The Whispering Cairns of Cairngorm

The wind bit at my exposed cheeks, a familiar sting. I tugged my woolen hat further down, the Highlands living up to their reputation for unforgiving beauty. I was alone, blissfully so, three days into a week-long trek through the Cairngorms. It wasn't just about the scenery, though that was breathtaking; it was about silencing the noise, the constant hum of city life that had been grating on me for far too long.

The path, barely discernible, wound upwards, leading towards a cluster of ancient cairns perched on a rocky outcrop. Cairns. Piles of stones, markers, whispers of journeys past. I'd always found them strangely comforting, these silent witnesses. As I approached, I noticed someone else already there, huddled behind one of the larger cairns, sketching in a battered notebook.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" I said, more to break the silence than anything else.

He looked up, startled, a young man with kind eyes and a scruffy beard. "It is," he agreed, a shy smile spreading across his face. "I'm Liam."

"Anna," I replied, extending a hand. "Lost in the same wilderness, I see."

We talked for a while, about the mountains, about the weather (inevitably), and about why we were both drawn to this desolate, beautiful place. Liam, it turned out, was a geology student, fascinated by the ancient formations of the Cairngorms. He spoke with a passion that was infectious, pointing out layers of rock, fault lines, stories etched in stone that I had never noticed before. He had a way of making the landscape feel alive, like it was breathing, whispering secrets only he could understand.

"My grandfather used to tell me stories about these mountains," Liam said, tracing a line in his notebook. "He said the cairns are more than just markers. They're… well, he called them whispering stones. Places where you can connect with the land, with the people who came before."

I scoffed, but gently. "Whispering stones? Sounds a bit mystical, doesn't it?"

He shrugged, his eyes twinkling. "Maybe. But there's something special about this place, Anna. I can feel it."

We walked together for the rest of the day, Liam sharing his knowledge, me sharing my quiet appreciation. He showed me how to identify different types of rock, how to read the landscape like a map. I, in turn, told him about my life back in the city, about the pressures and the anxieties that had driven me to seek solace in the mountains.

That evening, as we huddled in our separate tents, the wind howling outside, I thought about what Liam had said about the whispering stones. Maybe he was right. Maybe there was something more to these mountains than just rocks and heather. Maybe it was about connection, about finding common ground, not just with the land, but with each other.

The next morning, Liam was gone. He'd left a note on my tent, a simple thank you, and a small, smooth stone he'd found near the cairns. I held it in my hand, the coldness seeping into my skin. It was just a stone, but it felt like a connection, a reminder of a shared experience, a whispered promise of something more. I continued my trek, the wind still biting, but now, it felt less lonely. The mountains, somehow, felt a little less silent.