It seems ridiculous to talk of mountains as vulnerable. They appear in our art and our idioms as symbols of resilience and permanence – “Grandfather of the Days” for Emily Dickinson; for Percy Shelley “the secret strength of things which governs thought.” These phrases were written before the Copenhagen Accord and the Paris Agreement, before Greta Thunberg and Extinction Rebellion – before we realised we needed to save our summits. Only a few decades ago, nobody outside of the scientific community had heard of rewilding, and sheep were seen not as woolly habitat-wreckers but as a scenic addition to the landscape.
Main image: Sgùrr a’Mhàim from Sgùrr an Lubhair, Mamores | Credit: James Roddie
Sometimes, it would be nice to go back to the Matrix of youth. A blue pill perspective free from melting glaciers, microplastics and the insidious creep of invasive species. Many of you would like to buy a Gore-Tex jacket without worrying about the supply chain or to look at a bare mountain slope without seeing the ghosts of vanished forests. But it’s hard to truly love something invulnerable. The more we appreciate the fragility of mountain landscapes, the deeper and more nuanced our feelings for them become. Their impermanence, their rarity, their scarred beauty are all reasons to value them more. These aren’t beautiful backdrops for human leisure, endeavour and industry. They’re finely balanced ecosystems that need stewardship and care. Planting trees, collecting biodiversity data, studying remote glaciers – all of them have found a way to use their outdoor skills for altruistic purposes. It’s something you can do as well.
Today’s world isn’t always an easy one to live in for those of us invested in nature. Hope can seem thin on the ground. But there’s no cure for an existential crisis like taking action. This issue is full of ideas for giving back to the environments you love.
Highlights of this issue:
- Hanna Lindon meet the everyday adventurers who are helping to save our summits
- Richard Cross photographs Scotland from above to uncover hidden secrets of land use
- In this Dolomites alpine town, Andy Wasley de-stresses on lesser-trodden trails
- James Roddie photographs Yosemite‘s wild icons on a once-in-a-lifetime adventure
- DC Paul Flint shows you how to become a wildlife crime detective in your area
- Car-free walks are your route to guilt-free hiking days – our experts map the best
- Nadia Shaikh reminds us to cherish nature we do have and notice the Meadow Pippit
PLUS: Jim Perrin paints a portrait of Yr Wyddfa’s lesser-known scramble; witness an SOS message from Europe’s largest glacier; get your new solo adventure kit with honest reviews of the best one-person tents and backpacking meals – as well as top-of-the-range sleeping bags; the latest news from the mountains and the Right to Roam campaign; outdoor walking festivals we rate; and our reviews of new outdoor books to inspire.
Read our September issue:
Saving Our Summits: Mountain ecosystems across the world are under threat – but the people who love them are fighting back. Hanna Lindon meets the hillwalking heroes using their outdoor skills for positive change
“Carrying a tiny willow sapling up the upper reaches of Strath Nethy, Laura McAuley felt suddenly emotional. She had watched it grow from seed at the Cairngorms Connect Tree Nursery. Now, as part of a larger group of volunteers, she was taking the tree and 3,000 of its fellows to be rehomed in one of the harshest environments in Britain. If it survived the extreme Cairngorms climate, it might help restore the montane scrub that once blanketed these high contours. “There’s this delicate little tree you’ve looked after with kid gloves in the nursery,” she says. “And you dig a hole and put it in, and it looks so small and unlikely. The landscape absorbs it. And you just think: ‘good luck tree’.” When she first moved to the Cairngorms in 2010 to pursue a career as an outdoor instructor, Laura saw the Highlands as “this big, beautiful wilderness”. Today, after walking in mountain ranges across Europe and embarking on a Masters degree in biodiversity and conservation, she has a different perspective…”
What lies beneath: Documentary photographer Richard Cross rises above the shortbread tin romanticism that colours so much of our outdoor heritage, with a novel perspective provided by drone photography applied to the land use issues of our day.
“There’s a myth that clings to the Scottish Highlands — of vast, untamed wilderness, untouched by human hand. It’s a powerful story, rooted in romanticism and reinforced by tourism campaigns, films, and even maps that designated areas as “wild land.” But once you spend time there – walking, looking, seeing – that illusion begins to unravel. The truth is more complex, caveated and potentially even more hopeful. I moved to Scotland with a background in documentary photography and a love of the outdoors. At first, I saw the Highlands like many others do – open spaces and dramatic views that seemed to confirm the myth of wilderness. But over time, my perspective shifted. That change didn’t happen overnight. It’s been a slow, evolving process, shaped by more than 30 years of walking, reading, and reflecting on what I’ve seen. And once you learn to see the landscape differently, it’s impossible to unsee…”
California Dreaming: You don’t have to thru-hike a Triple Crown trail to get a taste of the Californian wilderness. James Roddie experiences summits, camps and canyons on a two-week tour of the Golden State.
“Unrealistic ambitions can sweep me away whenever I consider trips to the USA. The idea of hiking one of the big long-distance trails is just so seductive, and I indulge the fantasy for a couple of hours. Perhaps I could find six months to thru-hike the Pacific Crest Trail? Maybe it wouldn’t cost that much…? Even after the usual issues of time and money, there are now new obstacles to navigate. Extreme changes in weather and seasonal patterns, unprecedented wildfires – and, most recently, President Trump’s assault on the National Park Service. Two weeks and a pretty limited budget was what my partner Nicole and I managed to steal away from our working lives in 2023. A speedy attempt on the John Muir Trail was rejected due to widespread trail damage and campsite closures after an extremely snowy winter. So the question became: how do make the most of a fortnight in the mountains in California?”
De-stress in the Dolomites: Andy Wasley needed a dose of adventure to lift a lagging spirit. He found it in Merano, an Italian resort where mountains, castles and cuisine compete for attention on an Inghams walking holiday.
“Soon I was on my way to Mutspitze in broad sunshine. The mountain’s lower flanks were alive with birds, wildflowers and butterflies, a storm of colour and sound amid towering pines, birch and beech. The path kept a steady but steep incline, soon ascending above the tree-line and gaining the summit after a little over four kilometres’ hiking and a vertical kilometre’s ascent. I found myself alone on the rocky top, looking up at the summit cross as dark clouds roiled from the higher peaks and Alpine lakes to my north. The cross – a characteristically Austrian landmark – carried an inscription: In diesem zeichen wirst du siegen. Charlemagne’s battle prophecy on seeing a cross in the sky: In this sign, thou shalt conquer. It had been a tough but rewarding climb, and already my mood felt lighter. For once, the conquering sentiment was welcome…”
Wild Walks: Fancy a beautiful but guilt-free walk knowing you’ve made choices that alleviate negative impacts upon the environments of our high place? These car-free mapped routes boast some of the finest mountain, fell and down walking up and down Britain.
“Legend tells of seven sisters, daughters of a local Kintail farmer, that made acquaintance with two visiting brothers, perhaps princes, and presumably handsome, who resumed their travels, taking the youngest sisters with them. They left the older five with a promise that their own five brothers (uh-huh) would be along soon to whisk them away too. But the promise was false, and the long-suffering sisters running out of time, so they had themselves cast into mountain peaks so that their beauty would endure until such a time as the brothers would deem to turn up. Luckily for us, and likely the sisters too, they still have yet to show. The ridge undoubtedly embraces a certain beauty, but perhaps time has yielded additional qualities. The tops are resilient and rugged, and they stand united in accomplished independence, close knit, and facing problems together. Their heads may sometimes still be in the clouds, but for a chosen few who tackle the quest for the crest well, they may reveal their true love, parting the veil to reveal majestic surroundings, that may encourage a tentative belief in the miracle of magic after all…”
