Calderwood, a winter wonderland

With the hum of the snack van generator in my ears, I join the path from Oakbank car park by the A71, heading towards Calderwood. The snows that blew in with the New Year still lie one week on, crunching, compacted and re-frozen beneath my feet.

Initially, I follow the path along by the main road. The route takes me down some steps, over the Linhouse Water gushing below, and roughly parallels the main road until joining a small access road heading towards the main part of Calderwood. After clocking the temperature (-3^oC), I’d been wondering whether this was the best day for my walk. But how wrong am I.

The freezing temperatures have rendered the everyday fascinating. The roadside bushes bear remnant snow dotted along their branches like balls of cotton wool. Ploughed snow lies at the side of the road in great dirty, icy blocks looking like quartzite boulders, surfaces furred with centimetre-long ice fronds. Concentric ice bubbles in one puddle look like the Yellowstone hot spring in monochrome, another is like an abstract painting; even the smallest of twigs are spiked with ice crystals as if cut from rare geodes.

Following the signs for Calderwood and then the green waymarkers, I bear right at an intersection, keeping to the main path. It is then the sound of the Murieston Water that I hear, far below to my left. Mature and stately trees guard the route at intervals. At one point I turn a corner to find a beech tree staring at me. Staring? Multiple ‘eyes’ are peering eerily at me from the near side of the trunk. Not real eyes of course – these are the places where branches have been shed as the tree has grown, leaving eye shapes. In fact, since at this latitude branch growth occurs predominantly on the south-facing side of the trunk, these features can be used to determine which direction is south. I take out my phone to check and find the bearing is remarkably accurate.

Soon, I am passing through birch woods, the low sun casting long shadows of the slender trunks across the snow. Gradually, I become aware of many small birds in the trees around me, flitting from tree to tree, constantly calling, feasting on the catkins. It’s hard to make them out, but I notice they have finch-like beaks, and a deep notch in the tail. It’s not until one alights on a branch right above my head that I can truly appreciate their beauty. Blushed with crimson on the forehead, chin (below a little black ‘beard’) and upper breast, fading into a pale belly almost as white as the snow – they’re redpolls! A flock of forty or so are gradually working their way through the forest past where I am standing. Their plumage makes them appear slightly embarrassed at being caught gorging themselves, but they need not be. They are on the UK red list of bird species and, particularly in these conditions, need any boost they can get. Intrigued, I pick one of the catkins. It disintegrates between my fingers into a thousand seeds which fall to pepper the snow at my feet, and I immediately appreciate the bounty on offer here.

The woods give way more open country - scrubland dotted with lichen-encrusted hawthorn - which today feels more like Siberian tundra. I pass a stance of tall pines on a little hill before descending to meet the path coming from Mid Calder (another possible starting point for this walk). I turn right at an information board to begin the return leg and soon pass a frozen pond. Opposite the pond, I take a small detour off to the left. I duck under a fallen birch and down, down I go. Thankfully, the snow-covered slope is kind to me and I arrive, dignity intact, standing by the Linhouse Water at a bend in the river. Opposite is a little waterfall created by a small burn draining into the river from height. Today, however… today it is Narnia. The week of freezing weather has created a miniature cathedral of ice. Three-foot icicles glisten behind a thin curtain of falling water and hang all around like chaotic crystal organ pipes. Below, while the central stream remains unfrozen, on either side the rocks are a coated in a cascade of clear ice formations, all the way down to the river below. And it’s not just the waterfall itself; along the far bank to the left, arrays of icicles hang in multiple rows like dragon’s teeth, while to my right the frozen river surface reflects the winter sun like hammered bronze.

I just stand there for a while, absorbing the scene around me, reluctant to pull myself away. I thank my luck for happening upon this enchanting experience. Eventually, I start back towards the car, my step a little lighter as I go. You know, it just goes to show, you could jet off to Lapland or Val d’Isère, but sometimes Winter Wonderland is to be found right here, on our doorstep.

Calderwood is part of Almondell & Calderwood Country Park and has been designated a ‘Site of Special Scientific Interest’ for its mix of ancient woodland, grassland and wetland. Be prepared for walking on rough tracks.

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Published in Konect February 2025

Author: William Weir

All photos by William Weir