Thoughts on the Sycamore Gap tree and nature

The birch tree

The felling of the Sycamore Gap tree has resulted in an astonishing outpouring of shock, grief and anger. The story has been a lead item on television and radio news and in many newspapers. Social media has been awash with comments from just about every organisation and individual concerned with conservation and nature and many others as well. Most show concern and unhappiness this has happened, others point out that far worse occurs without such a reaction.

Like most people I felt shocked when I saw the pictures. I did see the actual tree once, many decades ago, but since then I have seen pictures many, many times. That makes it feel familiar and it’s felling creates a sense of loss. Others feeling and expressing the same reinforces the emotion.It makes me think of trees I know and love and how I would feel if they were cut down.

Looking out of my study and kitchen windows I can see a lone birch tree standing in a pile of stones from an old wall in the middle of a big field. I’ve seen that tree every day I’m at home for over thirty years. It really is familiar, a part of my life. I’ve photographed it many times over the years in every season and every type of weather. It is a fine tree. I like it very much. I would be shocked and sad if it was cut down. It wouldn’t cause a ripple in the outside world though. No-one apart from me and my family would know, let alone care.

The birch tree in a storm

Birds perch in it occasionally but it’s not really a tree for wildlife because of its location, in the middle of fields grazed by cows and sheep. It’s rough grazing and there are flowers amongst the grass and butterflies and other insects so it’s not a totally sterile or barren landscape. But any birch seedlings never make it far above ground.

Not far away, also visible from the house, is a thicket of young birches, dense and tangled and thriving. This has grown up in the last twenty years, since the farmer stopped bringing his beasts regularly up the track beside the area and they ate any tree seedlings.

The thicket

The birch thicket isn’t very big, but it is just large enough to go into and feel inside a wood, inside a place that is different to the world outside. In spring and summer it is full of exuberant life. The undergrowth is thick with flowers and grasses, insects buzz, birds sing. This is so different to the solitary birch in its field.

Yet I have never photographed this thicket until doing so for this piece. It doesn’t stand out; it doesn’t fit as an image of natural beauty. Walking round and through the little trees there’s no obvious viewpoint from which to admire them. It looks messy. It is messy. And that’s good as it’s that messiness that is brimming with life. Nature isn’t tidy.

The birch tree in a winter mist

The solitary birch is very photogenic. The shape is pleasingly symmetrical. It stands out against the sky. The Cairngorms form a distant backdrop. It is aesthetically satisfying. That matters in our appreciation of nature and landscape. It’s part of our culture. The Sycamore Gap tree is a perfect example of this. Standing between those lovely curving slopes, solitary and dramatic.

For the health of nature this doesn’t matter at all. The birch thicket is where life is burgeoning. Remover the domestic livestock and young birch would spring up around the lone tree but unless that happens it’s one ageing tree with no nearby offspring and no woodland community around it.

The Sycamore Gap tree is the same. There are no other trees. It will probably regrow, sprouting shoots from the stump. Sycamores are good at that. But it will still be a lone tree unless others join it and if they do the landscape will look different. Ecologically healthier but aesthetically probably not as immediately attractive. I think that is what should happen. If anything positive is to come out of the felling and the surge of emotions it has engendered I hope it is that more people campaign and work for more trees in Sycamore Gap and elsewhere, more messy thickets rich with life. That’s what we need.

 

A ski tour image from the past

Chris Townsend descending from Toppstugan, Kebnekaise, Sweden, April 1994. Photo by Richard Baker.

I'm delighted to have received the above photograph from Richard Baker, who was on a number of trips run by Peter and Pat Lennon for whom I led many ski tours in the 1990s.

Richard sent me the image after reading my post on scanning old films. Like me he's found that scanning software can now result in better images than in the past. He tells me that this image was taken on Kodachrome 25, scanned on a Nikon LS-4000, and processed in VueScan. I've reduced his 6.88 mb image in size for posting online. Viewed on my PC screen the detail is excellent.

It's wonderful to see this picture. It brings back so many memories. I must scan some of my images from ski tours back then. I have hundreds and hundreds.

Cameras & lenses I've used for backpacking over the decades

Everest & Lhotse at dawn, October 2005. 6mp Canon 300D, Canon 18-55mm lens at 55mm, ISO 400, f5.6 at 1/160 second. Raw file processed in DXO PhotoLab

Backpacking with a camera and producing good photographs is a balancing act between performance and weight, especially when you need to produce pictures for publication, as I do. What’s the lightest gear with the best image quality and the most versatility? I’ve been trying to work that out for over forty years! Here, for anyone interested, is a rundown of the camera gear I’ve used on long-distance walks and some of the reasoning behind my choices. Plus a few photos to break up the story.

I first took photography seriously when outdoor magazine editors asked me for pictures to accompany my writing and said no, prints from cheap point-and-shoot cameras were not what they meant. So I bought a second-hand Pentax S1a SLR with 55mm lens and taught myself how to use it. That was a fully manual camera with a separate light meter that could be clipped on the top. I hated the hassle involved in learning how to make it take half-decent photos but it was an excellent way to learn about aperture, shutter speed and focusing.

The editors also said the maximum acceptable ISO speeds (or ASA as it was then) were 64 for colour transparency film and 400 for black-and-white so I had to learn how to hold the camera steady too. Later the acceptable transparency ISO crept up to 100.

Old habits die hard, as the saying goes. I still mostly stick to ISO 100, and I still mostly stick to manual mode for exposure with f8 at 1/125 second my standard setting.

Mount Shasta, Pacific Crest Trail, 1982. Pentax MX, Pentax 50mm lens. Kodachrome 64 transparency film

That first SLR was stolen in a burglary and replaced by a lighter one with built-in light meter and automatic exposure options (the Pentax ME Super). Having learnt the limitations of only having one fixed focal length prime lens I did some research (magazines and books – no Internet of course) and found that zoom lenses were not recommended other than in the 75-150 range so I got one of those and a 28mm wide angle prime to supplement the 50mm prime that came with the camera. That combination came with on the Pacific Crest Trail in 1982, along with a second body, the manual Pentax MX. I was to be glad of the latter as the ME Super failed after a few months. I was also glad I had two prime lenses as the zoom was wrecked when it got soaked during a creek crossing. Something that also taught me that my waterproof camera and lens bags were not actually so when submerged.

The Chinese Wall, Continental Divide Trail, 1985. Pentax MX, Tamron 35-70 lens. Kodachrome 64 transparency film

I replaced the 75-150 zoom with the same model and changed the prime lenses for a 35-70 zoom that had good reviews for the Continental Divide Trail a few years later. This combination, along with the Pentax MX, survived the walk. Rather than a second body I saved weight by taking a little Olympus XA compact as a back-up camera. This had a 35mm lens.

I missed the 28mm lens on the CDT and so swapped the 35-70 for a 28-70 zoom for my walk the length of the Canadian Rockies in 1988. I also daringly bought a 24mm prime lens – it seemed frighteningly wide at the time – and changed the 75-150 for a 70-210 zoom as longer zooms were getting better reviews than a few years earlier. The MX having failed shortly after the CDT I replaced it with the similar manual Pentax LX and bought a second body, a Pentax Super A, about which I remember nothing! I also carried a tripod for the first time on a long walk, making a total weight of 4.5kg, the heaviest amount of camera gear I’d carried on a long-distance walk. (I wrote about my tripods here.  The 281-gram Velbon V-Pod is still my main tripod. I haven’t found anything better at that weight).

On the Rockwall Trail, Canadian Rockies, 1988. Pentax LX, Tokina 28-70mm lens. Fujichrome 100 transparency film. Tripod essential for this shot.

A revolution in cameras occurred around this time, the introduction of auto-focus. This had been around since the 1970s but only really took off when Minolta introduced the first SLR with integrated auto-focus in 1985. Other camera makes quickly followed. Having too many blurred shots of animals and birds due to lack of time to focus I could see the advantages. I was also fed up with Pentax bodies failing – the Super A had gone the way of the ME Super and the MX. Nikons were said to be the most durable SLRs so, although I heavier than the Pentaxs, I decided to change. Nikon introduced auto-focus before Pentax too.

My new Nikon cameras were an F801 and an FM2. The first had auto-focus, the second was fully manual. Although heavy the F801 is my favourite of all the film cameras I owned because it had a thirty-second self-timer. The relief of not having just ten seconds to run in front of the camera and try and look normal! I still miss that timer.

Tombstone Mountain & Talus Lake, Yukon Territory, 1990. Nikon F801, Nikkor 35-70mm lens. Fujichrome 100 transparency film.

For my walk through the Yukon Territory in 1990 I took 24mm, 35-70mm, and 70-210mm lenses with the Nikon bodies. The weight was a touch less than in the Canadian Rockies

Lapland, Sweden, Scandinavian Mountains Walk, 1992. Nikon F801, Nikkor 28-70mm lens. Fujichrome 100 transparency film.

Why not a 28-70mm zoom? I don’t know. Maybe there wasn’t a good one available for Nikon. There must have been two years later as I took one on a length of Scandinavia walk with the other two lenses and the Nikon bodies. And why zoom lenses and not just lighter, smaller fixed focal length prime lenses? I’d found that zooms were just more versatile when hiking and taking photos where there were often few options for “zooming with your feet” because of cliffs, rivers, dense vegetation and more.

Camp on Stob Coire Easain, Munros & Tops, 1996. Nikon F50, Nikkor 28-70mm lens. Fujichrome 100 transparency film.

So far, the long walks had all been end-to-end ones, with many sections where the walking was relatively easy. Four years after the Scandinavian walk I set out to walk all the Munros and Tops in the Scottish Highlands, 517 summits over 3,000 feet (914 metres) high. There would be much ascent and descent, often steep, every day, and often not much of anything else. The heavy loads I’d carried on the other walks needed trimming drastically. And that included camera gear. I bought a new, lighter weight Nikon, the F50, and took just the 28-70mm lens., total weight just 907 grams, 1275 grams with padded camera bag. I missed having a longer lens but not the extra weight. I also hated the F50, the worst film SLR I used – no, the worst camera I’ve used. It had tiny, fiddly buttons that were unlabelled, so you had to try and remember what they did. Obviously practise for some digital cameras. Ironically, it’s the only film SLR camera I still have. I’d feel bad passing it on to anyone else.

Digital, of course, was the next big thing happening in the camera world. An enormous thing in fact. I dipped a tentative toe into digital waters in 2000 when I hiked the Arizona Trail. My main camera was a 335-gram Canon 300 SLR – the F50 had put me off lightweight Nikons – with a 24-70mm lens. Film backup was a tiny Ricoh GR1s compact which weighed just 212 grams and had a 28mm lens. I still have this lovely little camera and use it on the very rare occasions I shoot film.

The Grand Canyon, Arizona Trail, 2000. Ricoh RDC-5000

The digital camera was a Ricoh RDC-5000 with a 2.3mp tiny ½” sensor and a zoom lens equivalent to 38-86 in 35mm/full frame. This was quite an advanced digital camera at the time. With its four AA batteries it weighed a fairly hefty 414 grams. It took big Smartcards which I mailed home and which then appeared on a website during the walk. This was a first and seemed amazing at the time. I guess it was.

In the next few years editors started asking for digital images and no, they didn’t mean ones from 2.3mp cameras with tiny sensors. A DSLR with an APS-C size sensor and at least 6mp was needed.  APS-C I discovered was the size of an obsolete film format a bit smaller than 35mm. These cameras were very expensive. I swithered for a while. Being told I would only get half the fee for a feature if I could only supply film images made up my mind. As did Canon bringing out the first sub-£1000 DSLR (£999.99!), which was still a great deal of money for a camera in 2004. The 300D came with an 18-55mm lens, equivalent to 27-82mm on 35mm/full frame – multiplying focal lengths by 1.5 is needed because of the smaller sensor.  I bought the 300D and my digital era really began.

The 300D only had a 6-megapixel sensor but images from it looked fine. I shot in raw from the start and I’m glad I did as it meant I can now get even better results with the latest processing software like DXO PhotoLab.

GR20, Corsica, 2005. Canon 300D, 18-55mm lens at 37mm. ISO 200. F8 at 1/125 second.

For the first few years I still shot film as well, taking both the Canon 300 and 300D on trips such as the trek to Everest Base Camp and the GR20 on Corsica. Digital was obviously the way forward however and I soon gave up film, with, I must admit, great relief. It was always a hassle. Digital photography was so liberating! Especially on long walks. No films to carry, no rationing how many photos I could take as memory cards were so light, no films to send home in small batches in case any were lost on the way. Wonderful! Digital was much easier for publication too. No more carefully packing slides, sending them insured, then checking them when returned for scratches, glue spots, or finger marks (they all occurred).

Glacier National Park, Pacific Northwest Trail, 2010. Sigma DP1. ISO 50. F5.6 at 1/100 second

As sensors with more megapixels came out and camera sizes and weights dropped (the 300D was a hefty beast) I changed the 300D for the 8mp 350D and then the 12-mp Canon 450D. I took the latter on the Pacific Northwest Trail in 2010 with the 18-55mm lens. As backup I had a 250g Sigma DP1, the first compact with an APS-C sensor (14-mp), which had a 28mm equivalent lens and took lovely images. This was my first long-distance walk with only digital cameras. It was also my first one with a smartphone, an HTC Desire, with which I took photos to send home for use online and even, quite small, in The Great Outdoors magazine.

The cameras and the PNT didn’t get on that well. The DP1 succumbed to a thunderstorm early on in the walk. The 450D limped to the end though the autofocus failed for the last month. Neither camera was worth repairing. That year the first APS-C mirrorless cameras had appeared, and they were much lighter than DSLRs and so an obvious choice for a new camera. From the four brands then available – Sony, Samsung, Olympus, and Panasonic – I chose the Sony NEX 5 as it felt the most secure to hold and I liked the feel of it. I’ve stuck with that range ever since.

Loch Trool, Southern Upland Way, 2011. Sony NEX 5 with 18-55mm lens at 55mm. ISO 400. F8 at 1/60 second

The NEX 5 had a 14mp sensor and came with an 18-55mm lens. It was a good little camera but had one disadvantage. There was no viewfinder. I soon became used to just using a screen, but I never really liked it. It's longest walk was a winter one along the Southern Upland Way. Two years later I changed to the 16-mp NEX 6 and the 24-mp NEX 7 as these did have viewfinders. I also swapped the 18-55mm lens for the much smaller Sony 16-50mm and added the 10-18mm wide angle zoom.

In the High Sierra, Yosemite to Death Valley, 2016. Sony NEX 7, Sony 10-18mm lens at 10mm. ISO 100. F8 at 1/125 seconds

Those two lenses and the NEX 7 went on the Scottish Watershed, Yosemite Valley to Death Valley, and GR5 Through the Alps walks. The NEX 6 went on the first of those and was then replaced by the a6000 as it had the same 24-mp sensor as the NEX 7 so image quality was near enough identical.

Camp in the valley of the Ruisseau de Charmaix, GR5, 2018. Sony a6000, Sony 16-50mm lens at 29mm. ISO 100. F8 at 1/320 second

I loved that combination as it was small and light and produced excellent images. I did miss a longer lens though and eventually acquired a Sony 18-135mm one (27-205mm equivalent) as it only weighs 325 grams. I took this on a 500-mile Colorado Rockies walk in 2019 instead of the 16-50mm and took many animal photographs I could never have taken with the latter. It’s now my favourite lens and the best I’ve used for backpacking.

Moose, Colorado Rockies, 2019. Sony a6000, Sony 18-135mm lens at 135mm. ISO 400. F8 at 1/50 second

This year I’ve replaced the ageing and battered NEX 7 and a6000 cameras with the a6600 and a6700, which take larger batteries that last much longer, and, for the first time with any of my cameras, have built-in stabilisation and weather-sealing. The a6700 in particular has many other advantages and is the best mirrorless camera I’ve used. It weighs 589 grams with battery, memory card and Peak Designs Leash. I also have two new small ultralight lenses -the 229-gram Sony 11mm and 205-gram Sony 10-20mm - as these are also weather-sealed, unlike the lenses they replaced. The 18-135 isn’t weather-sealed but there isn’t an equivalent that is, so it remains my main lens. The total weight of the bodies and lenses plus padded bags is 2.56kg. If I only carry the a6700 and the lenses in a Billingham Hadley Digital Bag (they all easily fit inside) the weight is 1.9kg.  

Sony a6700, Sony 11mm, 10-20mm & 18-135mm lenses. Sony a6600 with Sony 30mm macro lens. ISO 400. F5.6 at 1/8 second.

A week after writing this I’m off for a two-week autumn walk in the Cairngorms. It’ll be the first long trip with my new camera set-up. I’ll be posting pictures.

If you want to read even more about my new camera gear and the reasons I chose it see here, here  and here.

 

It's headlamp time!

A dark night in October 2022

As the nights grow longer it's time to think about headlamps and torches and add one to your bag or, if you carry a tiny one all summer as I do, add a bigger more powerful one. It's worth checking that ones taken out of storage still work and the batteries aren't flat too. Don't get caught out in the dark!

I posted a longer piece on headlamps a few years ago and Alex Roddie has reviewed a selection of current headlamps here. Last year I reviewed some Black Diamond headlamps, two of which, the Spot 400-R and Storm 500-R (which gets the best review in Alex's piece) have since become favourites. An older model I reviewed in 2019, the Petzl Swift RL, is another favourite I use regularly.

Nature & Conservation Book Reviews: Reflections by Mark Avery, The Lost Rainforests of Britain by Guy Shrubsole, Regeneration by Andrew Painting

Three books I've read recently each throw a different light on the complex subject of rewilding, conservation and the nature crisis (or biodiversity crisis if you prefer - I don't as the word biodiversity needs explaining so often). I think the contrasting approaches are complementary and the three books together give an interesting and important overview of where we are now. Mark Avery's Reflections is about wildlife throughout the UK, Guy Shrubsole's The Lost Forests of Britain is about a specific habitat, and Andrew Painting's Regeneration is about the recovery of a specific area. All of them are about the restoration of nature and how to achieve it. 

The three authors all write well and their books are highly readable. They're also informative, inspiring, and optimistic, something we need right now. I recommend them to everyone concerned about the state of nature and what can be done about it.

Reflections by Mark Avery

Covering all wildlife on land and water in every environment Reflections is the most general and wide-ranging of the three books. The author, an experienced conservationist and campaigner who worked for the RSPB for 25 years, starts with an overview of the dire state of wildlife. This section is depressing. The dismal effect is somewhat leavened by a chapter on wildlife conservation successes but that finishes with the question of why such success is hard to achieve on a large scale. Then there's a damning chapter on the failure of wildlife NGOs and the government to protect and enhance wildlife. This could lead to despair that anything can change but Mark Avery is not one for that and the book finishes with his look at what can be done. He puts forward some radical proposals, but his most important suggestion comes right at the end when he calls for readers to "play your part to the full .... engage your brain and then engage your muscles and get things done". 

The Lost Rainforests of Britain by Guy Shrubsole

Recently awarded the 2023 Wainright Prize for Writing on Conservation The Lost Rainforests of Britain describes Guy Shrubsole's exploration of the last remnants of rain forests left in England, Wales and Scotland after he first discovered such lush places existed when he moved to Devon. His wanderings in the forests, his meetings with others concerned about them, and his infectious delight in the wonders found in them make for an entertaining read. As well as visiting the last rainforests the author also looks at the richness of life they contain, analyses why so little of them is left, and finally considers how they can be restored. 

Regeneration by Andrew Painting

The final book of three isn't about the problems and what can be done but about what is being done on one big estate, Mar Lodge in the Cairngorms, which was bought by the National Trust for Scotland in 1995. The NTS set out to repair the damage done by centuries of abuse and mismanagement and Regeneration tells the story of how this is happening. The author, who works as an ecologist on the estate, goes out with botanists, naturalists, stalkers and more and visits the forests, moors, and mountains that make up this magnificent land - one I know quite well as I live not far away. The detailed and intense work undertaken to study and monitor and in places restore the wildlife and plantlife is fascinating and impressive. This is rewilding at work. This is what needs to happen in so many other places.

 

Photography: Sony's In-Body Image Stabilisation - an accidental test

With in-body stabilisation on.

 

Without in-body stabilisation.

How good is the image stabilisation in Sony's a6600 and a 6700 bodies? I've just found out by accident that it works well. Until this year I didn't have a camera body with stabilisation, just lenses, and hadn't got round to seeing just how slow a shutter speed I could handhold with one.

I took a handheld photograph of my current camera and lens set-up with the Sony a6600 and the Sony E 30mm macro lens, uploaded the image to Lightroom, and was surprised to see it was blurred. A second shot was the same.

Thinking about it I realised I had forgotten two things. First that the 30mm lens isn't stabilised, unlike all my other lenses, and second that I'd switched off stabilisation on the a6600 body as I'd been using it on a tripod. (Sony advises this, I'm not sure it really matters - something else to check).

I switched on Steady Shot (Sony's name for stabilisation), took another image with the same settings and this time it was sharp, handheld at 1/8 second. I'm impressed and pleased with that.

Now I'll have to find out how long a shutter speed I can handhold with a camera and lens that are both stabilised. 

The photo, by the way, was taken for a forthcoming post on my camera gear for long-distance walking.

Scanning memories ......

Scanning slides is time-consuming and requires concentration. It's also fun! Looking through the thousands of slides I took in the pre-digital days of the 1980s, 1990s, and very early 2000s (I changed to digital in 2004) brings back so many memories. All those places, all those walks, all those camps! All those wonderful days, weeks, and months in wild places.

I've been going through these slides and selecting a few to scan - difficult, very difficult! - for an exciting project that is still in its infancy. There'll be more on this soon. I hope.

Young & clean-shaven!

In the meantime here's a tiny selection of the slides, covering a 20-year period and taken with a variety of cameras and lens, mostly on Fujichrome film, the early ones on Kodachrome. They were taken, from the top, in the Grand Canyon, the Pyrenees, theWind River Range in Wyoming, the Cascade Mountains in Washington State, Lapland, the High Sierra in California (2), the Canadian Rockies, and the Tombstone Mountains in the Yukon Territory.

The slides were photographed on an old lightbox with my Sony a6700 camera and Sony E 30mm macro lens mounted on a Benro tripod with a Koolehaoda tilt arm. I'm wondering if I need a better macro lens that's sharp from corner to corner and has a longer focal length. Of course it may be that the time to have a sharper lens was when I took the original pictures! 

 

Perth Revisited - River Tay & Kinnoull Hill

View from the Tay Viaduct

Perth is one of those places I've been to many times but don't know that well. Many decades before I moved to the Highlands it was a place to go through on the way to the Cairngorms, usually by train, occasionally by car. In a vehicle Perth was a nightmare as back then the A9 didn't go round but through it and the many junctions were confusing especially as there were few signs. On one journey back south we went round the ring road twice as we couldn't find the right exit. We only did so when I looked at the signs out of the back window and worked out which it mist be.

Much of Perth is on the flood plain of the River Tay and unsurprisingly it floods regularly. I've been stuck there a few times or had long train journeys round the coast to Inverness to get home. I've got to know Perth's huge, echoing railway station better than I would like.

When I was involved with the Mountaineering Council of Scotland (as it was, now Mountaineering Scotland) I had regular meetings to attend in Perth and was driving down there half a dozen times and more a year. Driving because the meetings went on too late in the evening for me to catch the last train north. I soon learnt that reaching Perth was usually fast and easy but that getting from the outskirts to the centre took a very long time with a seemingly endless series of traffic lights and roundabouts to contend with. 

The escarpment on Kinnoull Hill

On all these visits to Perth I never once left the town centre or crossed the river, not even when I had time to spare waiting for a train. It never occurred to me. Perth in my head was a functional town. Pleasant enough but not of any real interest to me. I was, of course, wrong, as I have just discovered.

This came about when an Outdoor Writers and Photographers Guild meeting was held in the town. I've been a member for around forty years but rarely go to meetings since moving to the Highlands as they are usually down in England.The last time was in 2017 when the AGM was held in the Lake District (see this post).  Having commented that meets were too far away on many occasions I really felt I had to attend one in Perth!

The Causeway

The meet began with a good lunch and interesting conversation in an excellent restaurant (Breizh) before we set off for an afternoon walk. Or some of us did. Unfortunately others had various injuries that prevented them accompaying us (outdoor writing and photography is clearly a hazardous business!) so just four of us set off across the river heading for Kinnoull Hill, myself, Alex and Hannah Roddie, and Felicity Martin. who had organised the meet. Felicity knew Perth well and was our guide for the walk.

The River Tay from Kinnoull Hill

A wander through pleasant parkland past the Causeway that leads to Moncreiffe Island took us to wooded Kinnoull Hill. Although only 222 metres high (lower than my house) this is an impressive hill as it falls away in a steep craggy escarpment down to the river. The views from the edge of the cliffs are superb with the river winding its way through the flatflands far below and higher hills rising in the distance. Cloud hid most of the latter but this didn't detract from the feeling of being high above the world or the beauty of the river.

Kinnoull Tower

Perched right on the edge of the cliffs is Kinnoull Tower, a folly built by the Earl of Kinnoull in the early nineteenth century. Apparently the crags reminded him of those along the Rhine Valley in Germany. There are many castles there and he thought that Kinnoull Hill should have one too. 

The mixed woods on Kinnoull Hill are lovely with a rich mix of trees. Walking through these we arrived at a summit cairn and a most extraordinary and fascinating viewfinder-cum-information plaque erected in 1948 as a "record of historic sites in Perth city and neighbourhood together with mention of other places of interest in the near and distant countryside ".

View from the Tay Viaduct

Leaving the summit we descended through the woods back to the river and the 440 metre Tay Viaduct that carries the railway across the river and over Montcreiffe Island. Our walk ended with excellent views of the river and the island from the pedestrian walkway on the viaduct. 

I look on Perth more favourably now. I'd like to explore more of its surroundings and make up for all those times I could have but didn't. So thanks to Felicity Martin and the OWPG.