David Lintern reports on the ‘Rewilding and Repeopling‘ event held by the Cairngorms National Park last month. In May, Cairngorms National Park held an interesting talk at Boat of Garten as part of their Big Weekend (which aims to encourage active interest and participation in wildlife and nature). Before the discussion was opened out to the audience, there were presentations from Managing Director for Rewilding Europe; Frans Schepers, Rob McMorran from the Wildland Research Institute, the new Policy Director of Community Land Scotland; Calum Macleod, and Stuart Brooks; Head of Natural Heritage Policy at National Trust for Scotland. What’s the…

IT seems that I meet more fell runners than walkers in the hills these days. The old safety cliches about not going hillwalking without waterproofs, spare hats and mitts, a warm drink and stout boots don’t appear to affect these mountain athletes. Dressed in shorts and t-shirt, perhaps with a miniscule pack or a skimpy lightweight waterproof tied round the waist these guys and gals seem impervious to the cold and wet as they bound down the hillside with little obvious effect on hips and knees. How I envy them. When I was younger I ran a bit in the…

Mid May would normally seem a late time of year to reminisce about the winter we’ve just enjoyed/endured (delete as appropriate), but it was only a few weeks ago that my road was blocked by 3ft snowdrifts. That’s lovely for someone like me, who feels most alive in the coldest months of the year, but I realise not everybody shares my affliction. I therefore thought I’d best play it safe and wait till the public mood had been mellowed by the first narcotic aromas of grass cuttings and charred burgers before unleashing nostalgic photos of ice and blizzards onto an…

With its rugged mountains, lush glens and windswept islands, Scotland is a utopia for nature lovers and outdoor enthusiasts. Despite my background in geography, I have little desire to venture overseas as my constant thirst for landscape photography, coastal walking, island hopping, cycling and camping is quenched within these shores. Scotland has over 790 islands scattered around its 10,250 mile (16,500 kilometre) coastline, but only one of these has acquired the nickname ‘Scotland in Miniature’; the Isle of Arran. My family photograph albums reveal that my childhood had a fairly ordinary start, with a week-long Scottish self-catering holiday once a…

David Lintern builds the right kind of border wall – a dry stone dyke in the Borders. “I like it here, it has a nice feel. And it’s great that it’s local to me”, says Ellen. With nothing more to add, we slurp our tea in silent agreement as waterproofs steam gently near the stove. We’re in a hut on the edge of a wood a few miles outside Peebles, and we are dirty, damp, tired and happy. The previous day, I joined Emily, Sandy, Hugh and Ellen to get hands on with drystone walling. Under the guidance of Neil…

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…