By Michelle Merlis
If you enjoy below freezing temperatures, driving on iced-over dirt roads in the Adirondacks, and occupying a cabin in the dead of winter with no electricity or running water, then my husband, Josh, and I had the perfect wedding. We were married at the Dippikill Wilderness Retreat, a 1000 acre wilderness retreat facility owned by the Student Association of the University at Albany, which has been home to the Trail Running Camp my husband has directed for over ten years. Many of our friends and family stayed with us on-site in rustic (and some, not rustic) cabins. For several days, we ate incredible food, drank wine, and ran the trails on the property, although not necessarily in that order. We, of course, got married, and only one person got seriously injured (sorry, Steve!). So all in all, a success. And, if you're fortunate like us, societal norms dictate that getting married means you get to take a multi-day or multi-week pass from regular life to travel for your honeymoon, an opportunity we fully intended to take advantage of.
When I envisioned the perfect honeymoon, it pretty much involved one thing: trail running, all day, every day. With that in mind and some consideration for what Josh might want too, we decided our honeymoon would start and end in Scotland. Unlike the many decisions and careful planning that went into making our wedding happen, our honeymoon planning solely consisted of booking a round trip ticket to and from Edinburgh. In between, we would have two weeks to fill with whatever adventure called our names. Ultimately, we would spend time in Scotland, Germany, and Switzerland, but Scotland was where we would spend the most time, exploring several parts of the country on our own two feet.
Our first adventure took us to Cairngorm National Park. Finding our way to a nearly empty ski resort, we were met with virtually no snow and had our first experience of ascending several thousand feet into the clouds, which moved and broke for slivers of a second, revealing trails etched into the ridgelines for as far as the eye could see. There were no trees, and the landscape was far more expansive than I could have ever imagined, each crest all at once a world away and just within reach. I could look off into the distance and envision running forever. Burning every ounce of daylight and then some, we spent our final minutes descending technical terrain in near-total darkness.
Despite the ear to ear grins and immense joy experienced, there was also an eeriness to the environment. We were, after all, at a ski resort in winter with no skiers to be seen. The parking lot was nearly empty, and the few workers inside the lone lodge struck me as bored, waiting for a snow that wasn't predicted to come. I had traveled all this way for trail running, hoping snow wouldn't interfere with my journey, but for this mountain, I understood snow was part of its livelihood. Coming from Upstate New York, the parallels were uncanny and the feeling all too familiar. Looking back on my childhood, I don't remember winters without snow, and I have vivid memories of many snow day trips to local ski slopes with my parents and brother. Now, those winters full of powder are seemingly lost, and many of our state's slopes are forced to operate in the red. In these moments, I feel the existential pull of my existence, knowing I, a human who occupies this planet, am undoubtedly part of the problem.
Burning daylight at Cairngorm National Park
In the darkness, we worked our way to the Isle of Skye, a place we were told was a must-see by many. We drove there in our rental car, which felt much less like a car than it did a child's motorized play toy with a high probability of self-implosion at any moment. I wasn't so sure we should be driving anywhere, let alone at night on one-lane roads that appeared and felt to have not been paved since all of the island's castles had been formally occupied.
We figured we'd drive out to a spot near Quairing, where we planned to get an early start to our running adventures the next day. Google Maps was littered with hostels and bed and breakfast spots, leaving us thinking we'd have no trouble finding a place to stay. As we drove farther and farther away from Portree, it became completely dark. Everything was closed for the season. After driving out 45 minutes and even knocking on the doors of homes in search of guidance, we turned around and went back to Portree to the sole restaurant and hotel where we would ultimately stay twice and eat all of our meals for two days. There, locals explained to us that everything was closed because the climate was usually much colder at that time of the year, and the warmer weather was deterring potential visitors.
To be honest, the night had been frustrating. The extra hour and a half spent in our rinky-dink car was in vain. We had been met by darkness at every housing option we tried and ultimately decided to return to our starting place on the Isle of Skye. But despite my frustration with our lack of local knowledge, I was again presented with the paradox of our situation. In the morning, we would be able to get up and drive to trails for a run in moderate weather, but only because our planet was now warmer, due to our destructive behavior.
The next day we explored three different locations: Quiraing, Old Man of Storr, and the Fairy Pools.
At Quiraing, we ran as the sun rose. It peeked through the clouds, reflecting off the many lakes and pools of water, coloring the hillsides a vibrant green. Unlike the rocky, barren ridges of the Cairngorms, Quiraing brought grassy lands with long, gradual plateaus, steep cliffs, and protruding rock faces with water descending in their cracks. Again, there were trails as far as the eye could see. Parallel to the ocean, you could imagine why our forefathers thought the world was flat, as it seemed to end just at the horizon in all directions.
Quiraing at sunrise
At Old Man of Storr, we encountered a similar dose of grassy lands, soft as pillows, and rock formations that jutted out from the land in a haphazard fashion. It was here that we first saw other people out on the trails.
Old Man of Storr
With daylight forever not in our favor (sunrise was around 9:30 A.M. and sunset was around 4:00 P.M.), we made one final stop for the day at the Fairy Pools. Located in the southern part of Isle of Skye, the Fairy Pools sit at the base of the highest peaks in the rocky mountain range known as the Cuillin. Our shortest and lowest vert trek of the day took us along one of the area's many creeks, which featured small pools of water and serene mini waterfalls. Looking at the peaks around us, nearly 3,000 feet above where we stood, you could see the source of the water as it flowed down in a series of waterfalls. One could spend days here, circling the mountains, ascending their peaks, and traversing the ridgelines.
Dusk at the Fairy Pools
After leaving the Isle of Skye, we made our way towards Glencoe, stopping near Fort William for a run up Ben Nevis. Ben Nevis is the highest mountain in the British Isles; the summit stands at 4,413 feet, which may not seem entirely impressive until you realize that this barely 4,000 foot mountain has a prominence of 4,409 feet. Until our day on Ben Nevis, Scotland's weather had been neither entirely pleasant nor entirely unpleasant. In general, temperatures hovered around 45 to 50 degrees Fahrenheit. As we climbed higher and higher on Ben Nevis, we started to encounter more people. However, everyone else was coming off the mountain, and many were in full snow gear with crampons. Some even implored us to turn around. The weather had turned up top, with howling winds, snow, and ice. Undeterred, we forged on. Respecting our limits, we were prepared to turn around if necessary, but ultimately, we made it to the peak with only a blizzard in view. A very cold 15 minutes later, we were back out from the clouds and quickly making our way down through the grassy hillsides with the sheep, lakes, and the ocean in view.
Finding oneself in various weather conditions in the mountains is familiar to all who frequent them, but here, the dramatic change in weather in such a short amount of time reminded me of the extreme weather patterns now plaguing our planet. It was yet another reminder of our, my, nefarious impacts on the Earth.
Near the top of Ben Nevis, where a storm raged on
Forever a fan of what happens in trail and ultrarunning around the world, Ben Nevis and Glencoe had caught my eye due to the series of skyrunning races that take place in the mountains around Kinlochleven in Lochaber. So for our final trail running adventure, we went towards Glencoe and decided on a loop near Buachaille Etive Mòr. Here the mountainsides were covered in golden grass, and large herds of deer, watching us pass by, roamed their slopes. With tired legs, rather than run to any peaks, we ran through the valleys. Even still, our 9.5 mile run managed to have 2,500 feet of climbing, which summed up our Scottish trail running experience almost perfectly. In both valleys looking to the southeast, you could see straight through the mountain passes and into the inlets that fed into the oceans. Once again, we burned every ounce of daylight and every ounce of energy we had.
Trails near Buachaille Etive Mòr
Our routine in Scotland was simple. From dawn to dusk, we would eat, run, and repeat. What I took away from our time on the Scottish trails was a deep love for what the country and the world at large have to offer in terms of exploration. It was a dream realized, and I was blessed to have time outside every day with my husband, constantly reminding me of how lucky and privileged I am in life. But I also felt deeply conflicted by the reality of the great cost to the natural world by which our adventures were made possible.
“It's only when we reflect that the whole picture comes into play.”
The reality is that we were in Scotland at the beginning of January, and the majority of the weather we experienced, particularly in the mountains, was unusual. For us, the more mild temperatures meant unlimited exploration, but it caused great sadness, knowing we should have seen snow and felt a chill in our bones that wasn't there. On each of our days, there was a reminder of how our climate is changing. Often, I think we become complacent because many fail to see the small changes over time. It's only when we reflect that the whole picture comes into play.
As humans, I believe we have a great responsibility to protect the Earth, and as trail runners, I feel we should take the negative impacts even more personally. We often do things that are in conflict with one another, like drive our car to go run on trails or travel overseas for races, training, or honeymoons that are training camps in disguise.
The outdoors are our playground, and we need to fight to protect them. While changes are needed on a scale so large it can seem daunting to tackle, I also believe we can start by making small changes in our own lives and communities to be more conscientious of our current footprint and to be more active in changing our behaviors for increased sustainability and protection of the environment.
I make no claims to be perfect, but I am motivated by my own experiences across the globe to help preserve and sustain areas of natural wonder so that mountains and valleys alike can continue to take our breath away with their beauty for generations to come. In some ways, I hope this can motivate you, too. With that, here are some small steps we can all take to help reduce our carbon footprint:
Eat less meat. This one has been repeated endlessly. Many people suggest completely cutting out animal products from your diet. If that's for you, then great, but even a reduction in meat consumption can help reduce your carbon footprint.
Compost. Composting helps keep food waste out of landfills! If you have the space, home composting is very simple. Otherwise, there are many services for compost pick-up or drop-off.
Be mindful of the clothing you buy. Americans buy a lot of clothing, most of which are considered "fast fashion." It's cheap but ends up as waste more often than not. Additionally, these clothes tend to come from far away, increasing the number of fossil fuels used in the transportation from factory to customer. Really, we can work on buying less "stuff" in general. Additionally, as an economist, I am apt to remind you to speak with your dollar. This can be done by supporting environmentally friendly brands with sustainable practices. This applies to everything, from the places you eat to the clothes you buy.
Use less plastic. One of the easiest ways to do this is to invest in reusable bags. Reusable bags have been around for a while, but reusable produce bags have become popular more recently. Every time I go to the store, I save about 5 to 10 small plastic bags by using reusable ones. Bringing along a container when shopping in bulk is another great way to reduce plastic use. The way of no plastic is catching on in other areas too, like toilet paper, which is sold only using recyclable paper casing as opposed to plastic.
Buy carbon offsets. If you travel a lot (or, if you did/will again), you can purchase carbon offsets online. You can calculate your carbon footprint, then pay an organization that uses the funds to support environmentally sustainable projects.
There are so many other ways to do your part, from supporting organizations aimed at protecting the environment to using your vote to support candidates who are committed to the environment. My hope is that this account of travel, reflection, and a small list of action items will motivate you to start, or expand what you currently do, to help create a more sustainable future. Let's hear from you too! What unique ways do you contribute to lessening your carbon footprint?
About the Author
Michelle Merlis is an economist by day and a mountain, ultra, and trail runner in search of high peaks, steep descents, and long trails at all other possible waking and sleeping hours. She lives in Albany, New York, with her husband, Josh, and cat, Hudson.
