A Local Ski Tour Before Storm Bert Arrives

The Cairngorms at dusk

Snow deep enough to ski from the front door is rare in November. After more overnight snow there was enough today though. I thought I’d better go out and enjoy it before the big storm named Bert by the Met. Office arrives tomorrow bringing high winds, snow turning to rain, and rising temperatures. By tomorrow evening most of the snow will probably be gone.

Sunshine on an old wall

The day was calm and cold with much sunshine and a lovely blue sky. The snow was soft with a depth of around 20cm. Just enough. No breeze had disturbed it. The snow lay gently on the land. Where there were tussocks of long grass and reeds it covered up the spaces between them, giving the illusion of a fairly level surface. I knew from walking here just how rough and uneven the ground actually was and so wasn’t surprised when my skis broke through and sank deep, the tips sometimes disappearing. It was still much easier than walking though.

Old but still functional!

As I was only heading out for a few hours I took my old waxless skis, dating from 1986, as I can just grab these and go, no preparation needed. They’re battered enough that I don’t mind clipping the occasional stone either, something I did several times as some rocks were only lightly covered.

Care needed

Mostly I stayed out in the open out in the fields, where I could enjoy the sunshine, a rare delight this month, and let the skis run as the snow was deepest here and anyway I knew there were few stones. It was in the woods, in the shade of the trees, that the snow was thinnest and rocks more prevalent. Here I had to take more care, slow traverses down slopes rather than straight runs. Even so the joy of slipping across the snow was there, the rhythm of skiing. Every year when I first go out on skis I remember the delights of being able to cross snowy terrain so effortlessly.

Snow forest

The lack of wind meant the snow had stayed on the trees, creating beautiful delicate traceries and lines. Far beyond the forests the Cairngorms came and went in drifting clouds. Ben Rinnes was a white pyramid, looking bigger than usual, the Cromdale Hills a pale undulating ridge.

Ben Rinnes

As the sun dipped into distant clouds I turned for home. The temperature dropped rapidly, soon down to -7°C. A warm fire and a hot drink called.

The Cairngorms

The ski season has begun.

Wall & forest

Mountain Style: the history of British outdoor clothing

Outdoor clothing has changed dramatically since I started going to the hills back in the 1960s. There was little specialist clothing back then and the basic materials were wool and cotton. Technical fabrics meant Ventile cotton (still around!) and similar. There was no big outdoor industry either. 

How we got from there to here is told in this excellent new book by Henry Iddon and Max Leonard. The story of how climbers and innovators, often starting out with no money and just a sewing machine in a back room, helped create the vast outdoor industry we know today is fascinating. 

To produce the book the authors did a huge and impressive amount of research, talking to company founders, key innovators and designers; compiling brochures, catalogues and magazine reviews; and sourcing original garments. Here you'll find the stories of Mountain Equipment, Berghaus, Rab, Rohan, Craghoppers, and many, many more, some long gone. There's also the rise of the technical materials, starting, of course, with Gore-Tex, plus Pertex, fleece, polycotton, Velcro, Lycra and more, that allowed the new companies to develop new designs.

The large format book is packed with illustrations from studio photos of garments taken specially to ones of clothing in use, company logos, advertisements, and catalogue pages. 

Having been involved in the outdoor trade as a gear reviewer since the late 1970s and a hill goer since the 1960s I was asked to contribute an essay on my personal experience of the history of outdoor clothing and the rise of the outdoor industry. This has become the introduction to the book and I'm honoured by that as this is a marvellous book that tells a story that deserves to be recorded and remembered.

Mountain Style is published by Isola Press and can be purchased here. 

Winter comes to the Glens & Mountains

The Lairig Ghru from Creag an Leth-choin

The first long cold spell of the winter has arrived, bringing snow and ending the mild weather of the first half of November. For those of us who love snowy mountains this is exciting. I’ve been out twice since the weather changed, once on a short local stroll, once up into the mountains. Both were wonderful.

The snow falls

As I write this snow is falling, gently, softly. It began two nights ago. We woke in the morning to a light scattering in the garden, the first of the winter that hasn’t melted almost immediately. The skies started to clear and bouts of sunshine did thaw snow exposed to its rays but in shady areas it remained, the temperature staying below freezing. Squalls swept in frequently, bringing short bursts of new snow. The forecast is for a week of cold, with heavier snow at times.

Snow crossing the Cromdale Hills

In the afternoon we went for a stroll across the fields, watching dark snow-dense clouds power across the landscape. For a few minutes snow fell on us as the distant hills vanished, then as quickly passed on.

The sun about to set

The snow came from the north. Towards the low sun the sky was mostly clear and its rays shone across the land and illuminated the racing clouds, creating an ethereal golden hue. Magical, glorious, special winter light.

Cairn Lochan

The next day I went up into the Cairngorms. The air was freezing and there was a thin covering of snow, thicker higher up. The Cairngorm Plateau came and went in rolling white clouds with a deep blue sky above. Not feeling like walking in the mist I headed for the slightly lower rocky peak of Creag an Leth-choin (aka Lurcher’s Crag), reaching it via  Miadan Creag an Leth-choin, which is actually 30 metres higher but is only an undistinctive though extensive gentle bump on which it’s easy to get disorientated in mist.

Looking down into the Lairig Ghru

Rather than climbing directly to Creag an Leth-choin I wandered over to the western edge where steep slopes fall dramatically into the Lairig Ghru pass far below. In places broken crags abut the rim, today plastered with snow and rime ice.

Sgor Gaoith & Sgoran Dubh Mor

Across the Lairig Ghru I looked over the steep crags on the side of Sron na Lairige, a ridge that leads to Braeriach, to the equally rugged undulating curve from Sgor Gaoith to Sgoran Dubh Mor, a grand winter scene.

Cairn Gorm

Turning east four more ridges ran diagonally across the landscape, culminating in the cloud-shrouded summit of Cairn Gorm. That hill never showed itself all day.

Frosted rocks above the Lairig Ghru on Creag an Leth-choin

Surprisingly the cold breeze that had accompanied me to the Miadan faded away and it was calm though very cold on Creag an Leth-choin. My thermometer said -7°C. I lingered for a while, relishing the view and the feeling of winter while warming myself with hot, spicy, ginger cordial.

A last look across Miadan Creag an Leth-choin to the Lairig Ghru

Descending into shadow as the sun disappeared behind the hills I noted the bubbling of ice along the burns and frost feathers on the grass. The snow in Lurcher’s Gully was almost deep enough to warrant snowshoes. With much more forecast maybe I’ll need those next time, or even bring skis. Winter has begun.

A burn begins to freeze

A Walk Over Meall a' Bhuachaille To Make A Little Video

View down to Ryvoan Pass & An Lochan Uaine

Sometimes the days pass by and something you think you did recently turns out to be six months ago. I was thinking it was a little while since I’d been on a favourite Cairngorms walk, through Ryvoan Pass and over Meall a’ Bhuachaille, but on checking my journal I was surprised that the last time was actually back in May. It’s not often there’s such a gap. I definitely needed to go again soon. The forecast seemed right for such a walk too as it was for mist and gusty winds above 1000 metres but clear with light breezes lower down. Meall a’ Bhuachaille is 810 metres.

I was also thinking about recording a little video on the new edition of my book High Summer, about my 1988 walk the length of the Canadian Rockies and wondering where to make it. In my study if I could cut out most of the disorganisation? In the front room if I could arrange it when I wouldn’t disturb the rest of the household? In the garden, which is mostly fairly wild? Then a thought popped up. Why not take the book for a walk? It seemed appropriate. Make the video in the hills. The book would come up Meall a’Bhuachaille.

An Lochan Uaine

The day was quite warm for November – no jacket needed – as I set off on the familiar path to An Lochan Uaine and Ryvoan Bothy. The lochan shimmered in a gentle breeze, quiet and subdued, the last autumn colour gone from round its shores.

Ryvoan Bothy

The bothy looked bright and smart following its renovation by the Mountain Bothies Association in the spring. There’s a new bigger porch, a woodshed, and a red roof now.

Climbing the path from the bothy up the eastern slopes of Meall a’ Bhuachaille, a path that has several sections of steep stone staircases that always remind me, fancifully, of the one climbed by Frodo and Sam in the Lord of the Rings up to the lair of the giant spider Shelob. Not that thoughts of giant spiders bothered me here. I was more thinking about the weather and whether the summit would be clear for making my video.

View from the ascent

It didn’t look promising. All the hills were cloud-capped. The wind was picking up too and there were hints of dampness in the air. There were hints of blue and a slight orange glow that suggested the clouds weren’t that thick. Maybe it would clear.

Sunshine over Abernethy Forest

I could soon see the mist not far above though. It didn’t look like shifting. Just before I reached it bright sunshine illuminated a strip of Abernethy Forest. Then I was in the grey dampness. 

No book video here!

At the summit I stopped briefly for a snack. Light rain was falling and the breeze was chilly. The mist was thick. Not the ideal place for a video.

Pearly-edged clouds

Descending I was soon out of the mist and heading for the forest. As I reached the first trees the edges of the clouds over the high mountains were edged with a soft pink and orange lustre. A fallen pine not far from the path looked a good seat and so it was. The video was soon made, shorter than it might have been as drizzle began to fall after a few minutes. Probably long enough though.

The View From The Saddle: Video Clip

Video clip of my recent camp in Strath Nethy

 

Rediscovering Strath Nethy

My camp in Strath Nethy

There is a danger in thinking you know a place, especially when what you think you know is negative so you have no interest in returning there. I’ve just discovered this after an inadvertent visit to Strath Nethy in the Cairngorms. It’s not that I’d never been there. As a regular walker in the Cairngorms I had crossed the valley regularly, both at its foot on the standard route to Bynack More and halfway along when going between the north ridge of Cairn Gorm and Bynack Beg, which was my aim on this recent visit. I’d also often looked across the strath from the hills either side. It felt familiar.

It is many, many years since I walked the length of Strath Nethy and my memories of it were of a tedious, muddy, rocky path that went on and on with nothing of interest to see. Hence my lack of a desire to return. That I did so was due to the weather.

Bynack More in the mist

I’d set out from Coire na Ciste on a cloudy day with bits of drizzle, patches of blue sky, and the occasional shaft of sunshine. The forecast suggested it would be clearer later. I planned on a high camp between Bynack More and A’Choinneach. Crossing a notch not far from Stac na h-Iolaire on Cairn Gorm’s north ridge I looked across Strath Nethy to clouds shrouding those hills.

The clouds were still there when I reached the floor of the strath. A night in the mist didn’t appeal. I decided to camp down here and go up Bynack More in the morning if clear. If not, I’d walk up the strath to The Saddle, the col between A’Choinneach and Cairn Gorm and then across the north ridge of the latter and back down to Coire na Ciste.

Another view of camp

The night was quiet and peaceful, other than a helicopter passing low overhead late in the evening. (I learnt later that there’d been a search for a missing walker not far away – they were found ok). I woke a few times and looked out. Once there were a few stars. Otherwise the sky remained overcast. As it was at dawn. I didn’t hurry over breakfast, hoping it would clear. It didn’t. I’d go up to The Saddle. Just briefly the sun shone on Stac na h-Iolaire then it was gone.

A brief burst of sunshine on Stac na h-Iolaire

I was camped about half way along the strath, at the point where it begins to narrow and the steep slopes either side start to close in. (Strath is a misnomer – it means a wide valley and Strath Nethy is anything but that). It was about four kilometres to The Saddle, where I knew the views would be good if it was clear. I didn’t expect to enjoy the walk there.

Looking up to the north ridge of Cairn Gorm

The path was as rough, boggy, and awkward as I remembered it but how had I forgotten the rugged landscape all around, how had I forgotten that it would look different down here than from high above? Down here I was immersed in it and it was wonderful. This upper part of the strath is a complex mass of boulders and bogs, with the Garbh Allt – the rough stream - rushing through it. High above rock towers and pinnacles line the edge of the north ridge of Cairn Gorm. This is a joy to walk through, a rugged gateway into the mountains. Why did I not remember? I must have had an awful day here sometime in the distant past!

Strath Nethy

The path climbed gently but steadily. Near the top it feels as though you are almost in the mountain, hemmed in by steep slopes on either side. Ahead is a rocky peak with a small flat top. Then The Saddle is reached and the world opens up. Below me long Loch Avon stretched out to the great rock peaks round its head. This one of the grandest views in the Cairngorms and I now think Strath Nethy is the best way to reach it, so it appears suddenly as you emerge from the narrow closed-in valley. 

Loch Avon &, from the left, Stacan Dubha, Craig Etchachan, & the Shelter Stone Crag

The peak that appeared to lie at the head of the strath was now revealed as Stacan Dubha, a subsidiary summit of Beinn Mheadhoin on the far side of Loch Avon.

Another brief touch of sunshine, this time on Cnap Coire na Spreidhe

From The Saddle a rough path angles up the steep eastern slopes of Cairn Gorm to the bowl of Ciste Mhearad. As I headed up sunshine caught the top of Cnap Coire na Spreidhe, encouraging me on. It didn’t last and I emerged from Ciste Mhearad in thick mist. Having found Strath Nethy to be the opposite of my expectations I was content though. I felt I’d discovered a new part of the Cairngorms.

 

Winter's On The Way - Link to Posts on Winter Skills & Gear

Two years ago I posted a blog with links to pieces on winter skills and gear. As we're entering the winter season and there will soon be snow (I hope) here it is again.

A Look At The December Issue Of The Great Outdoors

The December issue of The Great Outdoors is out now and unsurprisingly it has a snowy theme including a big feature on winter skills by instructors from Glen More Lodge and an article by Anna Wells about her record-breaking winter round of the Munros. 

Photographer James Roddie recalls encounters with ptarmigan with some lovely photographs of this bird of the snows. 

Far from Britain Maria Philippa Rossi learns what it takes to become an Arctic Nature Guide on Svalbard.

In the gear pages Alex Roddie reviews ice axes and Peter Macfarlane looks at emergency kit. My only contribution to this issue is here, a review of the Montane Terra Pants. Steph Wetherall, who has just joined the reviewing team, reviews another pair of trousers, the Maier Sports Lulaka.

The issue opens with a lovely dawn photo of a snowy Pen Y Fan and Cribyn by Itay Kaplan. Creator of the Month is movement artist and bikepacking guide Ana Norrie-Toch. Francesca Donovan reviews Mountains Before Mountaineering: The Call of the Peaks Before the Modern Age by Dawn L. Hollis. In the Opinion piece Dr Rose O'Neill, Chief Executive of Campaign for National Parks, says it's time to put the 'national' back in our National Parks. Jim Perrin looks at the Carneddau in his Mountain Portrait. Your Weekend In... looks at Horton in Ribblesdale where Vivienne Crow says there's much to do as well as the Three Peaks. Finally Emma Schroeder remembers coping with last winter on her walk round Britain's coast.

Wild Walks becomes Snowy Walks this issue, including in some unusual places. Ian Battersby finds snow on Beinn Mhor on South Uist in the Outer Hebrides while Rich Hartfield makes a snowy ascent of Bla Bheinn on the Isle of Skye. In the Cairngorms Alex Roddie makes winter rounds of Beinn a' Bhuird and Ben Avon and the Ring of Tarff. Further west and south Rich Hartfield links four wintry peaks on a Glen Etive traverse. Down in England Vivienne Crow and Ian Battersby both enjoy walks in the Howgills and Vivienne Crow also climbs Great Ewe Fell in the Yorkshire Dales. In the Lake District Norman Hadley walks Fairfield's third horseshoe. Much further south Fiona Barltrop discovers snow on the South Downs.

It's Publication Day For High Summer!

 

I'm delighted and thrilled that my book on my walk the length of the Canadian Rockies is available again in a brand new edition packed with photos that have never been published before. I'm amazed too. I never thought this long out-of-print book about a walk thirty-six years ago would ever reappear. For that I have to thank publisher Andrew Terrill. 

Here are a few of the photos. 

Going through my old slides and working on the book meant reliving what was a grand adventure. I loved doing that. I hope readers will enjoy my story too. 

Hill Forts, Skeletal Trees & Blood Red Berries

Tangled forest in Clais an Dunain

An interesting exhibition on the First People Of The Spey at the excellent Grantown-on-Spey Museum (well worth a visit if you're in the area) had a sketch map of nine Iron Age hill forts in the area, two of which are within a few kilometres of my home. One stands out prominently on the hillside on the other side of our little glen. The other is hidden in trees above a steep ravine called the Clais an Dunain. I've visited both these in the past but inspired by the exhibition I decided I'd go and have a closer look at Grant's Fort, the one buried in the woods, and take some telephoto photographs of  the other one, Torran Ban. 

Torran Ban

Not much is known about these hill forts. The exhibition booklet says they are "oval enclosures sited on hill tops or glacial mounds" and that their purpose is unknown. They have ramparts of earth or rubble  and ditches or moats around them. Grant's Fort and Torran Ban are both on raised areas on the sides of hills. They ate opposite each other and would have commanded views up and down the glen. Torran Ban still does but Grant's Fort has no clear views now due to the trees.

Aspens 

Visiting Clais an Dunain and it's tangle of mixed woodland is always worth while but especially so in autumn. Many of the leaves had fallen but there was still enough colour left to add beautiful contrasts to the pale leafless skeletal trees, especially the almost-white aspens.

Grant's Fort, or part of it.

After crossing the steep ravine I wandered through the trees to the mounds that make up Grant's Fort. These can't be seen until you are almost on top of them and I found it hard to work out the exact shape and which slopes were part of the hill fort and which weren't. Through the trees I caught glimpses of distinctive Torran Ban, just two kilometres away. I wondered about the people who lived here 1500 years or longer ago. What was the landscape like then? Did they admire it? Worship it? Take it for granted? How did they live? What were these structures for? Many questions and much scope for speculation. The world was so different then. We know that, whatever it was like.

Rowan berries

From Grant's Fort I plunged back down into the Clais. Rowans appeared, leafless now but with astonishingly bright blood red berries not yet stripped by the birds. I've never seen so many berries on rowans as this year.

Bynack Mor, Beinn Mheadhoin, & Cairn Gorm

Back in the open fields I could see the Cairngorms in the distance, etched sharp against the cloud-streaked darkening sky. Dusk is 5pm now. Autumn is fading into winter.

More scenes in the Clais

More rowan berries

Wild Nature Diary & Wild Nature Calendar 2025: Highly Recommended

Nature and adventure photographer John Beatty has recently published his Wild Nature Diary and Calendar for 2025 in partnership with the John Muir Trust and they are as superb as ever, packed with brilliant wildlife and nature photographs. I always look forward to seeing them.

The Wild Nature Diary has a Foreword by BBC TV presenter Iolo Williams and is edited by John Beatty. Inside there are 60 wonderful images by some of the best landscape and wildlife photographers in Britain including Beatty himself. 

With a page per week and measuring 205mm x 193mm this is a functional desk diary. It's also a superb photo collection that can be browsed again and again. This is not a diary to throw out at the end of the year.

The Wild Nature Calendar features 12 more mouth-watering photos and is also worth keeping. Like the Diary it's functional too with a page per month and plenty of space for each day. It measures 300mm x 300mm.

Both items are available from Wild Nature. The Diary costs £16.50, the Calendar £13.