Clouds & Sunshine & Braeriach

Sgor Gaoith

The hot dry weather of the last few weeks is due to end with thunderstorms in the next 24 hours. Whilst there has been plenty of sunshine there have also been clouds, sometimes extensive, so clear summits with wonderful views haven’t been a certainty.

A few days ago I headed up on to the Moine Mhor from Glen Feshie for an overnight camp, hoping for cloud-free skies and a bright moon. The sun shone, the sky was blue, and I was feeling very hot as I began the long climb. The only cloud was a thin narrow band away to the south.

Cotton grass & Glen Feshie

I’d barely cleared the forest however when that cloud spread quickly across the sky, soon blotting out the sun. Waves of cotton grass nodded in the breeze. I was still hot.

The climb over, the clouds still there, I wandered over to the jumble of knolls and boulders where the Moine Mhor breaks up and falls away into Coire Odhar and found a good site with a view of the massive, steep, rocky east face of Sgor Gaoith. In sunshine or moonlight this would look spectacular. In the flat evening light with cloud capping the summits it was merely good. I ambled over to the edge of the corrie and looked down on the wind-rippled water of Loch Enich. I would not see it again. Beyond the loch sunlight cut beneath the clouds and lit up the landscape. Here all was grey.

I woke once during the night. It was very dark. I looked out and my headlamp beam bounced back at me. The cloud had descended on the tent. No moon photography this time.

Camp, cloud inversion, Sgor Gaoith

Awake again at 5.30 I could tell the world had changed. Brightness suffused the tent. Looking out this time revealed sunshine on Sgor Gaoith and mist in Coire Odhar. I was outside in minutes to spend an hour or so wandering around staring down at the cloud below me and watching the sun appear over Braeriach. The clouds in Coire Odhar rose and fell but stayed all day, hiding the loch.

Sunrise over Braeriach

The ground was wet, the flysheet soaked inside and out. The mist had been damp. 

Morning coffee, the tent starts to dry

The sun had barely begun to dry the tent when the cloud rose up and engulfed the tent. A fogbow appeared, curving white above camp.

Fogbow over camp

As it was the highest summit in the area I decided to climb Braeriach in the hope the top would be above the cloud. Visibility was down to down to maybe twenty metres as I negotiated the rough ground above Coire Odhar before the ascent began. This is complex terrain and I took a meandering line as I couldn’t see which little ridges connected to each other and how best to avoid dips and crags. Maps are little help here as they just can’t show enough detail.

Hills in the cloud

Occasionally the mist would shift and reveal dark flashes of hillside. Braeriach appeared once, assuring me I was headed the right way. Soon the terrain steepened and became easier. Straight lines were possible.

Cliffs in the mist

As I reached the vast summit plateau I came out of the mist though wisps and tendrils still drifted over me and I could see thick clouds swirling round the cliffs and the highest point. From the Wells of Dee where two people were packing up their camp and reindeer were cooling themselves on a snowbank I walked to the edge of the huge cliffs above An Garbh Choire and followed the top of these round to the summit cairn.

View from Braeriach

Below the top the corrie stretched out to the Lairig Ghru and the silver line of the infant river Dee. Above the clouds boiled up over Ben Macdui and Cairn Toul, never still, never permanent.

Clouds fill Coire Odhar

There was sunshine most of the way back to camp though whenever I turned to look back Braeriach was in the cloud again. Whilst the visibility made the route-finding much easier and the views were extensive somehow the excitement of the day had gone. Now it was just pleasant. I didn’t mind. The morning had been dramatic and memorable.

Reindeer staying cool

 

A Glorious Cairngorms Trip Above The Clouds

 

Sometimes tiny details in the weather forecast are worth pursuing. Towards the end of last week the gloomy outlook was for overcast skies and the clouds well down on the hills. But in the Mountain Weather Information Service (MWIS) Cairngorms forecast I noticed a mention of the possibility of areas above 1100 metres rising above the clouds. There's only one place with much land above that height and that's the Cairngorm Plateau. A high camp called.

Shrouded in mist I climbed onto the Plateau and started to wonder if I should find somewhere to camp soon. I'd left late and it would soon be dark. I could see little anyway. Then a hazy brightness appeared away to the west, gradually strengthening into an indistinct sun. The land began to glow gold, the mists began to sink away. I was above the clouds. All thought of stopping vanished. I headed for Ben Macdui.

Through the thinning mists I could see Braeriach rising above the cloud-filled Lairig Ghru pass. From Ben Macdui the Cairngorms were an isolated archipelago floating above a white sea. No other hills were visible. There was no wind, no sound except the crunch of my boots on gravel and patches of old snow. As darkness fell I dropped below the summit to camp at 1200 metres, well above the clouds. 

The night was dark, cold and starry. There was no moon. I've rarely seen such a brilliant display of stars. The sky was alive. I wandered round gazing in awe before retreating to the warmth of my tent and sleeping bag. I left the doors open though so I could stare out at the sky. I woke once to see Orion had risen, the constellation of autumn and winter.

Dawn came with a sharp frost. Ice in my water bottles. And a pink tinge on the horizon with blue sky above. Cairn Gorm rose above the clouds. Beautiful. Forgetting about breakfast I was up and out in minutes, watching the still hidden sun lighting slopes above me. The early light was glorious. 

Back on Ben Macdui I gazed again across the Lairig Ghru. The clouds were lower now with some distant hills poking through. The Cairngorms were no longer alone. 

Back at camp strands of thin cloud were drifting past, giving an insubstantial feel to the landscape. Then a fogbow formed, curving above my tent. I'd only ever seen one a couple of times before so I stood and stared for a while, feeling glad I'd seen this fairly rare phenomena. Little did I know what the day was to bring.

Camp packed I returned to Ben Macdui then started back across the Plateau, meeting many walkers heading up. To the west cirrus clouds traced delicate patterns on the blue sky, the precursor to a change in the weather. Ahead I could see that the clouds still covered the northern Plateau. I'd be back in them soon.

The splendour of the day was not over yet though. Another fogbow materialised, an arch I would never reach, never pass through, but which was always there in front of me, never coming closer, never retreating. I walked towards it, mesmerised. 

I lost the fogbow when I entered the mist, which was cold and damp. The world shrank to a few metres.  But then as I approached the edge of the Northern Corries the cloud started to thin and a fogbow started to appear again, this time with hints of colour in it. 

Peering down the steep slopes of Coire an t-Sneachda I could see a bigger fogbow and in its centre a Brocken spectre, my shadow thrown onto the fog. I'd seen this more often than a fogbow but the sight of one is always magical. It was a final touch of wonder before I descended into the clouds and a grey world.

A Perfect Day on Cairn Gorm

Dusk over Glenmore and Meall a'Bhuachaille

Thick chilling mist swirled across the road as I drove to Aviemore past fields of soggy, dirty, thawing snow. Not a good day for the hills it seemed. High above though the greyness had a blue tinge, a hint of clear skies. And soon I was leaving the mist behind as the road climbed out of the Glenmore woods and into the mouth of Coire na Ciste. Here I swapped the car for skis and set off up the east shoulder of the long, narrow, steep-sided corrie. 

Coire na Ciste

As I gained height the hills began to appear above the mist. Across Glenmore Meall a’Bhuachaille appeared at first as a tiny tip of white above the clouds but soon became a distinct cone far above the gloomy clouded glen. The snow was glazed and icy, refrozen after a surface thaw, but my climbing skins gripped well and I made steady progress towards the broad north ridge of Cairn Gorm. Many others were about on this fine day – ski tourers and snowshoers making good progress, walkers doing less well as they sank into the crusty snow. 

Meall a'Bhuachaille

 

The air was calm and the sun warm and I soon discarded hat and gloves, not a common occurrence in early February in the Scottish Highlands. The clarity of the air was superb and I gazed across a vast array of snowy hills to distant summits. Once on the ridge I headed for the busy summit of Cairn Gorm. Just for a time a cool breeze swept the slopes and I felt quite chilly even after my hat and gloves were back on but the summit itself was calm. The weather station was decorated with fantastic wind-carved frost, ice and snow. The views were superb.

The Cairngorm Weather Station

 

Retracing my steps, or rather tracks, I went back down the ridge, skittering somewhat on the hard wind-rippled snow, and over to the quiet minor summit of Cnap Coire na Spreidhe, where I could sit alone and watch the landscape and the sky. The mist in the glens was beginning to dissipate now, as it continued to do when I skied on along the ridge, reluctant to leave this spectacular day behind. The sun was dropping towards the horizon though so eventually I turned and traversed back to pick up my ascent route and follow it down to the car. 

Last Light

 

The last hour of the day brought a final burst of beauty as the sky turned pink, then orange then deep red. The lights of Aviemore appeared in the distance as I skidded down the last slopes. What a glorious day!