Under a green canopy



Under a green canopy
29th July 2017

The small village of Walkerburn straddles the A72 as it runs west from Galashiels before disappearing into the wilds of South Lanarkshire. A former mill town, the surrounding hills now provide new wealth from the timbers grown on them and the bike riders that make use of the tracks and pathways that run through them. On this blustery Saturday in late July we make use of these same forest roads to complete an 8 mile circular walk beginning and ending in the small car park that sits adjacent to the River Tweed. This is not a  difficult route, the most strenuous section is the long slow pull up to the height of Middleburn Knowe, a top of 414 metres. After passing through the settlement at Glenbenna we keep to the side of a small stream before a sharp turn left starts us on the upward pull. At this junction sitting proudly by the roadside and entangled by some long grasses, sits an impressive stand of Shaggy Ink mushrooms; columns of white flesh, bejewelled with silvery scales. We gain height quickly and shortly views across the Tweed valley open up. On the far off braes, swathes of heather coming into flower add a purple wash to the high ground while dark green blocks of conifers sit oddly in the landscape. Without map or compass we trust to our own judgements on where we sit within the terrain, keeping an imagined Walkerburn as a point of reference.  The forest tracks are well built and maintained but without sign posts can be strangely dis-orientating. The woodland we traverse however is full of atmosphere and visual delights. Despite its origins as a commercial enterprise, it lacks the continuous regimentation and repetitive character of other forests. Instead the approach to planting is much more varied, moving us from light to dark and back again. In places tightly packed rows of Norway Spruce prevent all light from entering beyond the thick carpet of the upward branches. The effect is eerie and claustphobic. A sort of death zone exists below the upper canopy and all shape and form is lost from the density of planting and the loss of light that ensues. Elsewhere, single pines sit on slopes covered with verdant displays of bracken as sunlight penetrates to ground level, revealing colour form and distant views. The fissured and scaly surfaces of the trees exposed by the fierceness of the light. From recently harvested sections, stands of Scots pine freed from their neighbours, look exposed and awkward in their newly won independence. On some slopes dead trees have been exposed on the shaven hillside.  Looking blasted and melancholic, redolent of battle scared landscapes. We eventually break free from the confines of the forest, below us sits the Tweed, a silver scrawl marking the valley floor. Heading back towards Walkerburn, groups of cyclists pass, clad in garish lycra, crowned with the mandatory helmet, they offer cheery greetings as they speed past. Away from the timelessness of trees we re-enter the ordinary pace of life, left behind the comforting hold of the forest, where only imagined worlds hold sway
Shaggy Ink Mushrooms
 
 

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