Atlantic Rainforest – can it ever return?

At the beginning of the year, Michaela and I sat down to think about what we would seek to explore in our work for the coming year, and we chose something that is so important to us that perhaps it was no choice at all – atlantic rainforest. Our work in Seatree will explore this and we hope to use some of these pieces in an exhibition in the autumn- more on this at a later date!

What did the Cowal hills once look like?

It is a question we have often pondered when considering the landscape that earlier generations would have lived in, for example the people who lived here. We know they shared the landscape with bears, wolves, lynx, bison and wild boar.

We have good reason to think they looked NOTHING like this.

Something transformed the mountains, hills and valleys of Argyll from verdant deep forest and high scrub lands to barren marshy grass lands.

From pre-history, as soon as our ancestors started to settle this land after the ice receded (around 9 thousand years ago), people began clearing space in forrest. In many cases, there is evidence that they continued to live in a mixed forest landscape, but as the tide of human activity turned towards farming rather than subsistance hunting, they cleared more more. As the forest was cut down there was less room for the wild and animals were hunted and squeezed out of their habitats- some deliberately because they posed a threat, others because they were a readily available source of protein. However, none of this is the real reason for our clear and empty hills.

The hills are empty because of grazing animals.

They became that way with the introduction of sheep and- more laterly – with the increase in numbers of deer. Both sheep and deer have an infamous part to play in our history – the Highland clearances were after all the process of replacing people with sheep (because they are more valuable) and the great shooting estates continue to keep Scotland as the most unequal (in terms of land ownership) in the whole of Europe. After all, we live in a country in which over fifty percent of private land is owned by four hundred and thirty two people, and in which their priorities dominate land use in ways unimaginable elsewhere. Vast tracts of this land are still reserved for hunting, shooting and fishing.

Of course, it is only fair to mention that some amongst the four hundred and thirty two have laudable ambitions towards rewilding and landscape restoration. This feels both important and frustrating, as if the only hopes we have are the whims and hobby horses of the ultra rich.

The interesting thing about living in Cowal at this time, is that the hills above Dunoon, thanks to the industry of some local entrepeneurs, will be coming in to public ownership. The Dunoon project is an ambitious plan to regenerate the local economy through tourism. Many of us also hope that it might be an opportunity to regenerate our ecosystems too. We think that we can be even more ambitious!

Scotland’s lost rainforests

Imagine a time when Cowal was covered in pristine forest. A time before major clearances, charcoal production and sheep farming. A time before shooting estates. A time when the forest did not need to be ‘managed’ as it functioned as a balanced whole.

The Alliance for Scotland’s Rainforest is a campaigning organisation set up to bring together efforts to preserve the remnants of this precious habitat;

Scotland’s rainforest is one of our most precious habitats. It is as important as tropical rainforest, but even rarer. Yet few people in Scotland know it exists and fewer still know how globally significant it is.

Scotland’s rainforest is made up of the native woodlands found on our west coast in the ‘hyper-oceanic’ zone. Here, high levels of rainfall and relatively mild, year-round temperatures provide just the right conditions for some of the world’s rarest bryophytes and lichens.

But Scotland’s rainforest is in trouble. As little as 30,000 hectares remain – a mere 2% of Scotland’s woodland cover and only one fifth of the area that has climatic conditions suitable for rainforest.

If we don’t start taking serious and urgent action to support and protect our rainforest, we face the risk of losing this internationally important habitat completely. And the longer we wait, the harder it will become.

These efforts are essential to preserve the precious remnants within Argyll, like Crinan wood;

There are remnants in Cowal also, but these are not well mapped, or well understood – which almost certainly means that the usual destroyers – deer, invasive plants and sitka spruce plantations – is likely to be a problem for their regeneration.

For example, the banks of Loch Striven, or the old birch and scrub oak stands above Colintraive.

Then there is the magical Glenan wood, which through community action has been set free from invasive rhodedendons and has quickly become a place that I return to as one might to a cathedral. You can even do this;

Landscape restoration

Preservation is vital, but if we are to make any progress towards avoiding mass extinction and run away cimate change, we must also be thinking about how we can regenerate our landscapes.

Fortunately, this is not as difficult as it sounds. Mostly it is about removing/controlling those (mostly man made) factors that get in the way of nature doing what it wants to do anyway, along with selective, careful re-introduction of keystone species that will accelerate trophic cascades.

We believe that there are unique opportunities for ambitious land resoration in Cowal, right now. We need to start a real local discussion about what this might look like, and how we can use community resources and activism to achieve this.

Lets do something!

Many of us who have been concerned about our environment have sometimes struggled to feel hopeful in the face of so many bad news stories, and the apparent innability of our political systems to respond to the emergency in a proportional way. Because of this, it can be hard to stay actively engaged. The good news however is that IT IS NOT TOO LATE to work towards landscape restoration. This includes Cowal, with our ‘perfect’ climate and the memory in our soils of the rainforests that were here no so long ago.

This webinar might well be helpful.

Wilderness retreat 2026, Camas

Regular readers of this blog will be familiar with our May bank holiday tradition of making a ‘wilderness retreat’. It is something that precious community has formed around- a combination of friendship, authenticity, spirituality (of a very non religious kind,) laughter and much silliness. We have accompanied each other through decades now, welcoming some for just one time,others for the long haul. In many ways, these lovely people are my ‘church’.

We have seen each other through brokenness, grief, new jobs, parenthood, grandparenthood, marriages and divorces, serious illnesses of both physical and and mental. We have come at our lowest, then next year, we tentatively tell different stories.

My feeling now is that we will do this as long as we can. We are not perfect. The tone can be entirely unsuitable for polite company, but then we cry together. We sit around fires and share hopes and dreams. We abuse each other as means of celebrating shared belonging and we open spaces for moments of simple kindness, immediately followed by a rude joke.

This year, I failed in attempts to find a boat to take us to the sorts of island locations that have been our normal places of retreat – uninhabited wild places, often with their traditions of hermits caves and ancient chapels. Instead, my friends indulged my suggestion that we do something different, allowing me to combine different parts of my life.

So it was that we pitched our tents outside Camas.

If you have never heard of this place, let me give you some of the rich history. 70 years ago, the Iona Community (which began as a project providing meaningful work for those hungry in pre-war Glasgow by rebuilding the Abbey on Iona) took on an old salmon fishing station on Mull. It was a challenging place to get to, and remains so even to this day, as it is in every sense of the words ‘off grid’. It requires a half hour walk from the road over bogland, then down into a welcoming valley towards an inlet – previously netted for Salmon – which was famous as the place where the the Stevensons quarried the Granite blocks for their famous lighthouses.

70 years ago, George MacLeod, the forceful patriarch of what became the Iona Community, was looking for somewhere to allow young people to experience wild community away from the slums of Glasgow. They used an old Mill building for a while, but eventually they found their way to Camas. Back then it was mostly used for groups of Borstal boys, who actually ran the salmon nets.

I heard a story from back then of someone who was a young 21 year-old volunteer, sent down to cook at Camas with next to no experience. At the time, Camas had no plumbing and water was collected from a burn that ran next to the buildings. A young lad, on his first ever foray out of the city, was sent out to fill the kettle. Tea was brewed and poured… then spat out with cries of disgust. The lad had filled the kettle from the sea. not knowing any better. This placed changed lives.

Generations passed through, and Camas became a place of retreat for groups of young people from all over the place. Often this was their first experience of wildnerness, their first time testing themselves with community, their first time sitting in the Chapel of the nets and sharing hopes and dreams in a place where God was no longer abstract.

Camas became one of those places where that beautiful-ordinary sacredness of earth and soul was simply more obvious.

If you are interested to find out more about Camas, then Rachel McCann has pulled together a wonderful book that brings together stories from all sorts of people who have made their way ‘down the track’.

Over the decades, Camas has developed considerably. Increasingly it used outdoor pursuits, climbing, kayaking, swimming, sailing to help young people (and older groups) to make their adventures. Trees were planted, creating an oasis as the wild creatures found it and stayed. A garden was dug. Polytunnels were established. There is solar and wind power – even hot water and… a pizza oven that makes the best pizzas I have ever eaten.

In recent years, Camas has fallen on some tough times. Problems with the roof led to temporary closure, but thanks to one of my neighbours David (a fellow wilderness retreatant) connections were made with a roofer in our village who will be working on the roof right now. David has worked as a gardener at Camas for two periods- with a 30 year gap. All roads lead to Camas in these parts it would seem.

As ever, part of the challenge in keeping Camas open is a financial one – not just for repairs and maintenance, but it has always run at a deficit, being supported by wider funds from within the Iona Community. This is increasingly difficult and so the Community have started something called Camas Companions, asking those who can to support the work with some monthly donations.

In a time of such inequality and so many charities are struggling, perhaps you might still feel that Camas has something special to offer in the future, not only to groups of young people, but perhaps as a place for reconnecting to earth and soul for older people too.

As part of our ‘rent’ for using Camas for our retreat I asked my friends to help bring some slates over the bog in wheel barrows. I worried I might be exploting them, but in the end, we all loved the oportunity to contribute something to the continuance of this wonderful place. We also repaired things, planted spuds in the lazy beds and cleaned whatever we could. It feels like Camas is almost ready to fling wide its arms once more.

As we gathered on arrival, we sat together in a circle and took in the surroundings in silence, after which I asked this;

If the earth could speak, what would it say?

What if we arrive here, not as strangers?

What if the ground welcomes us?

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Is that so hard to believe? If so, why?

Something about us- our otherness?

Something about ownership?

Something about separation?

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But what if the same ‘am-ness’ that is in all things is also in our own souls?

What if we are not defined most crucially by our differences but rather by our deep (even forgotten) connection to that which is also within the soil of this place, in the air of this place, in those trees, in that water, in the feathers of the birds, in the stones of this old building?

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So I ask again, if this earth could speak, what would it say to us?

Dearest beloved , before you came to this place, I knew you

We are not the same, but we are one

Dearest beloved, I have missed you. I have longed for you

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And now you are here.

Tell me your name

And I will whisper mine in return.