Before the Cairngorms became the focus of the news, with two lynx on the loose in the area, we had other things to think about. I was alerted to the situation by the burn near to us, which was in spate with the torrential rain, churning and roiling along its course and threatening to spill over the little wooden bridge across the track. As it subsided, I headed down to the River Spey. At 105 miles long, it’s Scotland’s second longest river, and countless tributaries like our burn add to its mass.
At the beautiful Broomhill Bridge, the river had breached its banks. The sandy banks themselves – which in the summertime hold a large colony of sand martins that swirl around and under the bridge’s wooden tresses – were completely submerged. The bottom end of a field of stubble was partly underwater with just the tallest stalks protruding. Elsewhere, the tips of fence posts poked up and gates opened no longer on to fields, but fast eddying waters. A single male goldeneye rode the current for a time before flying off.
The winds might have died and the rain stopped, but the air still felt agitated, the landscape othered. A large flock of wood pigeons resting on nearby Scots pines exploded into the air and finches flitted from birch to broom. A gathering of greylags honked noisily on fields that are now lochs. Hundreds of jackdaws and rooks were noisy on the topmost branches of the broadleaves that ordinarily would line the riverbank, but now stood as islands. A weak, watery sun momentarily pierced the gunmetal grey sky and the landscape became even more luminous. I heard a whistle and a chuff-chuff-chuff, and looked over to see Strathspey Railway’s beautifully restored steam train pulling into Broomhill station.
Farther south from here, the Spey flows through an area called Badenoch, which holds another of the river’s floodplains. The word Badenoch comes from Scots Gaelic and means drowned land, a description that will be centuries old. With our climate likely to get wetter, how apt the name is and will continue to be. The waters have subsided now, and the fear of flooding has abated for the moment. The lynx have been recaptured too. I’m struck by how quickly and unexpectedly things can change, what our new normals might become.
• Under the Changing Skies: The Best of the Guardian’s Country Diary, 2018-2024 is published by Guardian Faber; order at guardianbookshop.com and get a 15% discount
