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.

A Change of Plan

Cairn Lochan from the ascent of Meall a' Bhuachaille

Sleety rain slid down the windscreen. High above dark clouds hid the mountains. The car rocked as gusts of wind blasted into it. Did I want to venture out into this and slog up into the wet greyness? A few moments thought told me I did not. The forecast hadn’t suggested this. I restarted the car and drove back down the winding road to park in the forest.

I still wanted to go up into the hills. Meall a’ Bhuachaille, some 400 metres lower than my original aim, the Cairngorm Plateau, seemed a good choice. I needn’t be above the trees for long and the summit might be below the clouds.

As I set out along the track through Ryvoan Pass I soon overheated. The temperature was below zero but down here there was no wind. Hat, fleece, and gloves were removed and the many zips on my smock undone for ventilation. It was the first time I’d worn the Paramo Aspira 360° Smock as it had only arrived for testing a few days earlier. As my walk was now going to be shorter than planned I decided I’d make a little video about the smock, ideally on the summit. It would have to be with my phone as I hadn’t brought a tripod and I knew I couldn’t hold my camera steady at arm’s length for very long.

An Lochan Uaine

With all the zips undone the smock was perfect for keeping me warm but not too hot in the woods. There was no snow left – it had thawed in a warmer spell a week or so before and none had fallen here when the weather turned colder again – but An Lochan Uaine was frozen, the ice green and white, cracked and refrozen, dotted with stones and sticks, white air bubbles below the surface.

Just before Ryvoan Bothy I was passed by a man on an electric mountain bike. Soon afterwards I passed him as he’d stopped to push the bike up a steeper section of track. “Not very fit”, he said. At the bothy there were more bikes plus rucksacks outside. I turned up the path to Meall a’ Bhuachaille, soon meeting two walkers descending. I saw no-one else until the summit.

Looking down to Ryvoan Bothy

The ascent was accompanied by a slow adjustment in my clothing as the wind increased with the height. Soon the smock zips were closed. Then a hat went on, then, close to the top now and the wind savage, the hood went up and gloves were donned.

Lurchers Gully 

These changes involved a few stops, which were welcome both because I’m not that fit myself at present and because it gave me more time to watch the complex cloud structures racing across the sky above stark snow-spattered hills. A dramatic, sombre, cold, almost cruel-looking landscape drained of colour, any beauty harsh and hard. A landscape I love, whatever its moods. Whatever my moods.

Windy on the summit!

The summit provided little protection, the wind swirling round the cairn and the low rock walls that make a crude shelter. They’re designed to keep off the prevailing south-west wind, not this bitter blast from the south-east. I made an attempt at a video but soon realised the wind was too strong and cold. Two young men appeared, commented on the wind and the steepness of the ascent, and soon headed down.

Sgor Gaoith from the descent

Following them I soon dropped out of the worst of the wind. The clothing changes were reversed. Once in the woods I found a log to sit on and recorded a video about the smock, which you can see on YouTube. Any shakiness is due to me not the wind!  

A First Look At The Paramo Aspira 360 Smock

 A rather shaky video from a few days ago. I need to practice more! I've posted it anyway as it was my first day wearing the new Paramo Aspira 460 smock. 

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.