Before the Cairngorms became the focus of the news, with two lynx on the loose in the area, we had other things to think about. I was alerted to the situation by the burn near to us, which was in spate with the torrential rain, churning and roiling along its course and threatening to spill over the little wooden bridge across the track. As it subsided, I headed down to the River Spey. At 105 miles long, it’s Scotland’s second longest river, and countless tributaries like our burn add to its mass.
At the beautiful Broomhill Bridge, the river had breached its banks. The sandy banks themselves – which in the summertime hold a large colony of sand martins that swirl around and under the bridge’s wooden tresses – were completely submerged. The bottom end of a field of stubble was partly underwater with just the tallest stalks protruding. Elsewhere, the tips of fence posts poked up and gates opened no longer on to fields, but fast eddying waters. A single male goldeneye rode the current for a time before flying off.
