Jenna. Watt - HINDSIGHT: In Search of Lost Wilderness

HINDSIGHT

First published in 2022 by

Birlinn Limited

West Newington House

10 Newington Road

Edinburgh

EH9 1QS

www.birlinn.co.uk

Copyright Jenna Watt, 2022

ISBN 978 1 78027 745 5

The right of Jenna Watt to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical or photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.

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To my family, past and present.

To aim for the highest point is not the only way to climb a mountain.

Nan Shepherd

I wont shoot her.

Its my first thought as I wake up.

Reluctantly, I push back the warm duvet. I turn on the side light, lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling. Take a moment to remember where I am in a canal cottage holiday rental in Banavie, near Fort William. Its early on a Friday morning in November 2019. I didnt get much sleep worst-case scenarios continually played out in my dreams, and I woke up every hour thinking Id slept in. My stomach is tight with the knowledge of what the day holds. Today Ill be participating, for the first time, in Scotlands deer cull.

I take a deep breath, slowly exhale and push the heel of my hand into my diaphragm to bring some relief. I get up and dress in the layers of clothes I laid out last night. I gently open the bedroom door and tiptoe quietly down the old stairs. Siouxsie, my eighteen-month-old rescue dog, follows me into the kitchen, hoping for some semblance of her normal routine in this strange new place. The linoleum floor is freezing cold. I quietly potter about in my socks, making our breakfasts. Upstairs, in the other room, my friend sleeps. She agreed to come along and look after Siouxsie while I do the stalk. I imagine their day: pleasant walks along Neptunes Staircase in the crisp winter air and cuddles by the wood fire. I consider cancelling and staying with them instead, but its too short notice, Im here now. While the kettle boils, I take Siouxsie out into the garden. Its silent except for the gentle burble of water coming from the locks. I round the corner of the building and watch Siouxsie pad across the frost, leaving a trail of little paw prints as she does a slow patrol of the boundary fence. Everything is still. I take her for a quick walk along part of the canal, more for my benefit than hers. We pass through the back gate and onto the towpath, which sparkles with ice crystals. I can see my own breath in the cold air. The sky is a beautiful clear dark blue and still dotted with stars. Partially silhouetted against the sky, I can see the outline of Ben Neviss northwestern face. At 1,345 metres, it is Scotlands highest mountain. Against the dark blue, the first snow is visible on its rounded peaks, giving the impression of a thin place.

Ben Wyvis, another mountain, was visible from my family home, a constant on the horizon. For as long as I can remember, I appreciated the first snow on the ben, its reassuring appearance marking the onset of winter. Over the following weeks the snow line would gradually travel down its south face and spread across the Black Isle towards Inverness. On this November morning, it doesnt occur to me yet how the first snow will impact the day ahead.

Siouxsie and I return to the house and have our respective breakfasts. I sit at the table and consider how other people must behave on the morning of a stalk. I cant help but imagine middle-aged white men in Barbours, eating their cooked breakfasts, smiling and rubbing their hands together, looking forward to an invigorating day of sport on the hill; meanwhile, I sit alone, in a strange place, wondering why I thought this would be a good idea. I collect my lunch and thermos off the table and head out to defrost the car and load my gear. Sitting on the passenger seat in my tightly packed waterproof bag are my snacks, gaiters, a change of clothes, my digital recorder and my blue inhaler. Waiting for me at the estate is a hired rifle with ammo.

Dawn breaks, and I need to get on the road. My friend comes downstairs to say goodbye, scoops up Siouxsie and waves at me from the door. I wish I wasnt going alone, but the cost was too prohibitive to take someone with me. I wonder what state Ill be in when I return, whether it will have changed me in some way or whether Ill have gone through with it at all. I dont want to leave, but Im ready.

Its an adventure! I tell myself, but it does little to loosen the knot in my stomach.

In the months and weeks leading up to the stalk, Ive been growing more and more anxious. Some of this anxiety stems from the concern that the stalk might be too physically challenging, but its mainly about feeling pressured into taking the shot. I emailed a few gamekeepers when planning this trip to ask what would happen if I didnt go through with it. This was mostly met with dismissive assurances that they could set me up in a suitable shooting position. But the opportunity to shoot was never a concern it was my own resolve that I was worried about.

Ive been reading journal articles, books, government guidelines and reports on the subject of the deer cull. Ive even attended events where heated discussions around deer-management practices have arisen, usually amongst those same middle-aged white men. But I wondered whether the people writing these articles or those with strong opinions on cull numbers had ever necessarily participated in the deer cull themselves. I wanted to know what it was like to be on the hill, what it meant to undertake the cull. Id heard that the estate I was heading to was committed to meeting culling targets.

The deer cull in Scotland is administered by around 44 voluntary deer-management groups, normally made up of land managers, landowners and/or gamekeepers from estates or land holdings within a specific geographical area. Each DGM carries out an annual count of deer numbers across their location and agrees a cull target that takes into consideration the carrying capacity of the environment, compatibility with other land uses and the needs of the local economy. Some estates commit to keeping their deer numbers even lower per square kilometre if they have urgent objectives, such as tree regeneration. Nature Scot, previously Scottish Natural Heritage, is the public body that provides advice to the DGMs; it also conducts its own deer counts, targets, research and sometimes interventions. The cull itself is not a public activity the majority of culling is conducted by professional stalkers and, of course, by landowners and their guests on sporting estates.

Hind stalking is not something that is normally accessible to the likes of me. It requires significant disposable income, means of accessing sometimes remote estates, some level of stamina and physical ability as well as an acceptance of the desired outcome. Im a self-employed woman with a chronic illness, and Ive never had a desire to hunt. I accepted stalking as the preserve of wealthy landowners and tourists wishing to experience a quintessential Highland pursuit. Until recently, I never seriously considered my identity as a Highlander in relation to the cultural significance of deer, despite the stag being Scotlands emblematic species for centuries.