The frozen forest

In between Christmas and New Year we had some cold frosty days, coming on the heels of a recent snowfall, so I took the opportunity of spendng a day out in an area of native woodland in the Spey River Valley, just to the north of Aviemore. I’d passed by there the day before, on my way to Aviemore with my partner Pupak and her mother to do some shopping, and I’d seen that some small areas had been experienced freezing fog, coating all the trees in a thick layer of hoar frost, and it was that which had drawn me back for a day of photography.

When I reached the area between Grantown-on-Spey and Aviemore, where I’d seen the best wintry conditions the day before, I found that the frosted trees occurred in small patches, with large sections of bare trees separating them. I assumed that the patches must correlate with areas where the freezing fog had been sitting in the landscape, and which also were shaded by the local topography from the low-angled winter sun, so that the frost didn’t melt during the day.

I drove and up down the road for a few minutes, before selecting one area where the trees were completely white to explore during the next few hours. Because it was just a week past the solstice, the amount of daylight each day is very short, so the opportunities for photography would end at about 3 pm.

That wasn’t a concern for me though, as I knew there would be plenty of visual interest for me in even a small area, given the conditions of snow on the ground and frost on the branches of the birch trees. The branches of the trees in particular stood out, creating repeating patterns of shape and form that were almost monochrome in tone, with only the slightly cream-coloured trunks of the birches providing much of a visual contrast.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The day was wind-still (that being one of the reasons why the trees were still coated in frost), so I was able to take some photographs of the ice crystals that had accumulated on top of some catkins and a few leaves that hadn’t been shed yet by the birches. Normally subjects like these move in the slightest breeze.

I was getting my eye in for details in the forest, and my attention kept being drawn to the profuse lichens that were growing on the trunks and branches of the trees. Many of these had decorative adornments of snow and ice on them, which served to accentuate and highlight their fractal shapes, particularly those of the somewhat confusingly named oakmoss lichen (Evernia prunastri) – confusing because it’s not a moss, and in this case at least it was not growing on an oak tree either!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The amount of snow and ice crystals on the lichens was not sufficient to damage them by weighing them down or causing them to break from the load.

I suspect instead that the lichens actually appreciated their white coverings, as they rely on atmospheric moisture such as rain and snow for their water supply, and they were all looking fully hydrated in these wintry conditions. In the white landscape, with the snow covering the ground, they were also virtually the only visible signs of life in the forest this day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The quantity of lichens on the tree trunks varied from tree to tree, and in some cases it was hard to see any of the bark, such was the profusion of the lichens.

As the day wore on the temperature increased slightly, and the frost and snow crystals on the trees began to melt. The air temperature must have fluctuated above and below freezing point though, because on some branches and twigs, the snow had turned to ice, and in one example in particular the ice formation looked very like a caterpillar made of glass, frozen in the act of looping along the underside of a twig.

 

 

 

 

 

 

In other cases, the ice had already turned to water, and as I watched I saw some of the droplets fall from the ends of the twigs and branches they were on. So it was that the frozen forest began to thaw out as the day drew to a close …

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

With the light beginning to fade, I took a few last photos of the forest and headed for home. As it happened, the next day I drove past the same area on my way south to visit family in central Scotland, and all the frost and snow was off the trees, although the ground was still white. I was duly appreciative of the beauty I’d seen the day before, recognising (as I’ve done on previous, similar occasions) the transient and ephemeral nature of the frozen fantasia of the forest in winter.