Summer snow, the remnants of previous years’ snowfalls, is a
rarity, found only in a few places high in the Scottish Highlands. Most years a
little of this snow lasts right through until the next winter’s snow begins to
fall. This year it didn’t, for the first time since 2006 and only for the sixth
time in eighty-four years. For it to disappear in 2017, the year this wonderful
book by Christopher Nicholson was published, is somewhat ironic as one of the main
themes of the book is about loss and the symbolic importance of summer snow to
the author’s well-being. As I finished reading the book I wondered how different
it would have been if Nicholson had searched out the last summer snow this year
rather than last before writing the book. On his final visit to Garbh Choire in
the Cairngorms late in the summer of 2016 he writes ‘I needed to know if the
snow had survived’ and then when he sees the last patches ‘oh good, good, good,
a thousand times good’.
Nicholson’s fascination with summer snow and the significance
it came to have for him are the core of the book. Mixing accounts of his trips
to find the snow, stories of summer snow from the past, and personal
reminiscences that are both sad and uplifting this is an unusual and
thought-provoking book and one to savour slowly, taking it in gradually, rather
as the summer snow slowly melts away. Beautifully written, it is both elegiac and
optimistic, a meditation on life and death. The descriptions of the snow
patches are wonderfully detailed, the determination involved in reaching them familiar
to anyone who walks in the hills.
One of the best outdoor books I’ve read this year – and it
has been a good year for them – Among The Summer Snows is, I think, destined to
become a classic of mountain literature. Superb.
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