Tree planting in Coire na Ciste in the Cairngorms. Is it necessary? No, the forest is already returning.

Coire na Ciste is a long narrow V-shaped corrie on the north side of Cairn Gorm. Until 2005 it was part of the Cairngorm ski area and had chairlifts, drag lifts and a lodge. The runs down its steep sides were some of the most challenging at the resort. I can remember coming down it as a novice Nordic skier in the 1980s and swearing never to do so again I found it so terrifying!

In 2005 the Coire na Ciste facilities were closed. The resort wanted to funnel everyone onto the new funicular railway in Coire Cas. For twelve years the ski infrastructure was left to decay, making the corrie an eyesore. A Save the Ciste campaign was run by local skiers who wanted the lifts reopened. However in 2017 the lift towers felled and most of the structures removed, though some snow fences still remain and the boarded-up lodge is still there. The fences should be removed and the lodge demolished.

I walked up the corrie in 2017 while the demolition work was on going and wrote about it in this post. I noted then that “In places there is already some natural tree regeneration”.  Since then it’s become a peaceful place, very different to the theme park type playground just over the hill in Coire Cas. I often take the path up the ridge on the east side of the corrie to the quiet northern side of Cairn Gorm .

Recently it was announced that a high-altitude woodland is to be created in Coire na Ciste with about 30,000 native trees, including dwarf birch and montane willow, planted at around 600 metres. (BBC report, April 15). The Spey Catchment Initiative is leading the scheme, with funding from the Cairngorms National Park Authority and support from Cairngorm Mountain, which runs the ski resort, and Highlands and Islands Enterprise, which owns the land.

Is this necessary? I don’t think so. Woodland is already restoring itself in the corrie. I went to have a look at how its doing after hearing about the planting plan. Rather than take the ridge path I followed an old less-used path up the centre of the corrie next to the Allt na Ciste. I then wandered over to Cnap Coire na Spreidhe, a subsidiary top of  Cairn Gorm, before descending via the ridge path. What I found was that the regeneration has progressed more than I had realised. All the photos in this piece were taken on that walk and show that a new woodland is well underway without any management or interference.

The young trees are mostly Scots pine with some rowan  and also juniper and broom bushes. I didn’t see any dwarf birch or montane willow but I wasn’t carefully scouring the ground and these are easy to miss. However as the pines are growing up to 800 metres I would think that the place for a montane woodland is above that height.

Natural regeneration is always preferable to planting and it’s flourishing in Coire na Ciste. Spending time and money planting trees here would be a waste of time and money and could well disturb the trees already there. The forest should be left to grow and expand at its own rate and in its own time.

Sixty Years of the Pennine Way

On April 24^th 1965 the Pennine Way, the first long-distance path in the UK, was officially opened at Malham Moor. The idea for it came from journalist, walker, and campaigner Tom Stephenson who wrote a newspaper article in 1935 calling for a ‘long green trail’ in England. Thirty years later he was at the opening as secretary of the Ramblers’ Association.

The idea of a long foot path over mountains and moors was a challenging proposal back then as much of the countryside was closed to walkers. It took much campaigning and the passing of the National Parks and Access to the Countryside Act 1949 before the Pennine Way became possible. We have much to thank those who worked for its creation.

The battered copy of Wainwright's guide to the Pennine Way I carried in 1976

The Pennine Way is special to me even though it’s many years since I walked any of it as it was my first ever long-distance walk. This was in April 1976, eleven years after it opened. I encountered bogs, rain, storms, mist, and snow and I relished it all. This what I wanted to do. After I finished I wrote in my journal “this is not the end, this is just the beginning …” and so it has proved.

At the time I was a student, studying for a postgraduate certificate in education. I got the certificate but never used it. The Pennine Way had changed the direction of my life. I didn’t yet know I would make a living writing about the outdoors but I knew I needed to find some way to do many more long-distance walks. Two years later I walked most of the Pennine Way again as part of a Land’s End to John O’Groats walk that became the subject of my first magazine article. I was on my way, on foot and on the page.

Camp below Rakes Rocks, April 7, 1976

When I walked the Pennine Way I was not a photographer and had no thoughts of becoming one. I did want some snaps of my walk though so I took a Kodak Instamatic point-and-shoot camera which used the now long gone 126 film. This produced 26mm square images and I took several rolls on the walk. To describe the results as poor is an understatement! Neither the operator or the camera was up to the dull, dark weather conditions I encountered. But I’m glad I have some pictures from the walk, even if I have to grit my teeth at the quality!

Camp at Top Withens, April 9, 1976

Information on the sixtieth celebrations of the Pennine Way can be found here.

A last taste of winter in the Cairngorms video

 A little video made on the trip described in my last post.

A Last Taste Of Winter In The Cairngorms?

Ben Macdui from Sron na Lairig

The warm dry weather of early April has given to colder conditions with snow on the hills. A wander up into the snow had me thinking it now felt more like December than July. But then, the Scottish weather is notoriously changeable.

Leaving the forest

My two-day walk took me through Rothiemurchus Forest into Gleann Einich and then up beside the roaring Beanaidh Bheag. The forecast was for a few showers at first and then a dry afternoon and evening. A little rain fell a few times as I walked through the pines but never enough to have me putting on waterproofs. So when a shower became a little heavier I assumed it too would quickly fade away so I just kept walking. It didn’t fade away and I was getting wet. On went the waterproof jacket though not yet overtrousers as the rain was coming straight down and my legs were still dry.

Rain!

The sky was grey and mist shrouded the tops of the hills. I could see snow below the ragged edges of the clouds. Leaving the trees I followed the track beside the rushing Am Beanaidh as the rain grew stronger. Reaching the Beanaidh Bheag I turned up beside this burn. There’s no path and I was soon walking though deep heather, sodden deep heather that quickly soaked my trousers. On with the overtrousers, not for dryness, it was too late for that, but for warmth as a cold breeze was chilling my legs.

Am Beanaidh

Above me steep slopes faded into a fringe of snow and mist. I had thought of heading up that way and camping in one of the magnificent northern corries of Braeriach. It didn’t seem an appealing idea now. I’d camp down here I decided. If I could find a dryish site. The tussocky ground oozed water everywhere. Two weeks before in the hot dry spell I’d camped in the Lairig Ghru, just two kilometres or so from here in a straight line, on a site that I thought would usually be sodden. It would be today.  

Camp in the morning

The tussocky ground oozed water everywhere. Eventually I spotted a flattish area not far from the burn. There were pools of water nearby but it seemed the best I was likely to find so I stopped and pitched the tent. This was the third trip in a row on which I was using a Hilleberg Akto and this was the third different Akto, a replacement for the one that suffered a broken pole on a trip back in March (see this post) and which had gone back to Hilleberg.

Morning view

Once I was in my sleeping bag in the tent the world looked a lot friendlier. A few hot drinks and it seemed positively benign. The rain ceased sometime during the night and I woke to see sunshine on Sgoran Dubh Mor and Sgor Gaoith on the far side of Gleann Einich. It would be a while before that sun reached camp, if it did at all, as big clouds were piling up to the east. I could see more of the hills though. To the north-west mist was rising from Rothiemurchus Forest.

Mist & cloud

There was no frost, the overnight low being 1.5°C. There was much condensation, the flysheet soaked inside, the outside covered in rain, and I had to be careful not to push the inner tent against the damp walls. It was a pleasant camp though and I was happy to stay a while, drinking coffee and mulling over which way to go. Although cloud still covered Braeriach it had risen quite a way and I could see more of the snow, which came down lower than I’d expected.

Drying time

The sun did reach camp but not for long as the clouds were thickening. I draped damp gear over guylines and trekking poles. Briefly, as light rain soon began.  I wondered how easy it would be to climb the slopes to Braeriach. I thought the snow was probably soft but I didn’t know that. I hadn’t brought an ice or crampons. If they were needed I’d have to turn back. Above camp a gentler broad ridge led up to Sron na Lairig, a subsidiary top of Braeriach. If I went that way I could then join the main route up Braeriach and take that to the summit or else just descend into the Lairig Ghru and then Rothiemurchus Forest. It seemed sensible to go that way so I did.

Coire Beanaidh

The snow was soft but higher up it was ankle to shin deep and progress was slow, especially as it was slippery in places, the wet snow sliding off wet rocks. An ice axe would have been no use but I was glad of my trekking poles. I’d probably have fallen over a few times without them.

Braeriach ridges

I’d never been up this ridge before – there’s no path and I doubt many come this way - and I enjoyed the excellent views across Coire Beanaidh to Braeriach. The clouds were dramatic now, towering up above the mountains. Just before the flat top of Sron na Lairig boot prints appeared. I was joining the popular way to Braeriach. A rough track had been made through the snow by a half dozen walkers or so. I could see no-one. There was a cold wind here and I donned my insulated jacket as I wandered round admiring the views to Ben Macdui and Braeriach. Up here it was wild and wintry. It felt wonderful!

Braeriach from Sron na Lairig

I was content enough with Sron na Lairig not to go further. I realised that if I went up Braeriach I wouldn’t be back down until well after dark. Heavy rain was forecast for later too. I hopes to be down before that arrived.

Across the Lairig Ghru to Cairn Lochan

The walk down the long Sron na Lairig north ridge above steep crags dropping into the Lairig Ghru was superb, the views breath-taking and spectacular. I hadn’t been this way for several years and I’d forgotten what it was like. I paused often to look down at the tiny narrow thread of the Lairig Ghru path far below. Walking, I had to keep an eye on the ground in front, as the snow was more slippery here as the terrain was rockier than the ridge I’d ascended. I skidded quite a few times.

Creag an Leth-choin

The snow faded away lower down the ridge. Two runners passed me. Soon I was down in the Lairig Ghru and walking out to Rothiemurchus Forest. On cue the rain began and I finished the walk back in waterproofs. I didn’t mind. I’d enjoyed this taste of winter, maybe the last until the first snows of the autumn.

Camp & Braeriach

A Look At The May Issue Of The Great Outdoors

 
The May issue of The Great Outdoors has boot reviews by Lucy Wallace and Alex Roddie (3 pairs each) and sock reviews by Peter Macfarlane and Gemma Palmer (again 3 pairs each) plus reviews of the Rab Kangri Gore-Tex jacket by Steph Wetherall and the Sierra Designs Nexus Lite 35-50L pack by me. 

Reading the others' reviews I was interested to see that both Lucy and Alex choose traditional heavy leather boots as their favourites. 

The theme of this issue is National Parks as this year is the 75th since the first were established in the UK. 

Former TGO editor and author of National Parks of the United Kingdom Carey Davies looks at their story and his own journey through these special landscapes. In the Lake District National Park Hanna Lindon follows in the steps of the Romans on a two-day wild camping trip along High Street. Also in the Lake District Paul Gamble completes his later father's unfinished round of the Wainwrights forty years after ticking them off himself. 

Nature facilitator and writer and chair of the Peak District National Park Foundation Jen Lowthrop recently spent 10 weeks hiking across England's 10 national parks and writes about the sustainability crisis currently brewing in our protected landscapes.

Over in France David Lintern walks the GR54 in the Ecrins National Park and returns with a fresh perspective on looking after nature plus some superb photos.

The magazine's opening spread is a wonderful dramatic picture of Tryfan and Llyn Ogwen in Eryri National Park.

In shorter pieces naturalist Nadia Shaikh is entranced by oystercatchers, Jim Perrin's Mountain Portrait is Bannau Sir Gaer in South Wales, Hanna Lindon gives advice on backpacking with dogs, and Juls Stodel gives advice to an 'oldster' (mid-fities? pah!) in an amusing piece. 

The Wild Walks run from the NW Highlands, where Ian Battersby climbs Cul Mor and has a scramble on Beinn Fhada, to Cornwall, where Roger Butler has a coastal walk to St Agnes Head and St Agnes Beacon. In the Lake District James Forrest visits Muncaster Fell and Vivienne Crow goes up Black Combe. In Eryri/Snowdonia Andrew Galloway walks over Gyrn Ddu and Gyrn Goch. Down in Devon Fiona Barltrop walks lofty cliffs from Lynmouth to Combe Martin. 

A Sunny Walk Through The Lairig Ghru to An Garbh Choire

Camp in the Lairig Ghru below Sron na Lairig

Early April has been a time of warmth and sunshine. A few days ago I sat on the summit of Cairn Gorm, shirt sleeves rolled up, gazing at the golden-brown hills, the snow on which I’d camped less than three weeks before gone. It felt and looked more like July than April.

Summit of Cairn Gorm, April 9

As we approach the middle of the month the weather is changing though, the sunshine soon to be a memory. Snow is forecast for Cairn Gorm, rain for the glens.

During the hot weather I had one overnight trip. I’d looked down into rocky defile of the Lairig Ghru many times during the last few years but I hadn’t walked through this magnificent pass since a trip with Tony Hobbs in October 2022 when the weather was wet and windy. It was time I went back in more benign conditions.

Leaving the forest

As on the trip with Tony I started out in the wonderful Rothiemurchus Forest, slowly climbing through the magnificent old pines until these began to fade away and I could see the cut of the pass not far ahead. A late start meant as the steep sides began to close in I was soon in shade though the hills above glowed in the evening sun. A chill breeze blew down the pass between the craggy northern sentinels of Creag an Leth-choin and Sron na Lairig.

Creag an Leth-choin catching the late sun.

I camped just before darkness fell on a patch of rough grass between two arms of the stream that runs out of the Lairig, the summit of which wasn’t far above. The ground was dry though I guess it’s damp most of the year and not that good a place to camp. On this occasion it was fine.

The cold breeze kept me in the tent*. Thin clouds meant there was no starry sky so I had no incentive to leave the warmth of my sleeping bag.

Waiting for the sun

Dawn was chilly, the temperature down to -2.5°C. There was ice in my water bottles. The days might be hot but the nights were still cold. When I ventured out the ground was crunchy with frost. But high above the sun was brightening the hills. I thought how often I’d waited for sunshine and warmth to reach a cold camp, how many mornings had been like this. It must be hundreds. I’d relished every one. An early riser passed by on the path not far above the camp

An early morning walker passes by

The sunshine arrived just as I was starting to pack up, causing a delay as I took pictures of the camp in the new bright light and waited for the light dew on the tent to dry. Then It was hefting the pack and heading up to the boulder fields that lace the pass, making the walking awkward. This is a rough, rugged, hard place.

Sunshine!

Beyond the top of the pass there’s not much of a descent at first as the path, such as it is, wends a way past the three Pools of Dee, one of the sources of the river Dee. Once past the last of these dark waters, hemmed in by steep, stony slopes, the view opens out. The Allt na Lairig Ghru emerges from a boulder field and begins its race down the slopes. Soon it will join the Allt a’ Garbh Choire to form the infant river Dee.

A Pool of Dee

The main Lairig Ghru route keeps to the left of the stream. I was heading into An Garbh Choire though and took a less distinct path on the right that curves away from the Lairig Ghru and into the mouth of this huge corrie, one of the finest in the Cairngorms. Away down the glen I could see the silver thread of the young river Dee twisting between the steep dark slopes of Cairn a’ Mhaim and Bod an Deamhain (the Devil’s Point).

Sgurr a' Mhaim, Bod an Deamhain, & the River Dee

Soon my attention was seized by the huge spread of cliffs around An Garbh Choire. There was still much snow though not the usual amount for this time of year given that snow usually lingers here longer than anyone else. Shapely pointed Sgurr an Lochain Uaine, often overshadowed by higher neighbour Cairn Toul, stood out in the sunshine. On the other side of the corrie huge rock pinnacles rose out of the smaller Coire Bhrocain to the summit of Braeriach.

Sgor an Lochain Uaine & An Garbh Choire

I sat on a rock and admired the tremendous view. The sun was hot. I looked at the steep stony slopes leading up to Coire Bhrocain. I planned going up those and then on to Braeriach. It looked hard work in this heat with a big pack. Maybe a snack and some water would energise me. It didn’t. I was just happy to sit here and absorb the wild beauty all around.

Back through the Lairig Ghru

Eventually I conceded that I didn’t have the desire to climb further. This was enough. I’d retrace my steps back through the Lairig Ghru, no hardship as it’s such a fine route and the light and shadows and views would be different.

Looking back to Creag an Leth-choin from the top of the forest

Notes:

During the walk I took some little videos which I put together for my YouTube channel. My last post has the link to this. I am still learning how to make passable videos!

The Hilleberg Akto in the Lairig Ghru

*The tent was my original 30-year-old Hilleberg Akto, which I’d used on my continuous round of the Munros and Tops in 1996. I was using it for the first time in many, many years as it’s the 30^th anniversary of its launch. It performed faultlessly.

A video of a trip through the Lairig Ghru to An Garbh Choire in the Cairngorms

 

Twenty-five years ago I was on the Arizona Trail

In the White Canyon Wilderness

Journal entry. 6.00 a.m. March 29, 2000.

“A calm, starry night. Woke to a myriad bird calls. A thick crescent moon hangs over a red sandstone rock peak. To the north-west a slanting wall of coloured rock ends in a sharp cliff. The wall is split by just one steep gully. The rock is red-brown in various shades with cream bands. A similar wall lies to the east, this one double-tiered with a sloping band of desert plants between the two. Cacti are everywhere & the ‘trees’ visible high on ledges & ridges are mostly saguaro, occasionally cholla. This is a beautiful & spectacular place – the finest camp of the walk so far”.

The camp was in the White Canyon Wilderness and the walk was the Arizona Trail. This was day 21 of my 800-mile (round figure, could be less, probably more) 53-day walk from the Mexican border to Utah.

The Grand Canyon

Several years earlier I’d spent a few weeks walking in the Grand Canyon. From the North Rim I’d looked south over a sea of trees to distant mountains, the San Francisco Peaks, and wondered what a walk to them would be like.

The San Francisco Peaks

Some time later I discovered a trail was being developed that ran south-north through the centre of Arizona that included the San Francisco Peaks and the Grand Canyon. I couldn’t resist and began making plans. I really wanted to spend a couple of months in the desert.

First camp!

At least I thought it would all be in the desert. It wasn’t. The first night I found myself camped on snow on a mountaintop. Then there were forests, rivers, more mountains - a far more varied landscape than I’d expected. Of course there was a great deal of desert but even this was much more diverse than I’d assumed.

A typical camp

The walking was a delight, even if I was hot and thirsty at times, but even better were the many nights I spent sleeping out under the stars. I just loved waking to watch the world coming to life as the sun rose. When it was windy or, just once, rainy I pitched a tarp that still gave me extensive views but more often I just threw my mat and sleeping bag down and called that camp for the night.

A tarp to keep off the breeze in an aspen grove in the San Francisco Peaks

Twenty-five years later I can still close my eyes and be back on the Arizona Trail. The heat of the rocks, the sharpness of the air, the blue of the sky, the clarity of the light, the grandeur of the landscape, the gloriousness of it all. It all returns. It was a wonderful experience.

Back on snow in the San Francisco Peaks

Back home I wrote a book about it, called Crossing Arizona. It’s published by Countryman Press and is still in print

Photo note: these images were taken on the Arizona Trail on a Ricoh RDC-5000 2.3 megapixel compact camera with a 38-86 35mm equivalent zoom lens. This was the first time I’d used a digital camera on a long walk. However my main camera was a Canon EOS 300 35mm SLR film camera with a 28-70mm zoom lens with which I took fifty rolls of 36-shot slide film. The film images are far higher quality than the digital ones, unsurprisingly, but I haven’t scanned any of them yet. I must get round to it! I also had a Ricoh GR1s film compact as backup to the Canon. I took half a dozen rolls of print film with this and again the results are better than the digital ones. I should digitise some of those too.

Video: the view from Ben Macdui

 

Camping in the snow on the Cairngorm Plateau

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.