The rainforest defines my bioregion. All bioregions are defined by water to a greater or lesser extent, and mine is no exception, though it is different from many others in that it is not based in a water catchment but along a recently glaciated multi-layered complex winding coast, taking in islands, headlands, bays, harbour fishing villages, peninsulas, sea and land lochs, fields, farms, cliffs, gullies, gorges, ravines, rocky scars, knolls, hills and the foothills of mountains.
What is its extent? I think of my region in terms of Argyll, the one to the north of me being Lochaber (very similar to mine, being all rainforest), the one to the east being the Clyde, about which I’ve written elsewhere in this blog. The ones to the south and west of me are off my radar, for they are beyond the sea.
So, in my case the bioregion equates with a biome, a biome which is a fluid mix of both rainforest and marine – hence the cultural emphasis on boats and ferries and shellfish and fish and all things nautical. The rainforest is best seen from the sea, for then you can see it cloaking the coast. Thankfully it’s not easily accessible; hence it’s survived, though overgrazing and rhododrendron ponticum have degraded it (severely in many places). Ongoing development is an issue, in particular the infrastructure associated with onshore wind farms, as is short rotation plantation forestry.
But it’s still a magical place, and last week I was in the company of Dr. Oliver Moore of Plantlife, who helps communities identify the many rare species that thrive in our rainforest. Here he is in the picture, clambering up to an old ash tree covered in Dragon skin – yes! – the great name given by a community north of here, which Oliver heard them use on one of his field trips and is now used by many rainforest lovers. It refers to a rare lichen which flourishes in the Celtic rainforest, which goes a bright green when wet (hence its Latin name Lobaria virens) and covers tree bark like the scales of a dragon.
bioregioning 