Country diary: We wind slowly upwards with our precious cargo of willow

‘We walk and chat companionably until the path and the steepness dictate we walk in a line and in silence.’ Annual willow walk, Cairngorms, Scotland, June 2023. Photograph: Amanda Thomson

At 650 metres, there’s a cool haze and the mountains above and the valley below are bathed in a soft light. I’m part of a 60-strong work party heading over the Cairngorm plateau to Loch A’an, carrying between us 4,000 montane willow saplings, a species perfectly adapted to the extreme climate of this place. It’s part of a Cairngorms Connect project to restore a rare and fragile habitat. The few remaining populations of these willows are often on cliff edges and steep burnsides where they couldn’t be grazed, and they’re too separated now to reproduce easily. What we carry will be planted between and around the remnant populations.

‘The willow saplings we carry will be planted between and around the remnant populations.’ Photograph: Amanda Thomson

There’s 60 years between the youngest and oldest of us, and we walk and chat companionably until the path and the steepness dictate that we walk in a line and in silence, winding upwards to 1,100 metres and on to the plateau. The Northern Corries are in crisp sunshine now and views in all directions are spectacular. Patches of snow linger in the rare spots the sun can’t reach. When Loch A’an comes into view, its waters glisten turquoise-green. Crystal clear water tumbles by the side of the steep path down Coire Domhain. Around us other waters sheen over smooth slabs of granite, and the rush of water is the soundtrack to our descent.

Just before the loch, we unpack the bundles of willows and dook them in the burn before tucking them in the shadows of rocks for the planters, who will come in the next few days. We find previously planted saplings and they’re looking hale and hearty, and some have catkins. We can see how regeneration might just take hold.

After lunch we head back, replenishing our water bottles before we leave the burn’s side. The mountain azalea is out in bright patches of pink, bees buzz among the flowers and there’s a real sense of hope in the sunshine and the day. It’s been a hard slog and some of us wonder how many more years we have in our legs to do this. But we also wonder what the youngest of us here might encounter 60 years from now.

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