Encounters

In a Green, Wet World

     ...continued

This is a land damaged and overrun by centuries of sheep. They have scarred the peat bogs and hillsides; the grasses are coarse from selective grazing, the flowers few. On Loch an Nostaries, there is a small island covered with shrubs and trees, so unlike the rest of this boggy, barren land. The sheep cannot reach the island; the pattern of barren moors and lush islands is common in northern Scotland.

A few flowers survive the sheep's appetites that remind us of a wilder past: occasional heather bells, some small member of the rose family, dandelions, a few yellow flowers resembling butterweed. I lack my guide to flowers of Great Britain and Northern Europe; I can only guess at the plants and Angus is of little help. He surprises me when we are close to the reservoir by pointing out two carnivorous plants--a sundew and another with which I am not familiar, a pale green whorl against the dark green grasses, capturing insects under the folds at the borders of its leaves, growing flat against the ground, a rosette at the edges of rocks, not often in the bogs themselves. When he points them out, though, they are almost right against the sundews, so tiny that I realize I have stepped over and trod upon hundreds of them without realizing it, even though I knew that carnivorous plants must be common in the land of bogs and midges.

"This is a very strange landscape for me," I tell Angus as we bounce over the springy peat. Each step propels me forward; I feel as though I am on some huge trampoline. We stop at one point to stomp - the whole area shakes and trembles, making us laugh uproariously. He is accustomed to it, having grown up with visits to Mallaig and other places in the north of Scotland. "Iceland is a lot like this," he says, "only with less vegetation. No trees."

There are very few trees here, but hidden along the streams, willows and rowans grow, the red rowanberries bright in the grey and green landscape. They cluster against the leeward side of the hill above Loch an Nosteries, too, and close by the houses in the village. "We have a rowan tree planted at the back of our house," Angus says. "It's supposed to ward off witchcraft and spells."

"Does it work?"

"So far. I haven't noticed any witchery lately."

I want to see the red deer again, the young bucks with only a single point on their antlers, but we are getting too close to town now as we follow the pipeline down from the reservoir. Only sheep droppings and cow pies are dotting the path as we leave the strange green world and make our way back to the familiar hard streets of the village.

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Last modified, Jan. 22, 2001