A Gem of a Glen

A busy April left me with just one opportunity for photography – a single afternoon and evening spent in Glen Moidart, blessed with bright sunshine and blue skies dotted with white clouds. During that short visit, I captured a series of both colour and black-and-white images of what I consider to be a picture-perfect Highland glen. The hills rise in a natural circle around the small yet striking Loch nan Lochan, creating what I consider to be a gem of a glen hidden in the heart of Moidart.

​Access to Glen Moidart is via a track that climbs gently from the end of the public road. After about 200 metres, you reach the crest, where the landscape suddenly reveals itself. A sweeping ring of hills forms a natural amphitheatre around you, seemly filling your vision, while closer to hand, a scatter of weathered boulders hints at Na Garbh Chriochan—the Rough Bounds—the rugged landscape that cradles the glen.

​A cluster of crumbling stone croft buildings stands nearby, quietly echoing of times past. Beyond the ruins, a small loch comes into view, fed and drained by the River Moidart as it winds its brief course from the surrounding hills to the sea. On the loch’s edge, a solitary tree adds a touch of quiet beauty, completing the scene with a sense of gentle melancholy.

​Time has left its mark on the crumbling walls of the decaying buildings. Delicate clumps of maidenhair spleenwort ferns cling to the surfaces, their roots nestled deep in the cracks and crevices. A soft layer of silvery-blue moss spreads across the tops of the walls, filling the gaps between scattered stones.

​The real beauty of the Glen appears when seen from above. The sapphire-blue waters of Loch nan Loch sit quietly in a graceful curve of steep hills, drawing the eye toward far-off, mist-covered peaks. On one side, a farm track leads to the ruined croft buildings of Glenforslan. On the other, Glenmoidart House and it adjacent buildings lie peacefully amongst thick, green woodland.

​After spending some time admiring the view from the crest of the hill at the glen’s entrance, I made my way down to Loch nan Lochan. As I reached the water’s edge, my attention was caught by the trees covering the hillside across the loch. The low evening sun lit up their upper branches with a warm glow, while the lower limbs remained in shadow, creating a striking contrast of light and layered shades of green.

​The solitary lime tree on my side of the loch was glowing in the sunlight, its seemingly iridescent leaves fluttering and shimmering gently as the breeze stirred them. On the tree’s north-facing side, silvery bark gleamed through the moss that blanketed much of the trunk. Thick, gnarled roots twisted deeply into the earth, anchoring the tree securely in place.

​From the lime tree, I followed the edge of the loch toward its western end, where the water becomes shallower and swathes of water sedge rise gracefully from its surface. Their pale-coloured strands caught the light and guided my gaze toward the hills at the far end of the glen, now glowing under a burst of sunlight breaking through the moving clouds. These bright hills stood in vivid contrast to the darker loch below, their radiance echoing the delicate brightness of the sedge.

​Along the fringes of the wide bands of water sedge, small clusters of plants stood alone, illuminated by the low evening sun. Their vivid greens and warm oranges stood out sharply against the deep blue of the loch and the shadowy patches cast by the reflections of the surrounding hills. These quiet scenes formed delicate, melancholic vignettes that I felt the urge to capture.

​Leaving the edge of the loch, I walked back up to the track leading towards the ruined croft buildings of Glenforslan. These remnants lie tucked at the base of the hills and at the very head of the glen, just under two kilometres from the loch and were my final stop on this evening's exploration of the glen.

​As I walked along the track, the evening sun dipped lower in the sky, stretching long shadows over the upper slopes of the hills on my left. Its soft light highlighted every crease, boulder, outcrop, and hummock, revealing the rugged nature of the landscape with striking clarity.

​I eventually arrived at Glenforslan, nestled in a quiet, wooded glade beside a stream that winds its way down from Loch Forslan, roughly 100 metres higher up the hillside. Today, the loch supplies water to the Glen Forslan Hydro Station, a modest 490 kW facility that began operating in 2009. In earlier times, however, this same stream likely served as a vital source of fresh water for the people who once inhabited the now-ruined buildings that can be found close to it.

​When at Glenforslan, the first thing you see is the partially collapsed gable end of the larger of the two houses there. It’s a striking and sombre sight - one that always makes me reflect on how nature slowly takes back what was previously shaped by human hands. The stones that once formed the now-ruined half of the gable lie scattered in heaps on either side of its base. Where a room once provided safety and shelter, trees now grow, roots winding through the past.

​The doors and windows of the house are long gone, and the roof lost to time, leaving behind just a few splintered beams rotting among the fallen stones of the collapsed walls. Slender maidenhair spleenwort ferns now cling to the remaining stonework, their fragile roots winding into crevices where mortar once bound the building strong.

​Where a sturdy roof once protected the building, only open sky remains, and within the decaying walls, trees have grown tall, their limbs stretching far beyond where the eaves once rested. Nature, undeterred and relentless, presses forward in its quiet mission to reclaim the ground on which the building stands.

​Majestic oaks cover the hillside behind the house, their ancient branches stretching wide to shelter the creatures that now claim this secluded place as their own. In the soft hush of the evening, I heard the distinctive call of the cuckoo for the first time this year. Moments later, I glimpsed the males perched amongst the branches, their haunting notes echoing through the trees – both a beckoning to nearby females and a clear challenge to any competing suitors.

​Leaving behind the echoing calls of the cuckoos, I retraced my steps back to Loch nan Lochan, arriving just as the sun slipped beneath the hills behind Glenmoidart House. The sky lit up with a stunning wash of warm orange, casting a golden glow across the landscape. It was then that I had one final chance to capture the beauty of this gem of a glen before darkness fell.