With a brief that simply said ‘Outdoors’, my remit as columnist for the Caledonian Mercury was as wide as Loch Lomond. It’s a privilege to be given the task but, with such a large and varied audience at home and abroad, a responsibility too. My first article on avalanches may have been topical and provided an insight into my philosophy, but it gave little idea of the content that readers might see in the coming months.
To me, the outdoors is not simply about mountains. 
Neither is it limited to any landform created by geology, weathering and other processes. Of course, my definition does include the hills, lochs and lowlands, as well as their flora and fauna, but it can also be extended to the history and culture of those who choose to work in or enjoy the fresh air and, if we take it one step further, encompasses the space between the buildings in any urban setting. Where architectural profile is realised, the outdoors begins. My role is therefore to comment on anything in Scotland that isn’t inside, which gives huge scope.
The ‘Mercury’ of the paper’s title indicates messaging, but also suggests the concept of ‘journeying’, for which the Greek god is also credited. In a modern world where Twitter provides instant feeds tailored to your personal likes, letting the mind wander over longer timescales and to places you didn’t actually select feels all the more important. My posts may cover farming and battles, explorers and legends, urban planning and adventure racing. The yardstick is that the writing is unprejudiced and reaches a high standard. Interest in the content is up to you.
In this article, I’d like to take you on a short tour of the outdoors in Scotland, because not everyone has travelled to all its corners and I don’t like to presume. It makes sense to explain things from a geographical viewpoint because natural patterns shape our artificial surroundings – the industries that develop, the location of cities, and the colour of buildings. Landscape in a country cannot be disassociated from the chances and challenges of its people.
With pyramidical ranges like the Icefield Parkway, islands that resemble the Barrier Reef, bogs deep as those in the Siberian tundra, and rolling hills akin to Tuscany, there is huge variety in landscape. This is pretty rare within such a relatively small area of the world and a feature that we should all consider jolly good luck. Anyway, let’s get on with the journey.
First up, there’s the far north. Terracotta-red mountains rise precipitously from the peat. Off the few paths, you can make your own route far from the crowds and houses are few. The beaches are spectacular, alternating with enormous sea cliffs, sanctuary to millions of seabirds. Further south, but west of the Great Glen, a dozen mountain ranges and their valleys have been combed from east to west, fjord-like, from the Fannichs to Sunnart. The population is largely coastal and concentrated in Inverness and Fort William. Inland and off the highways, tourism and estate management dominate.
Across to the Cairngorms in the east, the rock turns to granite, which gives different shapes. There are wide U-shaped valleys, wild rivers overseen by tottering crags, venerable Caledonian pine, distilleries and royal castles. Sloping away from the high plateaux, the soil improves to sustain the cattle and market gardening of Angus, Aberdeenshire and Fife too.
The Central Highlands of Perthshire and Lochaber twist this way and that, Alpine-like, rugged, full of legend, often heavily wooded with long lochs and hidden valleys. Further southwest, scraggy-topped mountains drop into the sea as peninsulas. Here, land and sea make an uneasy pact, secret coves hide quiet marinas, and the villagers overlooking the Clyde might rely on water transport as much as their cars.
The built environment of the Central Belt is also a product of its geology. From Dumbarton to East Berwick, volcanic plugs punctuate the sky. The mining around Glasgow and Edinburgh, and the quarrying in between, helped to build these cities and the relative flat allowed them to flourish as commercial hubs. The last area on our tour of the mainland is the undulating hills of the Scottish Uplands, restful and charming. Here, textile mills once shadowed the Clyde, Tweed and Teviot. Nowadays, farming, forestry and mountain biking are key.
A round of Scotland is incomplete without a visit to the islands, but these cannot be lumped together. Arran gives a taste of everything in Scotland: mountain, sea, action, peace. The Inner Hebrides, including Mull, Skye and many smaller isles only reveal their unique silhouettes and brazen cliffs when you start to explore. 
The Outer Hebrides, several hours by boat from the mainland, are different again as impenetrable cores with pristine machair beaches that catch the Atlantic Drift. To the far north, Orkney and Shetland present two contrasting topographies and cultural influences, very different from the rest.
So, over the coming months, we’ll visit some of these places together and talk about the environment and its people and what happens when the two come together. The discussion shouldn’t disappoint. Scotland has an immensely rich natural heritage that rivals any country of any size in the world for diversity. Regardless of the political choices made in the future, there is no reason for anything but success for the people of this land, given good management, hard work and equality of opportunity.