It’s midwinter in the Scottish Highlands, and a snow storm is battering the pastures, woodlands and exposed upper slopes and mountain tops. Most cattle at this time of year have been taken indoors for their survival, but at Rothiemurchus Estate in the north of the Cairngorms, some 150 or so are free to roam and forage.
They are Highland cattle – along with malt whisky, the telephone and Kenny Dalglish, one of Scotland’s great gifts to the rest of the world. Fittingly, perhaps, they are ginger behemoths, an ancient breed with primeval shaggy coats, pointed horns and floppy fringes, standing steadfast in the teeth of the gale.
But while they may look fearsome as they stoically resist the bitter onslaught, in reality they possess a calm and tranquility that is in marked contrast to many cattle.
“Highlands are – in the nicest possible way – thrawn [stubborn],” says Grant
