A Highland Heatwave | Pinnacle Newsletter #55
#55 A Highland Heatwave
I've been away from my desk for most of this week, backpacking in the Scottish Highlands. A superb forecast on Monday morning saw me hurriedly checking train times, emailing colleagues, getting ahead with work, and packing my bags prior to departure on Tuesday.
I completed a 56km route taking in six Munros, starting and finishing at Bridge of Orchy in the West Highlands. I'd walked most of this ridge 11 years before, but had missed out two of the Munros, Stob a’ Choire Odhair and Beinn nan Aighenan; my goal this time was to finish the job.
It was a great route. But what I'd like to talk to you about in this week’s newsletter isn't really the backpacking, or even the hills, but the conditions I found there. And although the plural of anecdote is not data, I am concerned.
In February, on the Cape Wrath Trail, I found very little in the way of winter. Snow vanished after the first week and did not return until well into March, after I'd finished the trail. (You can read all about this in the current issue of TGO magazine.) Although there have been some great winter conditions in Scotland this year, they've been sporadic.
This week, I expected to find some late-lying snow beds in shady north-facing areas on my route. I'd posted a picture of my pack on Twitter, showing my ice axe strapped to it, and I'd been a little surprised when several people told me I wouldn't need it. I decided not to take winter gear after all.
When I got to the mountains, conditions were hot and insanely dry. The river in Glen Kinglass was so low and sluggish I could have easily stepped across without getting my feet wet, and as I climbed higher up into the corrie the streams began to thin out. When I stepped off the path, I found the ground underfoot to be crispy; I'm used to it resembling a saturated sponge, soaking the feet right away. Every bog was desiccated. I found no running water on the ridge itself, and several quite large streams had entirely dried up.
It's no exaggeration to say that I've never seen the Highlands this dry before. While I believe it has rained today, there remains a high fire risk for many areas. This drought has now lasted for a long time and many rivers are significantly lower than usual.
Don't misunderstand me – hot, dry weather at this time of year isn't unusual. But I have been backpacking in the Highlands three times since December, and each time it has been unusually dry and warm. Others I've spoken to have reported similar conditions. When you consider that last year was also very dry – a heatwave year, in fact – this starts to look more like a trend.
Anxieties about the changing climate were playing on my mind as I descended from silent, barren hills towards Glen Kinglass. As usual, the treeless, deer-nibbled landscape wasn't host to much life, but things changed when I came upon an oasis in a hidden gorge. I’d been able to hear the birdsong for a mile or more as I approached. There, where the deer couldn't reach, ancient gnarled pines strained through a thicket of birch and rowan and other trees. I could hear many different kinds of birds calling, and see them flitting between the branches. Water burbled beneath.
Places such as these offer hope.
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Nothing this week. Back to my usual schedule next week!
Until next time,
Alex
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