I’m always amazed by how different native habitats are to ‘man-made’ versions. I know I shouldn’t be – we know natural landscapes hold more life than those that are artificial or engineered. But the difference can sometimes be overwhelming.
I noticed it starkly on a recent trip to the Scottish Highlands, which used to be almost completely clothed in native Caledonian forest. Now scattered fragments sit among sitka spruce plantations, sheep farms and other degraded habitats.
Walking among the plantations, I was struck by how quiet they were, except for the calls of chaffinches and coal tits. But in the restored Caledonian forest, I found myself gawping at the magic of its beauty and life.
I wasn’t imagining the contrast: a study from the James Hutton Institute suggests Scots pine alone supports nearly 1,600 species, including 227 that rely on it entirely. That, compared to sitka spruce? Pah.
I was travelling with a friend. In the forest, we marvelled at the bark of the Scots pines, the lichens dripping from every branch, and the heather, juniper and blaeberry plants that clothed the woodland floor.
If we stopped for a moment, we’d catch treecreepers helter-skeltering up tree trunks and hear calls of things we didn’t recognise, but hoped were capercaillie (they weren’t). I met my first crested tit, and then a man who had just seen a crossbill.
In four short hours, we’d decided to move to the Scottish Highlands because of its fragmented forest alone. How powerful is a landscape that draws two people in like that? We changed our minds on the return home, of course, but we’ll be back soon.
Caledonian forest
The Caledonian forest remains as one per cent of its former self, existing in around 80 pockets that various charities (including the RSPB, NatureScot, Forestry and Land Scotland, and Trees for Life) are trying to restore and connect.
Rewilding programmes have seen the restoration of existing forest through the removal of sitka spruce and the culling of deer, which were once controlled by wolves and lynx, but which now thrive unchecked, eating so many tree saplings that the forest can’t naturally regenerate.
The charities have also bought land in which they’ve planted trees (mostly Scots pine, plus native broadleaf species typically found in the forest) to link existing pockets and increase habitat for wildlife.
Since 1998, woodland cover in Scotland has increased from 16.6 per cent of the total land area to 19.4 per cent, and it’s hoped this will rise to 21 per cent by 2032.
Reforestation efforts are working: wildlife populations are increasing, including a 50 per cent boom in numbers of capercaillie in Abernethy Forest alone. This also helps the fight against climate change, as habitats in good condition absorb far more carbon dioxide than their degraded equivalent.
But do we know a degraded habitat when we’re in one? How many visitors to the Cairngorms realise how dead the plantations are, compared with the native, restored equivalent?
I wonder, if more of us experienced the difference between, ostensibly, alive vs dead, how much this knowledge would trickle down into our everyday lives. Perhaps it might influence how much nature we allow to return to the spaces we are custodians of, and how we make other choices, for example when travelling or in the supermarket.
Native landscapes are good for wildlife, and good for us as well – connection is everything. Caledonian forest for all.
