A Cold Camp In The Western Cairngorms

A Short Wander In The Cairngorms

A frosty camp

Often when I go to the woods and hills I don’t have a particular destination in mind, no summit to reach, no trail to hike. I go just to be there, to enjoy walking and camping in a wild place. That can mean my plans, such as they are, can change according to the weather, how I’m feeling, and anything that catches my eye.

View over Glen Feshie to Creag Meagaidh on the ascent on the first day.

This was certainly the case on a recent trip to the hills on the eastern side of Glen Feshie. It began with the weather forecast, as short trips usually do. Cloud over the Cairngorms with the best chance of clear skies on the western side of the range it said. Hence Glen Feshie. The SAIS avalanche forecast, which I always check when there’s any snow on the hills (it’s useful for conditions as well)  was for low risk as the snow that fell a week or so ago had either thawed or was hard and icy. There didn’t seem enough left to justify snowshoes let alone skis but I did of course take ice axe and crampons.

Mist on the tops

As I walked up through the pine forest on the path that leads to Am Moine Mhor, the Great Moss, which is the easternmost of the three huge Cairngorm plateaux, I could see clouds hugging the rim of the snow-streaked hills. I met day walkers descending. “Cold and icy up there”, said one. I didn’t mind either of those. It was the mist I didn’t want. At the col before the final climb to the plateau I paused. The clouds looked lower on the hills ahead than earlier. Deciding camping in the mist didn’t appeal I turned from the path and started to descend into Coire Ruadh, the decision helped by the fact I was feeling the weight of my pack, this being the first time I’d carried a big load uphill for three months.

My pace slowed immediately even though I was now going downhill as opposed to uphill. That was because of the terrain. Instead of a clear path I was now descending heather and bog with hidden holes and rocks. The ground was frozen so I kept my feet dry, something I think would be impossible here in warmer temperatures. I also had a new and unexpected experience. At times my foot went ankle-deep into the ground but not into water. Indeed, on pulling my boot out each time it was dry. The frozen surface of the bog had given way, leaving just a boot-shaped hole.

Frozen bog camp

As the angle of the corrie floor eased I began looking for a spot to camp. A flat heather-free area appeared right next to the burn. The frozen ground gave slightly as I walked over it. I guessed it was a bog much of the year, and horribly midgey in summer. The forecast was for sub-zero temperatures overnight though so it wasn’t going to thaw while I was there.

Camp organised. I left the door open all night.

I was soon in the tent with the stove going. A chill breeze came down the corrie. I spent the evening, as usual when it’s dark or stormy, gazing out of the open door, reading, dozing, writing my journal, glancing at the map. By the time I fell asleep the clouds had drifted overhead.

Ice & water

I woke once to see an orange moon low in the sky and a few stars glittering. The temperature was -5.5°C. The bog certainly wouldn’t thaw. A few hours later I was awake for the day. A band of mist shrouded Glen Feshie, above it a dark pink sky. The burn rushing past just a few metres from the tent was edged with icicles and there was ice on the rocks protruding from the water.

A cold dawn

Soon I could see sunshine to the east. But the cloud stayed put on the Moine Mhor. I didn’t hurry to pack up. I was enjoying relaxing in this peaceful spot. I also hoped the clouds might shift from the higher hills. They didn’t so I struck camp and headed up the frozen boggy slopes to the summit immediately above, which lay on the spur that runs north-east from Carn Ban Mor. On the somewhat strenuous ascent I was delighted to see many young pines rising out of the heather. A forest of the future.

A forest starting

Higher up the heather became sparse and low, interspersed with areas of gravel. The walking was much easier here. Soon I reached the small cairn on the big rounded summit. On Ordnance Survey maps this has no name just a 783-metre spot height. On Harvey Cairngorms & Lochnagar British Mountain Map, my favourite Cairngorms map, it’s named as Carn Ban Beag. However the OS gives that name to the next summit along the spur. This 716-metre top isn’t named on the Harvey Map. Searching online I found that quite a few sites on Scottish mountains list the 783-metre summit as Carn Ban Mor West.  

Pt 783

Whatever the name it’s a pleasant top with excellent views. To the east the clouds still sat on the rim of the Moine Mhor. Here I was in sunshine, though it was still cold due to a keen east wind. I was soon on the move again, heading to the top that might be Carn Mor Beag. Or perhaps that was the one I was leaving. Fine hills, anyway.

Tribbles advancing! (Couldn't resist the Star Trek reference).

Coming down to the col between the two tops I was initially puzzled by small pale brown mounds covering the ground. Once I was closer I realised these were clumps of dead deer grass blown over by the wind.

Carn Mor Beag (maybe). The 783-metre summit is the dark dome in the middle distance.

Looking back from the second summit the 783-metre one was a gently curved dark dome, shadowed by clouds, with snowy Carn Ban Mor capped with mist beyond it.

Bright enough for dark glasses but the east wind kept it cold.

Descent down Coire Brocar soon had me floundering through frozen bogs and increasingly thick heather again. I reached the path with relief and was soon into the trees. I hadn’t climbed any Munros or walked very far but it had been another enjoyable trip.

A Look At The March Issue Of The Great Outdoors

The March issue of The Great Outdoors features stories by women hikers and adventurers in celebration  of International Women's Day on March 8th. Five inspirational mountain-loving women - Sarah Jane Douglas, Fiona Russell, Hazel Strachan, Mary-Ann Ochota, and Renee MacGregor - share their stories and give advice to upcoming female hillwalkers; Elise Wortley climbs Mt Blanc in clothing replicating that worn by Henrietta d'Angeville on the first unaided female ascent in 1838; Lorraine McCall describes her continuous round of the Grahams, the first time this has been done; and Lydia Paleschi hikes the Helambu Trek in Nepal. 

The issue opens with a stunning photograph of a camp above a 100-metre waterfall on Disko Island, Greenland, by Rachel Murray. In shorter pieces Creator of the Month is graphic designer Tessa Simpson, Ken Daykin reviews The Cairngorms and North-East Scotland by Iain Young, Anne Butler, and Heather Morning, Jim Perrin looks at Pen Llithrig Y Wrach in Eryri in his Mountain Portrait, and there's the final Coastscript column from Emma Schroeder in which she looks back at the high points of her epic walk. A longer feature covers the the 2025 Reader Awards, with all the winners and runner-ups described.  

In the Skills section Hanna Lindon explores the different ways of meeting like-minded hill folk. In the Gear pages Lara Dunn and Peter Macfarlane each test four base layer tops and four insulated jackets, Kirsty Pallas reviews the Coros Vertix 25 watch, and David Lintern tests the Highlander Munro V2 Jacket. 

Wild Walks covers ten stile-free routes, six in England and four in Wales. Three of the English ones are in the Lake District where Ian Battersby goes over High Pike in the Caldbeck Fells, James Forrest ascends Latrigg from Keswick, and Vivienne Crow climbs Angletarn Pikes and Beda Fell. Over in the Yorkshire Dales Ian Battersby pops up again, climbing Great Pinseat from Arkengarthdale. Much further south Fiona Barltrop walks over Old Winchester Hill and Beacon Hill on the South Downs and Roger Butler goes up Hunter's Tor and Easdon Tor on Dartmoor. In Wales Roger climbs Yr Aran in Eryri/Snowdonia, Andrew Galloway visits Llantysilio Mountain in Denbighshire, and Phillipa Cherryson has a circular walk over Pen Y Fan and Cribyn in Bannau Brycheiniog/Brecon Beacons and goes up Yr Eifl on the Llyn Peninsula.

  

Thoughts of Border Crossings, Nature, and the Dangers of the Trump/Musk Axis

Sign at the international border 

The USA appears to have gone mad, or at least its rulers Trump and Musk have. Aside from everything else (and there’s a great deal of that) they seem to have decided that insulting, bullying, and threatening long-time allies is the way to advance the USA’s interests (or at least their own interest’s, I’m not sure either of them really cares about the US). Trump seems to regard every country as a rival to be defeated or taken over. His insistence that Canada should become the 51^st state of the USA is astounding. Why ever would Canada want to do that? Give up its independence, its health care system, its gun control, and much more?

Worrying about what the USA will do next is something many of us are doing at present. Trump’s plans threaten to destabilise the whole world. Particularly worrying is his ending action on climate change and his plan to use more oil and coal. This will affect us all.

I feel for the people of the USA who will suffer greatly if Trump gets his way. I have friends and relatives there. I am concerned for them. I’m also concerned for the country as a whole, for its nature and wild places. Trump wants to get rid of environmental regulations and drill and mine and log anywhere it might make money.

Dwelling on these issues, which seem to dominate life at present, I’ve been thinking of all my trips to the USA and Canada and how wonderful they’ve been and how friendly the people of both countries have been.

I’ve spent around three years of my life in the USA on walks and ski tours and have many favourite places - the High Sierra, the Grand Canyon, the Rocky Mountains, Yosemite, Yellowstone, Glacier National Park, Glacier Peak Wilderness, Death Valley, and many more. Some of the most glorious and powerful experiences of my life have been when hiking the country’s wonderful long-distance trails. It would be heartbreaking to see anything happen to the USA’s wild places.

Canada is also dear to me. I’ve spent less time there, maybe a year in total, but I’ve had similar experiences walking the length of the Canadian Rockies and south to north through the Yukon Territory.

Borders between countries are arbitrary lines on the map. The easier it is to cross them the better the relations between the countries. I’ve crossed many on long walks. In the Alps I’ve gone from France to Switzerland and back, and France to Italy and back. In Scandinavia I’ve crossed the borders between Norway, Sweden and Finland many times and twice visited the Three Country Cairn where you can go between each country by walking round it.

The longest international border in the world is between Canada and the USA with a length of 8,891 km (5,525 mi), of which 6,416 km (3,987 mi) is between Canada and the lower 48 states, and 2,475 km (1,538 mi) between Canada and Alaska. Much of it is in wilderness and marked by over 8000 monuments. No wall, no fence, no barrier. Just a strip cleared in the forest.

Monument 78 in the rain

During my long walks I crossed the US/Canada border three times and visited it another two times to start walks in each country.  The first occasion was when I crossed the border into Canada at Monument 78 on the Pacific Crest Trail. It was pouring with rain and I never got a photograph of myself there, something I’ve always regretted.

At the start of the Continental Divide Trail

Goat Haunt on the border in Waterton-Glacier International Park is a place I’ve walked to three times though I only crossed the border on one of them. That was on the Continental Divide Trail which I began in Canada, walking alongside Upper Waterton Lake to the border and then continuing south to Mexico.

At the start of my Canadian Rockies walk

Three years later I walked to Goat Haunt beside the lake again, then turned round and headed back as this was the start of my walk the length of the Canadian Rockies.

My third visit was after another twenty-two years on the Pacific Northwest Trail. Tightened security after the 911 terrorist atrocity meant I couldn’t legally walk into the US from Canada at Goat Haunt anymore so I arrived from the east. On that occasion I didn’t take a photo of myself by the monument but I did take the photograph of the sign at the top of this post..

At the Chilkoot Pass on the Alaska/British Columbia border

In between the Canadian Rockies and Pacific Northwest Trail walks I’d crossed the border again, this time between Alaska and Canada on the Chilkoot Trail at the start of my walk through the Yukon Territory.

That there should be friction between the USA and Canada is very sad. Trump is responsible for this. His actions are deplorable and potentially disastrous. The Waterton-Glacier Peace Park was established in 1932 “not just to promote peace and goodwill between nations, but also to underscore the international nature of wilderness and the co-operation required in its protection”. Those aims are even more important today.

On the USA/Mexico border at the start of the Arizona Trail

Of course it’s not just Canada Trump is having a go at. In time it could be virtually the whole world. As well as Canada with allies he’s started with Mexico, Panama and Greenland. I’ve never been to the first two, though I have stood at the border looking in to Mexico three times, but I have been to Greenland once, leading a ski tour. Trump wants to buy Greenland from Denmark. The arrogance is astounding. He’s treating Greenland as if it’s a product in a shop, not a country with a population who might like some say in the matter.

A Greenland landscape

How all this will work out I have no more idea than anyone else. It feels a dangerous time, for people and nature. All I can do is support those trying to achieve the best they can and oppose those who would destroy. Little though there is that I can achieve myself staying silent feels irresponsible. Perhaps if enough of us speak out there can be change for the better. 

A short video clip on waking up at a recent camp

 

A tiny video clip from my recent forest camp, as described in my last post. 

Damp in the Forest: First Camp of the Year

Tony Hobbs on the day walk 

Following Storm Eowyn’s high winds and snow the weather calmed down. Rather too much in fact as a thick, grey, wet cloud settled over the Cairngorms and refused to move for several days. I had my first camp of 2025 during this period, as Tony Hobbs had arranged a few weeks earlier to come up from down south for a few days out and couldn’t easily change his plans. A day earlier and Eowyn might have stopped him anyway.

View over Rothiemurchus Forest to the Lairig Ghru

Given that the forecast suggested it could be windy high up and due to a late start we decided to camp deep in the shelter of the forest and not push on uphill into the dark. An initial view of the great gash of the Lairig Ghru with snowy hills rising into the clouds either side didn’t make the heights seem very appealing either. The snow in the forest was soft and slushy and slowly thawing and it was a sloshy, boggy walk to our campsite.  

Forest camp

The night was quiet, the air still and damp. The overnight low was 2°C.  The forecast had changed – the next two days were now meant to be showery with thick cloud down on the hills. This turned out to be accurate, unfortunately. Rather than move location we decided we’d stay here for a second night and spend the day walking up the path towards the Lairig Ghru pass with the idea that if the clouds lifted a little we might go up the hills above the mouth of the pass, Creag a’ Chalamain and Castle Hill. At 787 and 728 metres respectively maybe they’d be below the cloud.

Carn Eilrig, 742 metres

They weren’t. The cloud base was around 500 metres, maybe 600 at times. The path into the Lairig Ghru was wet and increasingly snowy. There was a slow thaw. Drizzle and thin rain fell. The air was saturated. It wasn’t cold though. 6°C according to my thermometer. With no wind blowing walking soon made me warm. I’d set off in base layer, fleece, and windshirt. The middle layer soon came off. Hat and gloves never went on.

Forest, hills, snow, cloud

The forest was green and dripping, the pines magnificent. As we started to leave the trees behind the wild winter hills appeared, the snow bringing out the complex lines of moraines, stream gullies, and scree slopes. The high mountains were hidden in the clouds so this lower landscape stood out.

Tony near our high point

Eventually we decided to return down the path so we’d reach camp before dark. I remembered other occasions when I’d turned back on this approach to the Lairig Ghru in winter, both times due to savage weather, and camped in the forest. The first time, back in the 1990s, two of us had retreated in the face of a ferocious wind we could barely walk into, a wind that had ripped the foam pad off the back of my companion Chris Ainsworth’s pack. Amazingly we found it further down the path.

The crags of Creag an Leth-choin rise into the clouds

The second occasion was twelve years ago when I was making the Cairngorms In Winter film with Terry Abraham. The snow was deeper than today and the wind again ferocious and again we retreated to camp in the forest, though on that occasion the storm followed us into the woods. I wrote about the trip in this post.

Another hot drink on the way.

Today we weren’t escaping a storm, just sloshing back down the path in the drizzle to our comfortable camp. The rain meant we were soon ensconced in our tents. I wiled away the long hours of darkness (about fifteen at this time of year), making hot drinks, reading, writing my journal, listening to the slow spots of rain hitting the flysheet, and sleeping.

Is it still raining?

There was no change at dawn. Except that it was slightly warmer, speeding up the thaw. We packed up and walked out, pausing to give advice to a lost walker, one of the few people we met. We first saw him talking to a mountain biker. The cyclist having peddled off he then asked us for directions. On first sight I’d thought he was someone from the Rothiemuchus estate as he was dressed in ‘country’ clothing – brogues, knee-length socks, breeches, Barbour jacket, and carrying a traditional wooden walking stick. He had no pack and didn’t look like a typical walker. He told us he was a countryman from the Borders and didn’t know this area.

Lochan Deo on the walk out, still some ice.

He was out for a circular walk he’d been told would take him past the loch (I guess Loch Morlich) and then back to Coylumbridge. He didn’t have a map and was confused by the different path junctions, not all of them signposted. He was in fact on a path that would take him back to the road in almost a straight line but he didn’t feel confident to continue and decided to return the way he’d come, even though it was longer.

The day before we’d only seen one other person, a backpacker heading into the Lairig Ghru. This day we met a pair of walkers as well as the lost countryman and the mountain biker. Five people in total and we were on popular paths. I guess the weather had discouraged others.

Back in Aviemore we had lunch in the Explorers Café and watched the now heavier rain falling. It had been a quiet gentle first camping trip of the year. It was good to be out.

All Quiet Before Storm Eowyn

The summit of Meall a' Bhuachaille

The first named storm of 2025, Storm Eowyn (love the Tolkien reference!), is due to arrive late tomorrow with very strong winds, rain and snow. Of course we had a big storm early in January that brought masses of snow and bitter cold but apparently that wasn't stormy enough to have a name. 

Before Eowyn arrives I decided it was time for my first hill of the year, an old favourite, Meall a'Bhuachaille. A bit later than usual this year for a variety of boring but pressing reasons. The day was calm and cloudy as I set off through the forest to the Ryvoan Pass and Lochan Uaine. Occasional shafts of sunshine pierced the greyness and lit up strips of trees or hillside but mostly the light flattening shroud stayed in place. 

View from Ryvoan Bothy

Lochan Uaine was rich and green, living up to its name, the only ripples on the water coming from swimmers, canine and human. Smoke was pouring from the chimney at Ryvoan Bothy. There was almost a clearance to the east with sunlight on the side of Carn Bheadhair, the clouds almost lifting from the top, and patches of hazy blue sky. It didn't last and when I looked back from the lower path on Meall a' Bhuachaille the brightness had gone and the cloud was locked firmly on the summit.

Into the mist

Big black bags lined the long path up Meall a' Bhuachaille, bags full of rocks and gravel. The path, steep in places and well-used, is being repaired. As the trees thinned out I reached the mist and was soon enveloped. Soon damp too as it was quite wet.

The dark summit cairn appeared. I stopped for a drink and a snack. No need to shelter. There was no wind.  Chilly enough to don hat and jacket though, the temperature just 1C. There were skims of ice and tiny tendrils of frost on the stones. 

A brief view from the summit

Then a golden glow appeared out to the west as the setting sun cut briefly below the clouds. A shoulder of mountain appeared then vanished. it was a welcome touch of colour before I was off down to the woods, finishing the walk by headlamp. 

With this first hill the year feels like it has really begun. Now to see what Storm Eowyn brings.