A cluster of trips through February to April marked the transition in the year from winter into spring; from the quiet months into the months filled with bird song. Two of the trips were well worn routes for me and my friend but one of them was something new.
The usual walk from the train at Rannoch through to Corrour along the Road to the Isles marked the last cold trip of the year, although there wasn't much snow evident on the hills. We had a short walk the first day, just a couple of hours or so from Rannoch. The cheap train tickets were on so weren't bothered that we didn't make a full day of it.
The tents were pitched on a lovely, flat shelf of grass beside the Allt Eigeach with a view to the Bridge of Orchy hills. I'd last used the spot 13 years ago with my good friend, Bart. It was winter then but with more snow on the hills as was the case in times of old.
It was a lovely walk the next day in weak winter sunshine through to Loch Ossian, Corrour and the train home.
March (and still cheap train tickets) provided the opportunity to climb a wee hill above Newtonmore that was new to me. As we walked in along Glen Banchor, the natural world was coming alive with bird song in the woods and frogs mating in the pools and puddles.
It was a stiff pull up the wee hill as there was not much of path. I guess not a lot of people walk this way. The glen may have shifted into spring but it was still winter on the tops with a bitter wind blowing through. The same wind was hellbent on pulling out our tent pegs during the night.
April then saw a short trip to a favourite camp spot in the woods above Mill Dam to the north of Dunkeld. I love this spot because it's completely hidden but sits on a wee knoll at the edge of woods with a lovely view over the varied landscape spread out below.
The walking routes to get there are all lovely in spring sunshine and at this time of year, are dotted with the first of the wildflowers.
I also love it because the bird song in spring is superb and most of the trip is simply spent lying in the tent listening to it. Particularly vocal this time was a song thrush right above the tents and at dusk, a roding woodcock making its strange quack-like call as it flew round its territory.