Tentsmuir: part one
Tentsmuir Forest, 5 October
As I sit to write this post, we are in a strange ‘in-between’ time. I wasn’t sure whether to mention this here, because it doesn’t relate to this post, only it does. A year ago, on Monday 9 October, we discovered the disease that had returned and spread aggressively within Harris. The Monday that was the beginning of our last chapter together, a chapter that would end, unbearably, eleven days later. And as I begin this post, I realise how much I need to write. How much I want to write. How much I need to lean into this space to settle my mind.
On Saturday we headed to Tentsmuir Forest in Fife, our first time back at Tentsmuir since April last year. On that Monday, we were at the start of a week-long break - a break that didn’t go to plan. Harris started limping on this walk, and then he was okay, and then he was limping again, and then cantering along as if there was no issue (this had been happening off and on over a few months and we couldn’t get to the bottom of it with our vet). Only when we came home he couldn’t take weight on one of his back legs. After inconclusive X-rays the following day, by which stage he was carrying his weight and seemed fine again, Harris was put on rest for a month as, being a dachshund, there was a higher risk of IVDD (Intervertebral Disc Disease).
We spent the rest of our break and the following month going for walks where one of us would stay in the car with Harris while the other walked with Bracken - ‘walked with Bracken’ being a loose term as he didn’t want to go anywhere without Harris by his side. It was a worrying time, clearly, as every dachshund parent fears IVDD, and I remember how my mind was racing ahead through a number of ‘what ifs’, but then Harris’s mobility seemed good, completely normal, and by the end of May we eased carefully back into walks.
And then, in early June, everything changed when the thymoma was discovered in Harris’s chest. Our thinking is that this very large mass, and the pressure it was causing inside his chest as it grew, might have been the root cause of the limping. We have no way of knowing. But the thymoma was a thing that no one could have imagined, far less looked for. I can’t help but think: if only we’d had a CT scan. Hindsight can be a cruel thing, offering clarity when, at the time, we were just figuring this out step by step. Hoping for the best case scenario - that only rest was needed - rather than searching for the rare and unimaginable one.
My memories of this walk last April are also of following Harris along the woodland paths while watching his movement patterns, watching whether he was walking with ease. The relief of seeing him canter and sniff, the lads enjoying this adventure together as we moved from sunshine and blue skies to a squall of hail that swept across the grassland.
And so we returned to Tentsmuir on Saturday, carrying these memories and so many more of this place. This has been a favourite walk for years: along the forest paths, pausing at the ice house (a historic stone building that would have been packed with ice in the winter months and used to keep salmon fresh) before crossing the grassland to the dunes, and then either heading back along the beach or winding through the grassland, returning to the woodland. We’ve always enjoyed the contrasts of this place, from the dappled light and shelter of the forest, walking below the tall pines, to the expansive open views of the dunes and the bite of the wind whipping in off the sea.
This was our first visit here with Raf. Young Rafferty’s first Tentsmuir adventure. We’ve wanted to bring him here for weeks, but this can be a busy destination over the summer months, especially at weekends as families head to the beach, and even if you seek out the quiet of the woodland routes, there will always be other walkers or cyclists, while the parking area can be so busy that Raf would have been over threshold (in terms of his reactivity) before we’d even started our walk. So we waited until the weather shifted to cooler days.
Our walk began here, on the path that edges the forest, bordering the grassland and the dunes beyond. Often, when we talk of autumn, we think of the leaves as the trees shift to rust and gold, but I’m always drawn to these more subtle changes on the coast as the landscape gently fades and as textures become more apparent. This walk wasn’t our usual route as we were avoiding people - as in, whenever we spotted someone, rather than simply smiling our hellos and walking past as we’d always have done, we took a different path, hoping to keep Raf calm and focused. This approach meant that we meandered a little, finding new pathways that we hadn’t discovered before and soaking in the quiet of this place.
As we walked along these less familiar paths, the textures shifted. At one point, the woodland floor was covered in these tiny ferns (above). Elsewhere, paths were lined with saplings, their delicate leaves already shimmering with the colours of the new season. This route would be too muddy over winter, we realised, unlike some of the main paths where you can skirt around the mud, but there was delight in simply meandering and letting the forest guide us.
As you can see from a few of these photos, and certainly from the photos below, Tentsmuir Forest has suffered significant storm damage and, as with John Muir Country Park and Links Wood near Tyninghame (in East Lothian), this dates back to Storm Arwen in November 2021. We didn’t walk here for a long time after Arwen. We’d read about the damage and, to be honest, having experienced the impact on our local woodlands, I couldn't face seeing it here too, in this special place. We also knew that some of the main paths were closed, blocked by fallen trees, so we waited.
Now, while this damage is still striking, and particularly along the section of the forest that leads to the ice house and the Tentsmuir National Nature Reserve information pavilion, where a significant number of trees were uprooted, the vegetation has grown dense over the last two years and this has slightly ‘softened’ the chaos of the scene. It jars to pass the giant upended roots that line the path, trees that have taken decades to mature to their strength and stature, trees that were filled with life, and yet they were felled in a matter of hours. I realise this is just… nature. Nature has the power to nourish and to decimate. There’s something humbling about this when you see it up close.
And so I will end this post, part one of this walk, with the stretch of woodland that leads to the ice house - a very familiar path for us. Raf was running just ahead, pausing constantly to check that I was still following. As I walked behind, taking photos but mostly videos (there’s a reel or two on the way from this trip), I could visualise Harris cantering along the path, pausing to look back and check on me, with Bracken further ahead, alongside Richard. As we have walked here together over the years, as a four.
Only it wasn’t Harris checking back on me, it was Raf. The connections between these two lads can feel so striking at times, as if Harris has briefed the youngster on his responsibilities within our little family, which includes always keeping an eye on me. And this wee lad has listened.
Tentsmuir Forest, Fife, 5 October 2024.
#tentsmuir #fife #scotland
