Cairngorms | Wanstead Meteo

Back in the days of proper winters folk had it hard, especially those living in the Cairngorms. And probably none more so than Bob Scott who experienced more than his fair share of severe weather.

Reading Adam Watson’s fascinating memoir of his time with the legendary Bob Scott o’ the Derry I picked up this fascinating account of the time he had to hand over navigation to his horse, Punchie, to guide them home through a blizzard in January 1952.

Watson writes on his conversation with Scott:
“…it was the worst storm I’ve ivver been oot in, on my wey hame fae the Linn in the aifterneen. The drift came on sae thick I couldna see the horse’s heid as I sat on the sledge. I couldna have got hame if it hadna been the horse”.

A gale battered his face with suffocating drift. He judged that he must be near the Derry wood, but the storm now became violent. He had to turn his head away and let Punchie take over. Suddenly the gale dropped and the drifting stopped as a dark wall loomed yards away, the lodge wood! Snow still fell thickly, but he had shelter and knew where he was. Punchie had come right to the narrow gap where the road entered the wood.

Watson’s book It’s a Fine Day For The Hill is a beautiful memoir packed with anecdotes of his life in and around the Highlands.

The route from Inverey to Luibeg, the ‘most beautiful part of the Cairngorms’

Pinewoods thin and it’s curtain up
On the stage of the Glen Derry.
I stop and stare and raise the cup.
Of tea mixed with some blackberry.
The grand old Lodge sits to the left.
And over there; Luibeg bereft.

Of human settlers, long since passed.
These actors of spirit and endeavour.
Bob Scott and co, a solid cast.
Lost in time and gone forever.
Sublime silence there is no lack.
But in’t background the Lui soundtrack.

Exit stage right there is a bridge.
That leads through trees and up the glen.
An escape from the summer midge.
A path to the Macdui Ben.
But it is here that one must stay.
And watch this scene unfold today.

A ray of sun spotlights Luibeg.
Prompting the ghosts o’ the Derry.
A perfect script with nothing said.
No need for lines, no words nary.
Exit stage left, encore begins.
It’s back to the Linn of Dee. Fins