Written by Sylvia Dow

Directed by Becky Hope-Palmer

Tickets: £15.00 (Con. available)

There’s a renaissance of sorts emerging for Nan Shepard’s life and what can be syphoned from in it a post-lockdown world – understandable that after months of isolation and barriers, the woman who lived and loved the Scottish mountains like no other would re-emerge as a figure of the nation’s heritage and landscape. From Erlend Clouston’s lecture performance Looking for Nan Shepard at this year’s Tradfest, the upcoming Nan Shepherd and the Curse of Frankenstein in the city she so frequently lectured in (Aberdeen), and to the next season in Pitlochry where Nan Shepherd: Naked and Unashamed will debut in the studio space.

But renowned Scottish playwright Sylvia Dow traverses more than The Living Mountains of Shepard’s memoir in their new two-hander Woman Walking, directed by Becky Hope-Palmer, produced by Perth Theatre and Dow’s own Sylvian Productions. Lugging a tremendous weight, physically and metaphorically, Cath navigates the Cairngorms, laden with a rucksack, tent, and heaviest of all – a flask containing her late mother’s ashes. Without a hint of irony or drama, Cath encounters Nan Shepherd, but the familiarity between the two offers an engaging and refreshing dimension as the two spend hours climbing the mountains, ready to scatter Cath’s mother to the winds at the peak.

Dow’s writing is punctuated with elements much trickier to navigate than any mountain range: guilt, loss, and the consoling nature of hill-walking; accepting the world is bigger than you ever imagined, in a world which is steadily shrinking. The writing is sombre and tender for this new play which continues to evolve the message Sheperd heralded, channelling it into a touching and modest two-hander with Fletcher Mathers and Pauline Lockhart.

For its realism and humble nature, Karen Tennant’s jutting blocks and tables, wrapped in vintage map pieces offer a unique enchantment for the staging – one which doesn’t distract, and still feels grounded, if shrouded in the nostalgic reverence we preserve for the Scottish mountains. It’s often enhanced with a parchment-orange shade of lighting, shifting into a more mournful and naturally ‘fresh’ blue tone from Laura Hawkins’ lighting.

Calling into the wilderness, Cath’s conversational manner with the initial space grows intimate as Shepherd and she begin to share tales of their respective mothers and their passions, Shepherd is enraptured and also concerned by the growth of technology, and the lack of effort and lackadaisical attitudes which follow. Guilt and resentment rear their faces amidst the tricky weather and terrain, Dow’s script enabling the two-hander plenty to work with, though occasionally dipping into being overly wrought and overpacked from the feeling to provide context.

But behind a veil, Shepherd comes into being – sharing in meals and sleeping under the canopy of stars alongside Cath. Dow’s writing becomes a semi-biopic by association with the historical exposition. Woman Walking isn’t about Nan Shepherd’s life and influence, so much as these elements become a catalyst for the pleasures and practices, Cath’s monologues and experiences become a therapeutic monologue reminiscent of Shepherd’s writing.

Much of the production’s success, outside of its tender writing and Hope-Palmer’s touching direction, is the lead performances – Lochart an endearingly anxious role which quickly forges connection and recognition within the audience. While Mathers (who we last saw in Braw Clan’s A Secret Wrapped in Lead) strikes an engaging balance between enigmatic, and comforting – carrying a sternness which once ebbed gives way to a strikingly poetic and powerful presence.

Encomiastic, Woman Walking is equally a discerning piece about the loss and grief of a person, of us, as it is a touching appreciation for the Scottish mountains and a fading way of life. With two stirring lead performances, this humble new piece of theatre doesn’t shake the foundations it stands upon, but rather hikes to the peak, to take in the view and fill itself with a deep breath of air in the appreciation of the woman, and women, who got them to this place.