An Old Bargain With the Hills

Highland folklore has always understood that the hills keep accounts. There is an old saying in the north that the mountain remembers every foot that crosses it, and that those who take more than they need will find the path closed to them. Whether you believe in the gruagach, the gentle spirit said to guard certain glens, or simply in the practical wisdom of crofters who knew a burned hillside would take a decade to recover, the message is the same. Leave the place as you found it, and it will welcome the next traveller.

That is what we mean by leaving no trace. It is not about being invisible or denying yourself a good day out. It is about walking lightly enough that the deer, the ptarmigan, the moss and the heather are no worse off for your visit, and the walker who comes after you finds the same hill you did.

Carry It Out, Every Last Bit

The single most useful habit in the Scottish hills is also the simplest: if you carried it up, you carry it down. There are very few bins on the high paths, and those that exist are usually emptied by volunteers who would rather be fixing a stile. Assume there is no bin.

• Banana skins, apple cores and orange peel are not "natural" in the uplands. They can take years to break down, they look like litter to everyone who follows you, and they can draw hungry foxes, crows and rats towards ground-nesting birds.
• Bring a small dry bag or a stuff sack for your rubbish. Odours stay in, weather stays out, and your rucksack stays clean.
• Tea bags, sandwich cling film, sweet wrappers and the little foil from a flapjack are the things people forget. Check your pockets at the end of the day, not just your pack.
• This applies to the less pleasant items too. If you need to go, and there is no toilet, carry it out. Digging a hole damages fragile upland soils, and bog myrtle does not disguise much.

It is worth remembering that a hillside covered in other people's litter changes how we feel about a place. It is a small act of kindness to the stranger you will never meet, and it is one of the traditions these glens have quietly kept for generations.

Keep to the Path, Even When It Is Muddy

Upland habitats in the Highlands are slow. A patch of woolly fringe moss on a plateau may have taken hundreds of years to grow, and a single line of boots can kill it in a season. Vegetation here is not like grass in a lowland park; it does not bounce back next spring.

• Walk in single file on narrow paths. Widening a path by walking side by side is the most common way hill vegetation is lost.
• Stay on the path even where it is wet and churned. Stepping around a boggy patch looks harmless, but a hundred walkers doing it every weekend creates a new, wider scar that will not heal.
• Avoid shortcutting switchbacks on steep ground. Cutting a corner loosens soil that then washes downhill in the next heavy rain, taking the path with it.
• If a path is genuinely impassable or closed for repair, turn back or take a sensible alternative route rather than creating a fresh one. Path repair teams work in these hills all year, and they see the difference.

Durable surfaces, whether gravel, stone pitching or the well-worn line of an old drover's road, are designed to take our weight. Soft heather, moss and alpine flowers are not. When in doubt, follow the line that has already been worn.

Wildlife and the Old Stories

Highland folklore is full of warnings about disturbing things you should not touch. The cuckoo, the ptarmigan and the golden eagle appear in songs and placenames all over the north, and many glens still carry names that mark a bird's nesting place. Those names are not just poetry; they are maps.

• Give ground-nesting birds plenty of room between March and July. If a bird starts calling loudly or flapping on the ground, you are too close. Back away the way you came.
• Keep dogs under close control, ideally on a short lead, in lambing and nesting seasons. Even a friendly dog counts as a predator to a disturbed mother.
• Do not feed deer, feral goats or any other animal, however charming they look on a misty morning. Food that is wrong for them can make them ill and makes them bold around people.
• Leave the flowers, the lichens and the rocks where they are. A photograph is a better souvenir than a picked rarity.

There is a lovely old idea in the Highlands that a person who takes a wildflower from a fairy hill is followed home by bad luck. Whether or not you believe it, the ecological version of that story holds true: taking a rare plant from a fragile high place means the next walker will not see it.

Fires, Gates and the Small Courtesies

These are the details that separate a good hill day from a careless one, and most of them are simply good manners dressed in outdoor clothing.

• Do not light fires in the hills. Even a small, controlled fire scorches the peat and the moss beneath it and leaves a black scar for years. A stove is safer, quicker and leaves nothing behind.
• Leave gates as you find them. An open gate on a hill is open for a reason, whether for sheep, cattle or a neighbour's movement, and closing it can cause real trouble.
• On a single-track road, use passing places properly, and park so that croft access and emergency vehicles are never blocked.
• Take a moment to check the weather and the ground condition before you set off. Half of all erosion damage happens when people push on in soft, saturated conditions.

None of this is onerous, and much of it is what Highland walkers have quietly done for a very long time. The hills have carried feet, hooves and paws for centuries. They can carry ours too, so long as we leave them the way we found them, and let the old bargain stand.