Anagach Woods

April 25, 2019April 22, 2019 | Rebecca Gibson

After one day of the Grant Arms Wildlife Book Festival, I had already ticked off 27 species. The morning started off gloomy so I wrapped up knowing that the Highland air would bite without a little sunshine. After a delicious breakfast I met my guide Sue and we set off. Our destination was Anagach Woods, only a five minute walk from the hotel. I knew it was my kind of place from the first glimpse: dense evergreen trees, a winding trail and the lyrical murmuring of birdsong. The harsh, icy breeze that made the eyes squint and the neck shorten completely disappeared once we strolled past the first few trees.

Anagach Woods were planted in 1766 using young pine trees dug up and transported from the old Caledonian pine forest of Abernethy. A few of these original trees are still standing today; wizened goliaths surrounded by waxy saplings. Throughout Anagach are deposits in the form of fluvio-glacial ridges, raised beach sands and gravel deposits dating back 10,000 years to the Ice Age. “Fluvio-glacial” refers to the meltwater created when a glacier melts.

Within ten minutes of entering the woods, I had my binoculars trained on a red squirrel -tail and hands poised in the classic pose as it nibbled on a peanut. A completely peanut-based diet causes a deficiency in red squirrels, so the rangers fill their feeders with a special mix to keep the squirrels’ diet balanced. Whether the animals follow the regime is another thing entirely, and they don’t. They prefer to pick out the peanuts with the steely determination of a child eating around their vegetables.

It’s impossible to dislike red squirrels. (Personally, I have no quibbles with greys either – they’re not inflicting reds with the pox with any malicious intent, nor did they ask to be brought here.) Reds have the eye-watering cuteness of babies their entire lives, coupled with boundless energy. We watched two up in the tree, neither tolerating the other’s presence. After a brief, silent stare-down, a ferocious squabble broke out. In the blink of an eye, two orange flashes flew up the tree, twirling around the trunk with scrabbling claws. The victor was soon perched proudly on the feeder shelf – stuffing head, front legs and one back leg inside to grasp the prize.

We ventured further into the forest. Each time a branch quivered or a chirrup sounded, I scoured the canopy for a particular little bird with a very impressive Latin name. Lophophanes cristatus is mostly confined to ancient Caledonian pine forests and Scots pine plantations. On the RSPB map of the UK, this bird’s presence is indicated by only a small patch in the Highlands of Scotland. A member of the tit family, it sports a magnificent punk hairdo.

I had my sights set on the crested tit. As small as the far more common blue tit, the “crestie” is a firm favourite among Grant Arms guests and features on many wish lists including my own. My main objective during my time in the Cairngorms was to see a pine marten (dream big, I say). Or, if that dream turns out to be a little too big, I will happily settle for any new species. I kept my eyes peeled for cresties but sadly they eluded us that morning. Sue said that at this time of year they would be right at the top of the trees gathering nest material. When those trees stretch to dizzying heights of around twenty metres, spotting a tiny bird in the dense canopy would certainly be a challenge.

Despite the crested tit playing coy, we were treated to a lovely showing of a buzzard. Buzzards are one of those species that I sometimes underestimate. They don’t tend to get me too excited – especially for that one split second when you think you may have found an eagle – but that morning in Anagach I saw a buzzard land for the first time. Up in the air and bleached out by the sun, it can be hard to make out specific detail, but as the raptor perched in the pines, I could admire its snowy white chest – as soft as an owl’s – with speckled markings that gave it the air of a regal monarch’s gown. The buzzard preened its feathers for a while before taking to the air and melting into the trees. It was a fitting way to summarise the forest habitat: a creature can be there one moment, and vanish the next. Forests are irresistible to me, and Anagach easily became my new favourite.

Burghead: Day Two

September 4, 2017September 3, 2017 | Rebecca Gibson

It was looking like another gorgeous day. As we walked along the harbour yesterday, I couldn’t help noticing how inviting the forest running alongside the beach looked. Stretching for over seven hundred hectares, Roseisle Forest was a stunningly beautiful pinewood. As we made our way up the slope between the first row of trees, sand dunes transformed to mounds of fallen pine needles and the sound of the ocean soon faded into silence.

A wide trodden path snaked between the trees. I was on the lookout for fungi, so we headed off-road and ventured up the hills, giving us a great vantage point over the forest below. Before long, a sudden sparkle caught my eye, and I was amazed to discover that a spider had strung its web between two trees several metres apart. Luckily the sunlight had caught the web; otherwise we may have walked straight through it. We spent the next twenty minutes photographing our spider – it was a real challenge trying to get him in focus as the web swayed to and fro in the breeze, which must have felt like a gale to the spider. If you zoom in on the photo of Kerr, you can see a brown dot a few inches in front of his camera, showing just how tiny the little hunter was.

Soon, it became clear that Roseisle Forest was abundant with a medium-sized, red-capped mushroom that had faded to pink with age. After consulting the Burghead guide back at the cottage, I discovered that mushrooms in the Russula group, otherwise known as Brittlegills, were common here. After checking out the various species I identified this fungus as Sickener (Russula emetica), a poisonous species associated with pine woodland. This mushroom is found in groups and is most common in late summer to early autumn, perhaps explaining why the ones we saw weren’t the bright red colour of their prime.

After finding dozens more Sickener mushrooms and spending a long time crawling on the forest floor photographing them, we headed back out onto the beach. We met up with my parents and Jasmine, who was whipping up a small sandstorm in her excitement. By this point my stomach was rumbling after the walk in Roseisle, so we headed to lunch and ate outside in the stunning sunshine.

Reykjavik – Day 2

December 26, 2016November 3, 2017 | Rebecca Gibson

When I looked out the balcony window this morning everything was blue. It turns out that Iceland is actually magical. With recharged camera batteries we headed out to explore.

The plan was to go straight to the shops, but down a side street I glimpsed a mountain and the sea. It was decided instantly that we’d put shopping on hold and go explore.

The natural light of Reykjavik is beautiful. Even at 11am there were still the diluted pinks and blues of early morning. We walked over the rocks and photographed the mirror-still water. Curse Iceland for making a cliche the only appropriate way to describe it, but the dirty old ocean looked like milk as it rippled against the shore. It was stunning, especially with Sólfarið (The Sun Voyager, below) standing proud against the city backdrop.

By this point we were getting peckish so we found a cute little creperie along the main street. Doused in Nutella, bananas and peanut butter, it filled the gap nicely.

Rejuvinated, we hit the shops. I bought gifts for family and friends then realised just how much money I’d spent. Iceland is expensive, as I’d been told many times over, but somehow being in such a beautiful part of the world made it all okay.

One thing I loved about Reykjavik was the street art. Nothing like the (mostly) ugly, scribbled graffiti that adorn the walls of London, Reykjavik buildings were covered in every colour imaginable. Giant painted eagles swooped overhead, while elsewhere a huge image of Frankenstein’s monster stood tall. It was a street photographer’s dream, and I couldn’t refuse the opportunity to capture my favourites.

We’d glimpsed Hallgrímskirkja, the tallest church in Reykjavik that dominates its skyline, so decided to get a closer look. The colossal structure looked more like a spaceship than a place of worship, standing 73m tall. The sun was beginning to set so we stayed for some photos. Once the light had faded it began to get chilly so we headed back into town and, after stopping off at the Noodle Station for dinner, chilled out in the hotel room.

Later on we went on one of our booked trips, to hopefully go and see the Northern Lights. We got all wrapped up and set off on the bus. For a while it was a struggle to find any breaks in the cloud, but we eventually got off in the middle of nowhere and set up tripods.

While we were waiting we got chatting to this lovely nurse from New York. She was interested in photography too, and we ended up talking about the migrating waxwings.

We waited eagerly for several hours but were eventually forced to abandon ship and get back on the bus. Naturally we were both pretty disappointed, but the Northern Lights are infamously sneaky and we can go again tomorrow night, so hopefully we still have a chance.