I smell pine

A spring adventure into a Scottish forest

Hello, I’m Molly and I write about my slow and simple life in the Scottish Highlands. Subscribe for free to enjoy occasional posts from me. Or, better yet, join our slow community of kindred spirits to unlock ALL my content, including exclusive writing, videos and resources, to help you live the life you REALLY crave. We’d love you to join us for a cuppa…

I inhale deeply.

The smell of damp moss and bark fills my nostrils. A deep, tangy scent that reclines against the subtler backdrop of pine needles, that lay scattered at my feet.

All pine forests smell the same. An aroma of the wild places I live for.

This fragrance is strongest when you get closer to the forest floor. I drink it in as I rest against a particularly beautiful *granny pine. I can feel the solidness of the tree against the curve of my back. My bum and legs are prickled with fallen pine cones and spiky twigs. The sun is warm on my face as the trees shelter Skye and I from the blustery wind.

Gazing upwards through a granny pine

I sip my tea and observe the familiar companions that surround me. My eyes travel from the springy moss, blaeberry and heather that cover the forest floor, up to the wizened juniper and the towering Scots pine trees, encasing us all.

I have spent many an hour sat on the floor of a pine forest. I’ve even slept like this, with only a thin canvas hide to shelter me, as part of my role as a conservationist. This is the first April in 6 years that my life isn’t consumed by forests. Endless exhausting hours tracking down the elusive capercaillie, a rare species of Scottish grouse. A task that sounds magical but is often fraught with frustration. The pressure of trying to save a species that is on the brink of disappearing is immense.

I don’t miss the stress, but I do miss the forest. I didn’t realise how much until I was here. Spring doesn’t feel right unless I’m beneath pine trees. Its my home from home.

Today didn’t start well. My increasingly temperamental phone had decided to turn itself off in the night, meaning I awoke an hour after I planned. The morning felt rushed and I became irritable. I’m precious about my Monday mornings as I like to start the week right. The inner perfectionist in me was not impressed.

Despite the persistent wind, it was the first fine day for what felt like weeks and I wanted to make the most of it. I’d put off this particular route for months, preferring the comfort of familiar walks, where I wouldn’t need to consult maps and had already found the ideal tea spot (a crucial element to every successful walk).

But I’d been itching for a change, so we parked up at the Dalraddy campsite and begun our trek up to the famous Duke of Gordon’s monument. Thankfully, the route was relatively simple as I followed the instructions on the Walkhighlands website, which is my go to resource to find new walks.

I could feel my frustration melt away. By the time we passed through into a sun-dappled field, framed by achingly beautiful views of the hills beyond, it had disappeared entirely. I was myself again.

Look through a metal gate to the hills beyond

This forest was swathed with juniper. The Highlands is a stronghold for this shrub that is now becoming a conservation concern. Its a shade-intolerant species, so thrives best in more open mature forests, like birch or pine, of which there is increasingly less available for juniper to flourish.

I’ve not seen an abundance of juniper like this in a long time. These shrubs twist and rear from the ground. Almost looking like pruned sculptures from a stately home that have been left to go wild. Morphing into different creatures altogether.

Bright green juniper amongst pines and heather

Although Scots pine is dominant, I spot some birch trees nestled amongst the pines. These trees are still in their winter garments, with the only greenery being provided by the lichen that cling to their pale trunks and branches.

These hardy birches become more dominant as we continue to climb and the landscape becomes more exposed. The trail shifts from a carpet of pine needles to rocks and moss, with heather bursting along the centre and at the edges. Its growth no longer dampened by the pine canopy.

After a brief pause to admire the monument, we retreat back into the shelter of the pines. Although the monument was a fine sight, no manmade structure can hope to keep my attention from nature for long.

This is where I sit now as I write in my trusty nature diary, which has become a staple on all my walks. A sense of peace washes over me. I turn my head so my left ear presses against the scaly bark of the granny pine. Listening to the stories of the forest. We’ve been separated for too long and there is much to catch up on.

There is nowhere I would rather be.

Molly xx

*A granny pine is a term to describe an old pine, often over 200 years.