Camp in the snow on the Cairngorm Plateau with a little problem pitching the tent

Cairn Lochan

Sitting at my desk writing to meet deadlines I tried not to look out of the window at the blue sky and distant shining white mountains. Being an outdoor writer means spending as much or more time on the second rather than the first.

Lochan Buidhe & Braeriach

Would this wonderful weather and the snow last until I could go out? It did. Just. The forecast suggested two more days of sunshine before the winds increased, clouds swept in, and temperatures rose. Time for a night on the Cairngorm Plateau.

Stob Coire an t-Sneachda

Only thin patches of snow remained low down and I walked mostly on stones and gravel on the path below the Northern Corries. High above the cliffs of Cairn Lochan and Stob Coire an t-Sneachda were a brilliant white. A few climbers descended, helmets and ropes and ice climbing tools on their packs. A walker moving fast passed me and headed into Coire an Lochain then I was alone, seeing no-one as I crossed the western shoulder of Cairn Lochan onto the vast white expanse of the Cairngorm Plateau.

Cairn Toul

Across the hidden gash of the Lairig Ghru the great wedge of Cairn Toul rose into a sky turning pink and orange as the sun sank into distant clouds. The orange colour deepened and spread along the horizon before quickly fading.

Braeriach at sunset

With the light dying and the temperature dropping I left the beaten path I’d been following and headed into the shallow corrie of the Feith Buidhe. At once I was sinking ankle deep and sometimes more into the snow. Progress slowed abruptly and it wasn’t long before I decided to camp. I found a fairly flat spot to stamp out a platform for the tent and then level it with my snow shovel.

My camp

Then I started to pitch the tent. And failed. This was a tent I’d pitched hundreds of times before, probably more than any other tent. Not having used it for a few years I’d erected it in the garden the day before to check everything was okay. I’d found it difficult fitting the end of the single pole into the socket at one end but it had eventually gone in. Now it wouldn’t, no matter how hard I tried. In fact I eventually tried too hard and the pole snapped.

Untidy but it worked

So here I was in the middle of the Cairngorm Plateau in the dark in freezing temperatures with a snapped tent pole. What to do? I considered packing up and walking out. But surely I could still manage to pitch the tent somehow? I had a short length of pole tubing for repairing breaks but this was useless here as the break was on a steep curve and the tube was straight and inflexible. I put some tape round the break to stop the rough edges tearing the tent. The pole still wouldn’t go in the socket and I wasn’t going to try and force it again. Instead I put a cup under the end of the pole to stop it sinking into the snow and used a snow peg to tension it. Once I’d pegged out the rest of the tent it looked much as usual except for a pointed top to the pole. With relief I climbed inside.

Melting snow for breakfast coffee

The rest of the evening was spent melting snow for dinner and hot drinks, reading, and writing my journal. I had hoped for a brilliant night sky but spreading clouds soon blocked most of the stars. There would be no photos of a torchlit tent under a huge starry sky. I stayed inside in my warm sleeping bag. A gusty wind rattled the tent occasionally.

Dawn

Waking at dawn I looked out to see an orange glow on the horizon that soon grew and became intensely fiery. A spectacular dawn. The temperature was -9°C.

A fiery dawn sky over Bynack More

Despite the cold the sky soon had me outside taking photographs and revelling in the spectacular colours before melting more snow for breakfast.

Keeping warm

Stuffing some gear into my pack I left the tent and followed my foot holes in the snow back to the packed path and headed for Ben Macdui. I noticed old ski tracks running to my camp site. Then in the distance I saw a skier speeding along. Skis would certainly have made the going easier here. However this deep snow didn’t lie everywhere. During the day I would meet three skiers carrying their skis in areas where rather too many rocks poked through the snow to make skiing comfortable and only see one more person actually skiing. I was glad not to have skis to carry. I did wish I’d brought snowshoes though. Much easier to carry and anyway you can walk over rocks wearing them.

Ben Macdui

I was soon on the summit of Ben Macdui. Across the Lairig Ghru Cairn Toul and Braeriach were their usual magnificent selves. More interesting though were the views to more distant mountains as the glens and lower hills were filled with a thin translucent mist while the sky was banded with clouds, giving an unusual light.

Lochnagar from Ben Macdui

Lochnagar looked to be snow-covered, at least at the top. Beinn a’ Ghlo was surprisingly snow free with just a few splashes remaining.

Beinn a' Ghlo from Ben Macdui

I watched the view for a while, drinking some of my cold snowmelt water and eating flapjack bars. It was very peaceful. A runner arrived, carrying just a tiny pack, went up to the trig point, looked round, then sped off the way he’d come. A walker, looking more sensibly equipped for the conditions, appeared, and didn’t linger long either.

More  coffee on the way!

Retracing my steps I could see more people heading towards Macdui. The world was waking up. Back at camp for lunch I melted more snow then packed up and headed across the plateau. The sun was hot but the cloud cover was increasing. By the time I reached Stob Coire an t-Sneachda the sky was grey and the wind was picking up. I sheltered behind the big cairn at the top of the Fiacaill a’ Choire Chais.

Looking down into Coire an t-Sneachda from Stob Coire an t-Sneachda

I wasn’t far down the ridge before I was walking in slush. The lower snow was thawing. The weather had changed.

Two little videos on a recent camp

 Two little videos I made on the trip described in this post. 

Geal Charn & the Water of Ailnack: A Walk In A Quiet Corner Of The Cairngorms

The Cairngorms from Geal Charn

The Dorback Estate only lies some 15 kilometres from my house yet I haven’t visited it very often. I returned after many years on a weekend when the forecast suggested fine weather, which meant the main Cairngorms and its Munros were likely to be busy. I felt like going somewhere quieter. Just how quiet it turned out to be was a surprise. I saw no-one on the hills or in the glen even at a distance. It felt very remote and very lonely, not something I expected so close to home.

My plan was to climb 821 metre Geal Charn, continue over Geal Charn Beag, descend to the Water of Caiplich and find somewhere to camp. The next day I would wander along the Ailnack ravine then back to the car along a long estate road. The first day worked out fine, the second didn’t, due to carelessness on my part, but ended up better than if I’d followed my plan.

I’d been up Geal Charn at least once before (probably twice) but that had been many years ago and I didn’t remember much about it. I’d visited the lower Ailnack ravine once before too but never the upper ravine and had no idea on a route. The map showed no paths and tight contours. Maybe I could only walk high above it. I’d find out.

One reason I’d rarely visited this area was because it’s grouse shooting country, the heather-clad hills streaked with patches of muirburn, the wildlife minimal (wiped out by fire, traps, and guns), and trees rare. However this changed for the Dorback Estate in January when it was bought by Oxygen Conservation which says “we invest directly in the acquisition of land to protect and restore natural processes” and that “with careful habitat management and land regeneration, Dorback holds vast potential to become one of the UK’s leading wildlife destinations”. This sounds positive.

Dorback Lodge

At the end of the long winding narrow road that leads to Dorback Lodge I left the car and walked down to the Dorback Burn. Above I could see the long-empty, boarded-up lodge. I forded the burn, easy to do on stones as the water was low. It hadn’t rained for many days. I was to be grateful for that later. Across the burn I came to the ruined farm of Upper Dell. Outside the derelict buildings snowdrops bloomed, planted who knows how long ago.

Snowdrops at Upper Dell

The disused lodge and derelict farm added to the feelings of remoteness and loneliness. But there were lapwings calling and I watched two pairs wheeling over the burnside meadows. In a pool near Upper Dell there were frogs and piles of frogspawn. There is life here, just not human life.

A little pool with a big name

An old track winds round the lower slopes of the hills above the Dorback Burn, climbing slowly, and passing a small pool bearing the grand title Loch an t-Sidhein Dhuibh (the Lake of the Black Fairies),  before descending gently to a stream, the Allt na H-Eirghe, where I was pleased to see many young Scots pines springing up around a few magnificent old ones. Clearly deer numbers are already low enough for this regeneration to happen, even before the new owners begin restoration work.

Regeneration

A small pale cairn marked the start of a narrow overgrown path heading up a broad ridge to Geal Charn. In places the path was very indistinct but soon reappeared as I continued directly upwards. It’s not a subtle route. It ends at a white quartzite cairn from where another intermittent narrow path leads up the final broad slopes to the summit and another white cairn which, in fact, is what Geal Charn means. The name is common in the Spey and Laggan areas, with fourteen hills bearing it, but found nowhere else (according to Peter Drummond in his excellent book Scottish Hill Names: Their origin and meaning).  

Geal Charn

There was a cool breeze on the summit and I donned my windshirt and considered gloves. For early March it was warm though. The view was excellent with a panorama of Cairngorm mountains from Ben Avon round to Cairn Gorm itself. Geal Charn is a Corbett (hill between 2500 and 3000 feet/762 and 914.4 metres) but there’s little sign many people come here. Perhaps once to tick it off on the list. The views make the ascent worthwhile and there is a sense of vastness in the huge panorama. I’m surprised it’s not more popular.

Gateway to ...... ?

Two kilometres to the south-west lay the subsidiary summit of Geal Charn Beag. Even fewer people seem to come this way. There’s no path just two lines of old fence posts with the occasional forlorn gate still standing. The gentle descent to the col between the two tops is on quartzite strewn firm ground, the barely perceptible rise to Geal Charn Beag a mass of peat hags and boggy ground. Here the fence posts helped keep me on a straight line. In wet conditions this would a soggy walk. But there’d been no rain for many days and my feet stayed dry even though I was in trail shoes. The view remained good, especially towards Beinn a’ Bhuirdh and Ben Avon as I was walking towards them.

I was aiming for a stretch of the Water of Caiplich just before it makes a right-angle bend and becomes the Water of Ailnack as the map showed a small flat area where I hoped I could camp. The fence posts continued down the steep slopes to the river. I arrived just before I needed a headlamp. The ground looked as though it would be boggy after rain but was fine for a camp now and I was soon in the tent enjoying some soup.

In camp

The evening was cloudy with a few spots of rain. There would be no photos of a star-filled sky above a glowing lamp-lit tent. Dawn came with a soft light and frost on the tent. I could see sunshine on the moors high above and soon the sun appeared, the shadowed land turned bright and sharp as the temperature soared. Grouse started calling all around.

Coffee on the way!

My camp site was a peaceful spot. Not spectacular or dramatic, just quiet and calm. The nearby stream rippled gently over its stony bed, Steep heather-clad slopes rose on either side. I sat outside in the sunshine, reluctant to pack up and move on. A second mug of coffee called. I spread the tent over some heather to speed drying. Then, slowly, I packed up.

The upper end of the Ailnack ravine

Not far from camp the steep slopes came down into the water. I followed a deer track but it soon petered out as the hillside became even steeper. I retraced my steps to another deer track that angled up the slope, avoiding the steepest ground. Soon I was high above the stream and looking ahead to the sharp bend where the Ailnack ravine began.

The Castle

I stayed on narrow deer tracks high above the Water of Ailnack. Soon the rock tower known as The Castle came into view. This stub of rock does stand out but it’s the whole ravine that’s impressive. It’s probably the finest in Scotland, a massive deep crag and scree-girt gash in the hills, a surprise amongst this rolling brown moorland. In total it runs for around eight kilometres.

The ravine

The slopes I was on were steep enough and the deer path narrow enough that I needed to concentrate on my footing. I certainly wasn’t going to stop and take my pack off and record the little video I’d thought of making. Eventually though I came to a shallow corrie with a flat floor. Snow banks ran along its back wall, the only snow I saw except in the distance on higher hills. Glad to relax I took off my pack. I’d make the video here.

The ravine winds on

I had recently bought a shooting grip for this purpose. This was its first trip. I had put it in a pack side pocket for easy access. Except it wasn’t there. I checked other pockets. I emptied out the pack. I shook out the sleeping bag. I shook out the tent. I searched every dry bag. It wasn’t there. I thought back. I knew I had it with me in camp as I’d used the detachable remote control when making a video there. And there, I realised, it must still be. Damn! I’d checked the area, as always, before leaving but must have missed it. How careless.

The snow patches

I’d only come a couple of kilometres so it wasn’t far back to camp. But my progress across the steep slopes had been slow. It would take time to go back. Looking at the map I could see that the quickest route was to go up past the snow patches then cut across the hillside and descend by a stream to the site. I could leave my pack high up and go down without it too.

So that’s what I did. The climb beside the snow patches was a little steeper in places than it had looked, at times requiring knees and elbows and grabbing heather roots and rocks. But I was soon up and on the gentle flanks of Geal Charn Beag. I left the pack, marking the spot on my phone, and set off down the little burn. It was an easier descent than I’d expected, easier in fact than following the fence posts as I’d done the day before, and I was soon down.

I searched the ground where I’d camped. Nothing. I went over to the patch of heather where I’d spread out the tent and there it was, along with my weather meter which I hadn’t even missed. On the way down the stream I’d wondered if it had still been in the tent when I took it down. Both items had been. I might have checked the ground for stray items but I hadn’t checked the tent thoroughly before taking it down. A lesson to learn.

Mini-waterfall

Relieved I wandered back up, this time noticing where I was. The little stream gully was really quite delightful. There were tiny waterfalls, golden-bottomed pools, rich green moss. In places the burn ran underground. I could hear it gurgling beneath my feet. This was far more interesting than the heather-clad hillside.

Late afternoon light

Reunited with my pack I decided going back over Geal Charn was now shorter than heading for the track I’d intended to follow. This proved a wise decision but not because of the time it took. The late afternoon light was gloriously dramatic, the Cairngorms splendid in shades of grey straked with snow. Crepuscular rays broke through the clouds. The low sun began to colour the sky. I was down the hill and on the outward track before I needed my headlamp. I was glad I’d been on the tops and not the long estate track. My lack of care had improved the day. I’ll be more careful in future though. 

Before sunset

Thanks to my supporters and a note on AI (I don't use it)

 

Thank you to everyone who donates to my blog.  It really helps. Thanks too to everyone who has recommended my posts. I am very grateful.

I’d like to point out that no AI was used in writing this or any of my posts. I’m a writer not a plagiarist. My words are my words not other people’s fed through a machine, mixed together, and regurgitated. However hard Microsoft, Google, and others keep pushing CoPilot, Gemini, Grammarly and more I won’t use them. If I can’t think what to write then I won’t write.

The photo shows what is probably my favourite place in the world (my mind does change sometimes), the Cairngorm Plateau.

A Look At The April Issue Of The Great Outdoors

In the April issue of The Great Outdoors Kirsty Pallas and I review 5 waterproof jackets each. I also review the Sprayway Torridon Insulated Jacket. Steph Wetherell reviews the Paramo Alta III jacket and four power banks.

This spring sees the 60th anniversary of the Pennine Way, a trail I am fond of as it was my first long-distance walk. Hanna Lindon tells the story of the trail and talks to some completers while Becky Angell gives advice on hiking the route. 

Far to the north-west Carey Davies describes an exciting walk over the rugged Fisherfield Six (or is it Five?).

Alex Roddie heads over the Irish Sea to hike the Beara Way in the far south-west of Ireland.

Much, much further afield Michaela Hrda and Martina Merisi become the first people to complete the Pamir Trail in Tajikistan.

The issue opens with a wonderful evocative image of mist over Ladybower Reservoir in the Peak District by Verity Milligan. Creator of the Month is outdoor filmmaker and YouTuber Elli Schneider. Francesca Donovan reviews the book Pathfinding: On Walking, Motherhood and Freedom by Kerri Andrews and Ash Routen reviews the film Moments in the Wilderness by Magnus Lindborn. Jim Perrin remembers a not to be repeated winter climb on Mam Tor in his Mountain Portrait. In the Skills section Monica Shaw explains how to make your own backpacking meals. At the back of the magazine there's a new entertaining column called Uphill Struggles by Juls Stodel. 

The Wild Walks section has a nature theme this month. James Roddie finds snow buntings, mountain hares and ptarmigan on an ascent of Ben Macdui in the Cairngorms. Ian Battersby visits the home of England's only arctic charr in Wild Ennerdale in the Lake District and climbs Haycock. In the Yorkshire Dales Vivienne Crow is greeted by the spring songs and calls of skylarks, curlews, lapwings and golden plover on Great Whernside. On the coast of Yorkshire at Bempton Cliffs and Flamborough Head Ian Battersby finds gannets, puffins, and kittiwakes. Also on the coast down in Pembrokeshire Andrew Galloway hears the cries of seals on a visit to St Davids Head and Carn Llidi. Fiona Barltrop encounters free-ranging ponies in the New Forest National Park and wild goats on a walk along the Cornish coast. 

Still wintry on Cairn Gorm

Stormy to the west

Late February and the Cairngorms don’t look very wintry from afar. Only patches of snow can be seen. But the lack of snow doesn’t mean a lack of winter high up as I found on a walk over Cairn Gorm.

Artificial snow slope

Lower down there really isn’t much snow. Just above the car park in Coire Cas a short strip of white stood out from the brown slopes, artificial snow made by the ugly snow machine whirring away noisily just below. Skiers queued for a drag lift to take them to the top of the slope. I’m sure they were having fun but it all looked rather sad.

Cairn Lochan

The ascent of the Fiacaill a’ Choire Chais was mostly on dry ground with only the occasional spot of snow or ice. But the ground was frozen and the cliffs of Coire an t-Sneachda and Coire an Lochain were white. I met many groups of climbers descending. Conditions were good, one told me. I met several more at the top of the ridge, removing crampons before the descent.

Stob Coire an t-Sneachda

The weather was calm with bursts of sunshine though out to the west thick clouds were boiling up. I’d had all clothing zips open and my head and hands bare on the ascent and I still felt a little too hot. The gentle but cold breeze blowing across the Cairngorm Plateau soon cooled me down when I stopped for a hot drink and a snack after the climb. Hat and gloves were soon on and all zips closed.

The Cairngorm Plateau

The Plateau was speckled, with much dark rock and gravel amidst patches of snow and ice. I could see tiny figures in the distance. Ben Macdui was in cloud. East was sunny and bright, west stormy and dark.

Icy!

Ice lay between the stones. Just below the western slopes of Cairn Gorm a wide band of it rippled over the ground, snow that had started to thaw and then frozen hard. Reaching it I decided it was time for crampons. I’d picked my way across the stones this far but that looked much more difficult here. The crampons gave their usual confidence. I stopped being so careful and headed straight up to the summit, the few deviations necessary were to avoid stones rather than ice.

Cairngorm Weather Station

The Cairngorm Weather Station was rather sparely clad in frost and ice. It’s often a mass of white at this time of year. A few people were sheltering behind it.

Beinn a' Bhuird

I had thought of staying on the summit for the sunset but out west the sky was dark and the clouds were approaching, Cairn Lochan now hidden. To the east it was still sunny, Beinn a’ Bhuird a long bright white wall of snow.

There was more snow on the north-east side of the mountain and I linked large patches quite a way down Sron an Aonaich (aka Windy Ridge) before they ran out and I stopped to remove my crampons.

Muirburn

Away to the north-east I could see a thick plume of smoke from muirburn on the flanks of the Cromdale Hills. This burning of heather, killing insects, reptiles and more, and preventing any other plants from growing just so rich people can enjoy slaughtering grouse always infuriates me. 

Stac na h-Iolaire

Much closer and better for my mood the low sun was turning snow free Stac na h-Iolaire golden brown and sent long rays across the slopes towards Ben Avon. Turning back I could see the clouds had reached Cairn Gorm. There would be no sunset up there.

View west

There was lower down though. Out west the sun shone below the clouds turning a narrow band of sky orange. Down in Strathspey mist was forming.

Mist in Strathspey

The sun made a brief appearance before setting, a last surge of colour. I reached the car without needing my headlamp, just.

Last of the sun

Pictures & Memories from a Walk in the Uinta Mountains

Red Castle Lakes from the ascent of Wilson Peak

Sorting through old photos from film days for an upcoming project I found a folder of colour prints from a trip twenty-four years ago when I spent eleven glorious days hiking in the Uinta Mountains. I hadn’t thought about this walk for many years and I was delighted to these pictures again. The area looks really spectacular! 

The Uinta Mountains form a long east-west running spur of the Rocky Mountains in north-east Utah. They are alpine mountains, snow-covered for more than half the year and with a myriad lakes and streams. Forests rise to around 3,354 metre (11,000 feet). Above the trees are vast open grassy bowls dotted with lakes, above which rise long, steep, rocky ridges. Most of the area is protected in the 460,000-acre High Uintas Wilderness, the largest wilderness area in Utah.

I’d gone to Utah for the annual Outdoor Retailer trade show, which was then held in Salt Lake City. After the show GoLite, one of the pioneers of lightweight gear though sadly long gone, had taken a group of us to the Uintas to try some of its new stuff at a high camp and on an ascent of 4,125m (13,528 feet) King’s Peak, the highest summit in Utah. After we’d climbed the mountain and survived an exciting thunderstorm at a timberline camp the others departed and I had the next nine days to myself.

I spent the time walking to the eastern end of the range and then back again by a different route. It was a wonderful walk. I was above timberline much of the time and climbed a couple more peaks including 3981 metre (13,060 feet) Wilson Peak. The weather was dry and mostly sunny until the last two days when there were more thunderstorms.

GoLite had supplied me with much of my equipment for the walk, including pack, tarp, sleeping bag, and most of my clothing. Its gear back then was some of the best around.

These photos were taken with a 35mm Ricoh GR1s compact camera with fixed 28mm lens, which I carried as back-up to my SLR camera. I used slide film with the latter. I’d forgotten I’d taken any prints until these turned up! Whether I took any more than the 36 I’ve just come across I don’t know. The prints aren’t captioned or dated so I don’t know exactly when or where most of them were taken. From internet images I have only identified the location of one picture, which is at the head of this piece. If anyone can identify any of the others I’d be grateful!

I wrote a feature for The Great Outdoors magazine after my trip which was reprinted in my book Out There: A Voice From The Wild if you’d like to read more about it.