 Sharing local Gaelic placenames and stories to situate us in the landscape - what's here and what's missing "We’re standing on a threshold. Between stories told about this land - and stories told from it. "One says: this place is empty, lost, ruined—ready to be bought, branded, and offset. The other says: this place is alive, remembered, and still resisting." The words of Col Gordon, read beautifully and thoughtfully by Jo Rodgers at Saturday's Land Justice Gathering as Col couldn't be there in person - his full piece is now published on Bella Caledonia: Ossian, Punk Beer & Greenwash.
Around 50 of us gathered at Brewdog's so-called 'Lost Forest' near Aviemore to learn about ecology, employee/worker struggle, land-based folktales from near and far, songs, the myth of carbon credits, and to reimagine a land not bought by corporations to offset their conscience and exploiting a broken subsidy system, but stewarded and cared for by those who live on or near it.  The event was put on by the Landworkers' Alliance (LWA) and Scottish Histories of Resistance, and it was brilliant to see that so many folk had travelled a long way to be there (from Fife and Glasgow amongst other places) as well as so many interested local folk too.
Other speakers included Nick Kempe, who has written extensively on his Parkswatch blog about the sequence of poor decisions on Brewdog land which has led to even poorer impacts; Tara Wight, policy and campaigns director for LWA Scotland; Dave Morris, local land reform campaigner; and Olly, a farmer from Devon who spoke of the difficulties for young people trying to remain in or get into farming.  I contributed stories and histories from what is now Canada - an indigenous story with indelible links to this area here - as well as Palestine, and local stories linked to Gaelic placenames.  Pines, colonialism, stories from the land Anyone interested in joining the Badenoch & Strathspey chapter of Scottish Histories of Resistance, an informal group getting together to learn about all the knarly Scottish resistance we don't see in schools or books, drop me a message!  Will Boyd-Wallis / Greenshanks sets us off at the cèilidh house At the evening cèilidh house, Will Boyd-Wallis/Greenshanks set us off (in more ways than one) with a heartfelt song about his own family's clearance from Rhùm (from his new album available on Bandcamp hint hint!) And for those wondering why we aren't all dancing, a cèilidh traditionally is a visit, a gathering, where people take a turn to share a poem, tune, story, song etc.  A tale from Palestine at the cèilidh house. Credit: Clem Sandison As it was rightly pointed out, there's little point envisioning new spaces without bringing along things to fill them with.
All of this on Aviemore's hottest day on record... Thank you all for having me and thank you for such an uplifting day! Watch this space for what's next!
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 Passu Cones Spent the last two weeks mooching around the northern areas of Pakistan as a big birthday treat to myself. It's my third visit to Pakistan, returning for the first time in 15 years, and the first to the 'proper' mountains.  View down to the Hunza River from Altit Fort Accidentally spent the time chasing high summer pastures, learning more about transhumance, and finding so many similarities with Highland shielings, flora, folklore, and ways of life that have been dismantled in Scotland. More on that later!  Cow grazing at Rakaposhi base camp  Overlooking Karimabad, on the way to Ultar Meadow Like ours, their folk stories are full of faeries, spirits and giants. More on that later too!  Baltit fort beneath Ultar Peak, Karimabad My poor bits of Urdu were almost useless in the far north - instead I learned and spoke bits of Burushaski (a language isolate with no relations), Wakhi, and Balti. Somehow managed to walk in and travel through the Hindu Kush, Himalaya, and the High Pamir as well as the Karakoram. Their names alone are so evocative, and their colours and characters even more so.  Overlooking Zar Abad, Gojal Discovered the joys of salty tea when invited into a lady's home with her daughter and swaddled granddaughter in a handmade cot; watched the stars come out, dense as anything, during a power cut in a village at the end of the road near the border with Afghanistan; chatted with a cow at 4,000m; chatted with a birch at 3,600m; was fascinated by irrigation systems; hitched a ride on a tractor (they're all Massey Ferguson); ate the best samosas and jalebi I've ever had in my life from a street stall; was awestruck and terrified by glaciers; picked cherries off trees for breakfast; paddled at the confluence of two roaring rivers, one blue and one grey/brown; quietly sang òrain obrach beneath a willow tree at the meadow of Ultar Peak, the 'inner pasture'; climbed to a 'base camp', something I thought I would never do, and napped on a glacial ridge beneath the snowy peaks of Rakaposhi and Diran; swapped Gaelic for Burushaski with a storyteller and poet; delighted in finding two hag stones on one hike, through a hot dry version of the Lairig Ghru; foraged mountain herbs for tea.  Shepherd's house above Batura Glacier which is 35 miles long Outwith the human-made oases totally reliant on glacial meltwater, the mountains are dust, and cough and spit and burp their innards all over tenuous roads, communities, into rivers. Everything feels precarious - the languages, the politics, the customs, the land itself.  Potato field, Passu village And everything is back to front: the Plough is upside down, snow melts on the northern slopes but not the southern, shrines are circled anti-deiseil (anti-clockwise).  In the last village at the end of the road in the High Pamirs Returned to a lush green burgeoning spring, the elder coming out, the sudden loss of a much-loved person within our small community, and terrible news from a friend in Gaza.
More of the mountains crumble.  To the left of these buildings - Corrour Station House, the most remote train station in the UK - is an area known as Na Caplaich / An Caipleach / The Mare. Here, a shepherd and his wife were making their way from Rannoch to Loch Treig on horseback when a winter storm blew up. The wifey was in a pretty bad way, so numb with cold she kept falling from her steed, and the shepherd knew she wouldn't make it. He knocked out his mare, gralloched her, and his wife crawled right inside the carcass to keep warm while the shepherd went to fetch help. She was dry and cosy and quite recovered by the time the shepherd returned. Hence the name of the place... It's not the only story I've come across about people sheltering inside animals for survival, but it's the only one (so far) that seems to be linked with a specific place - and easy to imagine the necessity, when the winds and snow are howling across Rannoch Moor!  Seem to be on a tree theme. Birch & rowan encircling Avielochan chambered cairn, a Bronze Age burial cairn which is well worth a visit - enter through the passageway and sit amongst the stones and trees. The rowan that guarded the entrance has now fallen - second pic is from 2022 when it was still upright. And the birch just outside the cairn is FULL of witches' brooms, bonus!  The Avielochan area is full of hut circles, remains of townships, field systems, and has been habited for at least several thousand years. It's got a wonderful feel about it.   This loch only appears in winter, on Granish Moor, so I call it the Winter Loch. Does anyone know if it has a 'proper' name? Or does anyone have their own names for it? It's the highest I've seen it in a few years, lapping up to the dead Mini. How many other places do you know locally that are seasonal, only appearing in winter or summer? Or spring or autumn for that matter...  The Scots pines in this seemingly uninteresting picture on Granish Moor north of Aviemore tell several stories... reading a landscape is one of my favourite things, so many layers, so many perspectives too. No two people see the same.
And there are always signs. Being outdoors is the best practice... Remnants, past, future, attitudes, shifting lifestyles and values, different peoples, creatures, faiths, epochs.  I have a thing about singing whenever I come across ruins of farmsteads or townships, to bring back voice and life, even if for two minutes. I've been doing this for several years without really realising; it just seems quite natural. Popped up to Rinanuan today, sang the Parting Glass. Watched the light move and the snow showers come and go, the colour of the bracken and larch against the snow and sky, heard the burns sing too.  This croft dates from at least the 1770s, and was originally thatched. The More family lived there then, with their two small daughters. Had the whole place to myself, not even any tracks of deer or rabbit. Smelt a fox or two. What a day.  Glen Tanar bothy. Image: David Lintern Surprised and delighted to be heading to Glen Tanar with David Lintern Photography for a week next year to explore the premise that cultural loss is ecological loss. If anyone has any current or past connections to Glen Tanar - working, living, stories, songs - drop me a line! Many thanks to Bothy Project and Cairngorms National Park for this opportunity to highlight connections between land and people. From the Cairngorms National Park press release: Recently we shared a call for applications to be artists in residence with Bothy Project as part of our Cairngorms2030 programme, and received an incredible response. We’re delighted to share that local creatives Sarah Hobbs and David Lintern were successful, and together will be diving into the rich history of Glen Tanar, exploring local cultural heritage and connections to the land. Through listening, walking and photography they hope to weave together the voices of people connected to the Glen, helping their stories to be heard. Watch this space to find out how Sarah and David get on, and for future opportunities. The Cairngorms 2030 programme is made possible by @heritagefunduk thanks to National Lottery players. Glen Tanar. Images: David Lintern
 Shared some stories of the wartime 'lumberjills' in the strath at the weekend. The Women's Timber Corps were women from all over Scotland - mostly big cities like Glasgow - who travelled to the rural Highlands to fell trees during the Second World War. There were many lumberjill camps across the strath; none are mapped and recorded (though one site is waiting to be uploaded to the historic environment record!) Their work is not visible in the landscape, and it was only in 2007 that a statue was unveiled to commemorate their efforts, in Aberfeldy in Perthshire. And the white poppy remembers all who lost their lives, and hopes for a different future.   Sarah Hobbs of Strathspey Storywalks. Image credit: Catriona Parmenter It's been an exceedingly busy month! 30 hours of storytelling to 137 people in Glencoe, Aberdeenshire, Glenmore, Aviemore, Glen Feshie and Nethy Bridge (at the brilliant Hill to Grill organised by Cairngorms Connect - thank you to Catriona Parmenter Photography for the wonderful photos!) I also ran an event as part of the Scottish International Storytelling Festival for the very first time - thank you to all of you who joined the walk weaving together tales from the Highlands and Palestine! Plus ran a story session for Love Outdoor Learning as teacher training, as well as several private and public storywalks. It's been wonderful and very intense! Thank you all.  Storywalks basket! Image credit: Catriona Parmenter |
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