Stefan Durkacz

Just a few from January and a little wander over Ben Gulabin, the hill that overlooks Spittal of Glenshee where the road bends north towards the Cairnwell. I almost didn't bother as the wind was rocking the car when I parked up at the Spittal. Several months away from the hills have dulled the edge a bit. I'm ashamed to say that the fact this was to be Corbett number 100 swung it for me. It's a deer and grouse farmyard up there, complete with larsen traps and bulldozed tracks, overgrazed erosion-prone slopes, too many deer carcasses, too few trees.Ben Gulabin is a wonderful vantage point though, a chance to pull out from the gory close-up detail and a connection back to the bigger picture of the immense, rolling landscape of these eastern mountains, dramatically sidelit by slanting winter sun. I dropped back to the glen by the steep slot of Coire an t-Sith, the fairies' hollow , that lends its name to Glen Shee. Rain and rainbows chased me back to the Spittal.

Sunday's weather forecast went downhill all week. I looked on like a gambler who'd bet the farm on the wrong horse; lavish dreams of spending weather winnings on a long, grand high-level walk over the Mounth were scaled back until I found myself on a dark, wet morning at Spittal of Glenshee. The fairy glen has depth and history. Irish Celtic legends were transplanted here. There is a standing stone behind the church in Spittal of Glenshee. Remains of shielings and hut circles scatter the hills. The human connection here is long and misty, and Glen Shee remains a working landscape. Yellow leaves skittered across slick black tarmac as I set off. The Shee Water, swollen and peat-stained, slalomed through its bouldery flood plain edged with scrubby woodland, and surged under the single high arch of the Caulfield bridge. Today on the cusp of winter the land looked tired and worn. I traversed high above the grazing lands, following a deer fence. The Cateran Trail from the Spittal inv...