Up on the vast bog-cotton covered expanse of Alva Moss in the Ochils, a red glimmer caught my eye by a peaty pool.

It was a sundew - a plant with a voracious appetite – and as I brushed my finger gently across its red, dew-glistened leaf, I could see tiny black corpses lying within its deadly embrace.

The prey were midges that had become trapped within its lethal snare. The leaves of sundews have tiny red hairs, the tips of which are primed with sticky translucent droplets.

When a midge alights on a sundew, it becomes stuck upon the glistening lure, and then like a grisly scene from a horror movie, it is slowly digested by enzymes secreted by the leaf.

Sundews occur on nutrient poor peat bogs and damp moorland, and digesting insects is an excellent means of supplementing the meagre pickings gleaned by the roots from the impoverished soil. Sundews don’t have to eat insects to survive, but those that do grow much bigger and produce more seeds.

I crouched down to examine this cluster of sundews on Alva Moss more closely, and was immediately drawn into the fascinating micro-world of forested leaf hairs, each one so intricately perfect that one wondered in awe at the evolutionary forces behind their creation. Within this one leaf, lay a treacherous jungle of danger for tiny insects - a place of struggle, and ultimately, death.

Nearby, nestled another carnivorous plant - a butterwort, with its flattened leaves splayed across the ground in the shape of a limey-green star. As with the sundew, insects become trapped on its sticky leaves.

Both butterworts and sundews are well established in folklore and long used by herbalists. The butterwort is said to have magical properties that can act as a charm to ensure a safe journey and provide good luck during childbirth. The name butterwort is probably derived from its use at one time in curdling milk for butter.

The sundew has been used as a medicinal herb since the 12th century and was considered a good remedy for whooping cough. The ‘dew’ was much treasured in medieval times for its claimed abilities for destroying warts.

Large bogs – such as Alva Moss - store huge amounts of carbon in the form of dead plant matter, which instead of rotting, stays preserved for thousands of years as peat. This locks up and removes huge quantities of carbon from the atmosphere, providing immense benefit to the environment.

Our boglands are compelling places to linger and to reflect, drawing one in through their irresistible wildness and epitomising an ancient landscape that spirals back to the very roots of humanity.