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In the wilderness of Cairngorms National Park, the new British monarch appears out of nowhere. Flying tour of the Scottish Highlands with an element of surprise.
ofInge Ahrens
We were a small group of enthusiastic hikers in Cairngorms National Park, northwest of Bremer. Autumn has long gripped the Scottish Highlands. The brooms heather and heather had faded, blueberries and slogs were picked. Wasn’t it just August and the sacred herb of the Druids filled the valleys and hills with a brilliant purple color? Now the scenario was extinguished. Only the fruits of rowan shone far away, like the red caps of many toadstools at the foot of the birch trees standing on our way. The landscape was dripping wet. It smelled of chanterelles, of morels. It was mushroom season.
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