The Hidden Fires – A Cairngorms Journey with Nan Shepherd
THEY SAY YOU SHOULDN’T meet your heroes. But what if you had the chance to follow in their footsteps? This is what Merryn Glover set out to do in The Hidden Fires: retrace Nan Shepherd’s journey into the Cairngorms as documented in
The Living Mountain. Prior to reading I wondered how a retelling – refracted through all its modern-day realities – could compare with the romance and rose-tinted experiences of yore.
Well, the resulting book – an homage to Shepherd peppered with ecological updates, sociopolitical interpretations, corrections of half-truths and reframings to include previously omitted stories – is not only beautiful but perhaps even more important for modern-day hillwalkers.
Merryn Glover feels “an eternal beginner” in the mountains. Likewise, Shepherd did not claim to be an elite athlete or all-conquering explorer. This is just one of the many things these nature writers have in common – including a breathtaking way with words.
As Shepherd was guided by her knowledgeable friends, she also became guide to others and eventually – albeit through her writing – to Glover. With the warm voices of both women weaving together, you will feel instantly welcomed into this book’s mountain world.
The Hidden Fires places the Cairngorm massif on the same pedestal as the ranges of India and Nepal where Glover grew up. Whilst she and Shepherd share a love of the Cairngorms, there is delight in the differences in their experiences. Despite the influence of Shepherd’s gaze, Glover’s own voice – thoughtful, honest, funny and utterly full of feeling – shines.
As a reader, I am grateful to have both perspectives in one book. There’s a “fey and fearlessness” about Shepherd that I find aspirational but, at times, far removed from my own sense of self outdoors. Glover’s experiences are more familiar. Indeed, these differences in perspective highlight exactly what Shepherd meant when she noted how mountains change from moment to moment, sometimes even simply by adjusting the tilt of your head.
Of course, time passes, too. In The Living Mountain, Shepherd mourns the felling of Scots pine during World War Two. By the time of Glover’s writing, these trees have crept back in uprising. Glover’s book reminds us that whilst nostalgia feels nice, ultimately it’s best to live in the now.
With ever more popular footpaths to the not-so-secret pools and ‘hidden gems’, Glover’s experience also encourages sharing space outdoors. Whilst Shepherd’s encounters with other hillwalkers are few and far between, we must now learn to tread only where people have trodden before – a lot. Rather than grumble and gripe, Glover invites all to revel in the mountain journey and experience everything with openness and awe.
It’s only a hunch, but I think it’s what Shepherd – the mother of mountain mindfulness – would’ve wanted.