gauze lay softly, poised between out breath and in breath, a stillness I’d forgotten existed recently. Our human world can be so self-involved, I’d not had time to look around me this winter. As the road…