Culbin Forest is an expanse of pine and dune running along the coast from Nairn to Findhorn Bay, all criss-crossed by gravel track. It covers thousands of acres and, if we are being honest, you get half its appeal by just choosing a path and making your way to wherever it takes you. There is a village under all that sand somewhere; you may as well have a go at finding it.
From farmland and village to forest
But it wasn’ always woodland. For centuries before, Culbin was a vast expanse of shifting sands, once called the largest desert in Europe.
It was also some of Moray’s finest fertile country – The “Granary of Moray” as it was called, with good reason. Five farms, a great house, a church and orchards made up hundreds of fertile acres, even as the ground had been surreptitiously giving way to the coastal sand over the generations. The marram grass was taken for thatch, the turf for fuel, and without it the dunes were free to move about.
But in October 1694 a storm put an end to it. It raged for days and when it was done, the estate had been erased. Ploughmen left their furrows, reapers walked off from their barley and whole fields were devoured by the sand in a matter of hours, like a river of grit had come over the land. The laird, Alexander Kinnaird, went to Parliament the year after to ask for tax relief on the two thirds of his holding now buried.
They obliged by putting a stop to the cutting of marram and juniper on the site – an early form of habitat protection in Scotland, though they wouldn’t have used such a phrase.
The village was so thoroughly gone that those who came later spoke of an unspeakable loneliness, a true Scottish desert where the dunes rolled on for miles. A calamity of that order is bound to generate its own lore; some put it down to the Devil or the Maid of Norway, others to the sin of whisky smuggling or card games on a Sabbath. Science has a more prosaic answer involving soil erosion and a bad storm, but why not have a better story?
The place was left to its own devices until the 1920s and the Forestry Commission set about planting pines to hold the system in check. They succeeded. Today it is perhaps the most atmospheric forest in Moray, yet the old ways can still be seen if you look for them. On the edge of the dunes you will come across Lady Culbin’s Buried Trees, pines with trunks that seem to go on for twice their visible length as the sand gives them back inch by inch.
Make of it what you will
Do not expect to see many waymarks on the tracks here. That is the idea. There are a handful of markd trails, such as Hill 99, the Gravelpit Pond. But this a freestyle forest. If you’re new to the Culbin, you’ll need a map, possibly a compass, or you could get lost!
The junctions are denoted by numbered posts. The traditional manner of seeing it is to put a map in your pocket, choose a course and let curiosity take over. It is flat and forgiving country where you can do no real damage to yourself. At the very worst you will retrace your steps to the car park with a better story than you set out with.
Hill 99 Trail
For those who prefer to have a route laid out before them, the Hill 99 Trail is the only waymarked affair and a sound place to begin. From the Wellhill car park the gravel path is mostly level, taking you through mossy glades and by the Gravelpit Ponds which make for a fine picnic or some undisturbed birdwatching.
Then there is a gentle climb to the top of Hill 99. At 99 feet it is Culbin’s highest dune and about as far from a Highland-sounding “summit” as you could hope to bag. A viewing tower at the crest will give you sight of the Moray Firth and Black Isle on a clear day, and perhaps even the hills of Sutherland and Caithness beyond the treetops.
Wander past Hill 99 and the forest has its rewards. There is the Gut, a muddy tidal area teeming with waders; Buckie Loch where the trees give way to heath and marram dunes at the water’s edge; Dragonfly Pond, living up to its name in summer; and Findhorn Bay itself to see ospreys and seals at work in the river mouth with the village across the way. As an RSPB reserve the quality of the management is evident: red squirrels, roe deer, crossbills and woodpeckers are to be had, and a quiet word might bring a pine marten to view.
The practicalities
Culbin is an impressive size. An hour is not enough and even a half-day may not be. The wide gravel tracks make it one of Scotland’s more accessible large forests for a cyclist or horseman as well as a walker. For the established routes like Hill 99, start at Wellhill car park; if you are on horseback or want to get to the quieter southern side, Cloddymoss is preferable. Proper shoes are wise for a longer loop given the soft sand near the coast and dunes.
A map is good for reassurance and the Forestry and Land Scotland guide to Culbin has the numbered junctions well marked, but there is no need to be a slave to it. In fact, getting somewhat turned around is part of the appeal here; the tracks will all come round again and you will likely spot a more appealing turning than the one on paper.
Why go?
It is rare to be able to put in hours of walking in true wilderness while knowing a lost village lies underfoot. Culbin is as much a ghost story and a blank page as it is a nature reserve. So put on some good boots and don’t be too concerned with which direction you are heading. To be a little lost in Culbin is not an error, it is the point.