A video for those interested in backpacking pots & stoves.

 Three stove systems compared.

A Walk & Camp Above Loch Avon

Loch Avon

Back in March I camped by the Feith Buidhe (yellow bog-stream) on the Cairngorm Plateau and went up Ben Macdui (see this post). I had planned on walking to where the Feith Buidhe crashes over the cliffs at the head of the Loch Avon Basin, one of my favourite places in the Cairngorms. However I didn’t have snowshoes or skis and the snow was deep enough to make walking slow and arduous so I took the easier option of retracing my boot holes in the snow back to the track up Ben Macdui where the snow was already beaten down by others.

I missed not looking down on Loch Avon and the great cliffs and planned on returning in the not too distant future. I did so in early May. The contrast couldn’t have been greater. Instead of deep snow I was crunching over crispy dried-out ground. There was no difficulty now.

Sunshine briefly lights up a distant hill

The afternoon I climbed up onto the Plateau the sky was clouding over. I watched as Ben Macdui then Braeriach, then Cairn Gorm lost their heads in the encroaching cloud. Just occasionally the sun lit up a hillside, brief flarings that soon faded.

Hell's Lum

I wandered across the top of Hell’s Lum Crag and gazed down the deep chasm that gives the cliff its name (‘lum’ means chimney). A dramatic spot, cold and dark.

Camp in the morning

I found a good grassy site not far from the Feith Buidhe and made camp as the mist drifted not far above. I was soon in the tent. I woke once in the dark and looked out to see just grey dampness. I was in the mist.

The Feith Buidhe begins its descent

Thankfully, dawn came with a clearance, the rising sun scattering the mists and bringing colour to the land. I followed the Feith Buidhe the short distance to the start of its speeding, tumbling fall down smooth granite slabs to the Loch Avon basin far below.

Cairn Gorm 

Broken rocky ground led round to the flat top of the Shelter Stone Crag. I weaved a way through the boulders where the grassy gentle plateau crumbles and disintegrates into a chaos of rock. It’s a splendid place though not one in which to hurry. I rock-hopped across the Garbh Uisge Beag and Garbh Uisge Beag (big and little rough water), happy to keep my boots dry. Whilst still noisy and rushing the streams were low.

Carn Etchachan from the Shelter Stone Crag

The northern prow of the great cliff of Carn Etchachan  - the rocky hill of ( probably) the juniper (from the Gaelic aiteann) - rose starkly above the Shelter Stone Crag. More stony terrain led up to the surprisingly broad and long flat summit. The best view from the top is little east of the cairn as the gently rounded foreground cuts off views from the latter. Just by walking a short distance I could look down to Loch Etchachan and across to the pyramid of Derry Cairngorm. In the distance Lochnagar stood out clearly.

High altitude pine

I returned to camp by a slightly easier though still rocky more direct route. I was surprised to find a small Scots pine protruding from granite slabs up here at over 1000 metres.

Coffee in camp

Back at camp I had a late lunch. The morning had been glorious, the scenery spectacular. I was happy to relax. I felt content. The trip wasn’t over though and soon I packed up and headed back across the Plateau. As I neared the edge of the Northern Corries I saw distant figures and realised I’d seen no-one all day. I’d all that glory and wonder to myself.

Video of a Cairngorm Plateau camp and a walk up Carn Etchachan

 

A video of last week's camp on the Cairngorm Plateau and visit to Carn Etchachan. A post on the trip with still photos will follow in the next day or so. 

Another podcast for Thru-R - photography for hiking, writing about the outdoors, & more

Gas transfer time!

Transferring gas between canisters before a trip. It's now approaching two years since I wrote about this and I still have many almost empty canisters. I need to do more! And recycle more empty ones.

A Look At The June Issue Of The Great Outdoors

 

The June issue of The Great Outdoors is out now. My contribution is a review of the new improved (it really is) Jetboil Flash 1.0L Cooking System. Also in the Gear pages Fiona Russell reviews the OMM Kamleika Jacket, Lara Dunn and Peter Macfarlane review five pairs of hiking shoes and two budget daypacks each, and Kirsty Pallas and Peter Macfarlane review two pairs of underwear each.

In the main features five outdoors people tell of nights in strange places including mining trenches, World War Two radar stations, and polar bear country. Kate Hill visits remote Maol-buidhe bothy in the Scottish Highlands and delves into its history. In a photo-essay Will Lake describes his photography and illustrates it with some moody and atmospheric Lake District images. Away from the UK Peter Elia goes on a trek to K2 Base Camp in the Karakorum range. 

The issue opens with another splendid Lake District image by Laura Nurse showing Crummock Water from Low Fell at dawn.

In shorter pieces Nadia Shaikh enjoys the song of the song thrush, Ronald Turnbull reviews Wainwrights Without A Car: A Year On The Lake District Fells by Ron Kenyon, Kevin and Fin Campbell describe their work as bothy maintenance organisers, Jim Perrin praises Sgurr nan Gillean in his Mountain Portrait, Joe Williams gives beginner-friendly tips for fastpacking, and Juls Stobel discusses the battle of comfort versus weight in her advice column.

The theme of Wild Walks is good spots for watching the sunset. In the North-West Highlands James Roddie climbs Beinn Airigh Charr from Poolewe. In the Lake District Vivienne Crow goes up Skiddaw via Barkbethdale and Robinson from Newlands Pass. Also in the Lake District Ian Battersby visits Sheffield Pike and Glenridding Dodd while in Brycheiniog/Brecon Beacons he walks to Fan Nedd and Fan Gyhirych Bannau. In Shropshire Roger Butler watches sunset from Titterstone Clee Hill. And in Dorset Fiona Barltrop has a coastal walk from Kimmeridge Bay to Swyre Head.  

Photography Post: Thoughts on Perspective & Focal Length

The 'nifty fifty' view, taken at 51mm equivalent (34mm APS-C)

How much do photos show a landscape as it actually appeared, that would look the same to someone else standing in the same spot?  I don’t mean the same colours, the same light, the same sky,  of course. They change all the time. I mean the perspective, the relationship between different parts of the image. If there’s a tree in the foreground and hills on the horizon, is the scale of both the same in the photo as in the actual view?

It all depends of course on the focal length of the lens. The wider the lens the more of the scene is in the view but the smaller distant objects appear and the larger close ones appear. The opposite happens with a longer focal length.

So what’s the focal length that’s closest to what you actually see? Traditionally it’s 50mm, the ‘nifty fifty’ in the full frame/35mm format. When I was learning photography, with a 35mm film camera, I read this in many books. I never really thought about it though. I just accepted that if all these photographers said it then it must be so. But must it?

Recently I read a number of online articles, like this one, about focal length and human eyesight and began to wonder.  In different places I read that 43mm and 70mm were correct, not 50mm. They couldn’t both be! I looked at some of my photos of views I can see from home taken at around the equivalent of 50mm (33-36mm on my APS-C camera) and then looked out of the window. The mountains in the distance looked smaller and further away in the photos (see picture at the head of this article).

How it looked to my eyes. 73mm (49 APS-C)

A practical test was needed. I went outside to see which focal length looked the most accurate to my eyes. I picked a spot with some stones not far in front of me so I could check their size against the trees in the mid ground and the hills in the distance, I used a zoom lens (all the images in this piece were taken with a Sony 18-135 zoom lens) and looked at the view and the camera screen while zooming  the lens until the proportions looked the same for both.

When the image in the viewfinder and what I could see matched near enough I pressed the shutter. The focal length was 73mm. That’s 49mm on an APS-C camera so 50mm is the right focal length for the world to look as I see it! But not in full frame/35mm terms.

If someone stood on the same spot and looked at that view they would see everything in proportion as in my 73mm photo.

Cropped wide angle image

Does that mean having everything in proportion results in the best photograph? Only if that’s what you’re trying to capture. I don’t think the 73mm image is the best from this spot. Or at least it’s not my favourite. I prefer a wide angle image cropped to a panoramic format. I could only see it looking like that through the lens though. It's worth nothing that the dramatic view in a photograph may not look just the same in reality!

Put of curiosity I am going to go out with just my 50mm lens (75mm equivalent) and see what results I get.

Here are some more photos taken from the same spot at different focal lengths.

31mm (21mm APS-C)

111mm (74mm APS-C)

202mm (135mm APS-C)

The Hilleberg Akto is Thirty

The Akto on Stob Coire Easain on the Munros & Tops walk, 1996

Thirty years ago I was planning my next long-distance walk, a round of all the Munros and Tops (3000 foot+ mountains in the Scottish Highlands). On previous multi-month walks I hadn’t been too concerned about the weight of my load, though it was always a consideration. They had all been end-to-end linear walks though where the route between those points could be varied. The Munros and Tops walk wasn’t like that. It meant linking 617 summits. There were hills to climb every day and no easy alternatives. So I was taking the weight I would carry more seriously than in the past.

The Akto on the Munros & Tops walk, 1996

One of the most important items of gear would be my tent. It needed to be strong enough to cope with Scottish mountain weather, roomy enough to live in night after night with a porch big enough for cooking when it was stormy, and also as light as possible. Fortuitously, the Hilleberg Akto, the first solo tent from the company, was launched that year. I’d used the Hilleberg Nallo 2 on a walk the length of Norway and Sweden in 1992 and knew that Hilleberg quality was superb. I wanted a lighter tent for the Munros and Tops though. The Akto looked ideal.

A dusty Akto in the Grand Canyon

I tested the Akto on a few overnight trips then took it on a two-week autumn walk in the Grand Canyon, where it handled thunderstorms, hailstorms, heavy rain, dust storms, and strong winds without difficulty. Impressed, I wrote a review for The Great Outdoors magazine, saying that “for the solo backpacker the Akto is the best tent I’ve yet come across”. I've reviewed it quite a few times since!

My first Akto review

I took it on the Munros and Tops walk and it performed superbly for four months of Scottish ‘summer’ weather. At the end of the trip it was still in excellent condition. It still is, as I confirmed on a trip this year.

The Akto on Ben Nevis, TGO Challenge 2008

After a few years Hilleberg brought out a new version of the Akto with a few modifications – the main one being a hood over the top of the outer door so the top could be left open for ventilation. I used this version for many trips, including several TGO Challenge coast-to-coast walks across the Scottish Highlands, on one of which I camped on snow on the summit of Ben Nevis, one of the finest camps I’ve ever had.

The Akto in the White Mountains, New Hampshire, 2003

I also took this Akto to the White Mountains in the Eastern USA for the only walk I’ve ever done in the Appalachians. It was autumn and the weather was quite wintry with frequent snow. I needed to extend the guylines to pitch the Akto on the wooden platforms found on many of the campsites on the steep-sided heavily wooded hills. It performed well even though I couldn't peg down the corners.

The Akto I used on the Munros & Tops walk in the Lairig Ghru this year

The Akto is now a classic, an iconic tent that has been much imitated. Thirty years after its launch it’s still a great solo tent that will last and last. I've used it on hundreds and hundreds of nights. I hope to do so on many more.

The current version of the Akto in the Cairngorms, April 2025

The Akto in the White Mountains, New Hampshire, 2003

The Akto in Glen Feshie, TGO Challenge, 2007

The Akto in the NW Highlands, 2006

Video of a walk up Coire na Ciste in the Cairngorms

 

A little video of the walk described in my last post.

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