There is a good short run up and along the forest road skirting Taniel Hill. The route rises and dips amongst pine and bare larch and then veers round, describing a slow S and up a long right to join the drovers` road just above a log bothy.
At this exposed site the strong winds have broken many tree limbs and uprooted larch saplings. For them; dormant through winter, death would have been unknowing, I ruminated.
I turned and ran back down, winter darkness falling. Enveloped in the woods again I enjoyed padding on a carpet of larch needles. The only wildlife (apart from an exploding, startled grouse) were the birds: their songs points of sound, nicking the air above me.
As I run I try to identify the trees: sitka spruce ? Norwegian..something ? Is that sapling a spruce or a pine (good to know, come Christmas) ? I`ve been like a child in the woods or an abstract artist; open to the shapes, colours and sounds but unable to name what I`ve experienced. Not a natural naturalist.
Again no deer, despite dusk rising. The trail steepens. Months before, last summer , a fox ran ahead of me and I`ve glimpsed roe deer here.
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