Glen Rosa Reawakening: A Landscape of Loss and Renewal
Earlier this year, a devastating wildfire swept through Glen Rosa on the Isle of Arran, scorching the ground, blackening the slopes, and leaving behind a stark and sobering sight. For anyone who knows this glen — with its winding burn, dramatic peaks, and pockets of quiet woodland — the damage was painful to witness. Whole stands of young trees were lost, and the hills that are usually vibrant with heather and gorse were left in varying shades of ash and charcoal.
When I returned with my camera a few weeks after the fire, I didn’t quite know what to expect. I’d seen the aftermath in news reports and heard from locals about the scale of the destruction. But nothing really prepares you for standing in a landscape you love and seeing it stripped bare. The silence was striking. No birdsong. No rustle of breeze in leaves. Just scorched earth, skeletal tree guards, and the distant murmur of the burn threading its way through the valley.
And yet — life was already returning.
It’s always humbling to witness the resilience of nature. In among the fire-damaged ground, I began to notice flashes of green. Fresh shoots pushing their way up through the ash. Heather, blackened at its base, sprouting vivid new growth. The glen wasn’t gone. It was recovering — quietly, steadily, and against the odds.
One particular tree stopped me in my tracks. You’ll see it in the photo below: a young sapling that somehow survived the fire, despite the fact its tree guard had melted and curled around it like a piece of scorched armour. The plastic was warped and fused, but the tree inside? Still standing. Still growing. It’s impossible not to feel moved by that kind of quiet determination — nature persisting in the face of destruction.
Elsewhere in the glen, erosion has taken hold in places where the root systems of lost vegetation once held the soil firm. Parts of the riverbank have crumbled, and the land bears the raw wounds of what it’s endured. But even here, green returns. Shoots appear among the rubble. New growth spreads across the hillsides like a healing balm.
Photographing Glen Rosa in this state — caught between devastation and rebirth — has been a powerful experience. As a photographer, I’m always looking for light, for texture, for story. And here, there’s story in every frame. Loss, yes — but also hope. A landscape in transition, quietly gathering itself for the seasons ahead.
There’s something deeply grounding about watching a place begin to heal. It reminds me that recovery isn’t quick or tidy — it’s uneven and sometimes hidden — but it happens. Glen Rosa is still one of the most beautiful places I know, and now it holds an even deeper beauty: the beauty of survival, of resilience, and of the astonishing power of nature to bounce back.
If you get the chance to visit the Isle of Arran, I encourage you to walk Glen Rosa. Look closely. Among the burn marks and blackened stumps, there are green miracles waiting to be noticed. The glen is reawakening — and it's a privilege to witness it.
