Igloos & Ski Touring on the Moine Mhor

The igloos & the tent

The annual Inverness Backcountry Snowsports Club igloo building trip took place on the last two days of March this year. These trips began back in 2010 after I’d given talks to the club on my adventures with Igloo Ed, designer of the IceBox tool we use to build the igloos, in the Rocky Mountains in Wyoming and some members were interested in building one in the Highlands. (I’ve posted about every igloo trip on this blog, here’s a link to that first one).

Sgor Gaoith from Carn Ban Mor

That first trip we built an igloo on the slopes of Carn Ban Mor on the Moine Mhor above Glen Feshie in the Cairngorms. This year we went back there for the first time in a decade. The snowline was quite high – about 750 metres – so we had to carry our skis a fair while before we could use them.

After the storm

Soon after we reached the snow the dark clouds that had been blowing across the sky thickened. Rain, then hail, then heavy wet snow began to fall. For a short while we were in a blizzard. With the snow sticking to our wet clothing it wasn’t pleasant but we were to be glad of the new snow the next day. 

Into the mist

Eventually the wind died down and the snow faded, leaving us continuing upwards in thick mist. We were aiming for a long shallow stream gully that began not far below the summit of Carn Ban Mor and which holds the snow well. We weren’t likely to miss it but even so we checked maps and took compass bearings.

Braeriach begins to appear

Slowly the mist began to dissipate and the shadowy hanging shapes of steep slopes on Braeriach began to appear. For a while the sun shone as the storm passed over Sgor Gaoith. Our gully appeared and we began to search for the deepest snow. Clouds still swirled across the sky, summits appearing and disappearing constantly.

Starting an igloo

A suitable site selected two IceBoxes were unstrapped from packs and igloo building began. The snow was soft and damp and made blocks easily. Even so it took many hours before the igloos were finished.

Cloud over Monadh Mor

The huge clouds were a distraction as they piled up into constantly shifting shapes catching the setting sun. Up there the wind was still roaring. I crossed the gully to shallower snow and flattened a site for my tent. I usually have to get up for a pee at least once a night (getting older!) and I sometimes read for a bit if I can’t get back to sleep so using a tent means I don’t disturb others. I can also lie in the tent and look at the stars. I do admit that if the weather was stormy I’d have been in an igloo though!

The igloos at night

After sunset the clouds cleared and there was a brilliant night sky, the stars sharp and bright. Across the gully headlamps lit the igloos before everyone settled in for the night.

My tent

Dawn came with a frost, beautiful light, and a chill breeze. Thin clouds quickly started streaking the sky and the brightness soon faded. Two people headed back down to Glen Feshie. The remaining four of us set off across the Moine Mhor plateau for Monadh Mor, a remote Munro.

The cornices

Soon after leaving the igloos we passed above a deep section of the gully overhung with cornices. Here one of my bindings came loose, the ski came off, sped unerringly towards a cornice, and disappeared over the edge. The only way to retrieve it was to descend below the cornices and then walk back up the gully. I hoped I could find it. I soon did and at least had a close-up view of the giant curls of snow hanging above.

Skis back together again. Thanks to Andy Ince for taking the photo.

I’d already thought I was unlikely to make it up Monadh Mor. I now wasn’t even going to try. I didn’t want to lose a ski again far out on the Moine Mhor. I might not find it this time. I also knew that I wouldn’t be able to keep up with the others on the downhill from the summit, partly due to rusty skiing skills but mainly due to my mismatched boots and skis, the former being too light and soft to properly control the latter. Why was I using such a bad setup? Because in a year of looking I’ve failed to find any suitable replacements for my cracked and worn-out plastic boots. Nothing available is anywhere near wide enough for my feet. So I was back on my old leather boots from the 1990s. (For anyone interested I wrote about this in a couple of posts last year – here and here).

Heading for Monadh Mor

The others were on a mix of much more substantial gear – split board, ski mountaineering, heavy duty telemark.

Sgor Gaoith

The undulating terrain of the Moine Mhor was not a problem so I didn’t turn back until the slopes started to steepen and the ascent of Monadh Mor began. I enjoyed the gentle skiing, gliding over the snow, stopping to admire the clouds and mountains. The fresh snow was only a few inches deep and starting to thaw. It had fallen in the storms of the day before. Without those storms we’d have been walking across the Moine Mhor. Only in a few sheltered areas was there any older or deeper snow.

In the tent. Again, thanks to Andy for taking the photo

Back at camp I melted some snow for a drink and chatted to some ski tourers, curious about the igloos. Once the others returned we packed up and skied back across the shoulder of Monadh Mor and down the snow towards Glen Feshie, as far as it went. Then the skis were back on the packs and the long walk out began, straight into the now bright and hot afternoon sun. Soon jackets and hats came off, gaiter and trouser leg zips undone. Still too warm. This was shorts and t-shirt weather. I was glad of my leather boots now. Finally we reached the glen and then the cars and another successful igloo trip was over. I wonder where we’ll go next year and whether I’ll have found some new boots that fit.

 

Nicki doing the traditional standing on an igloo

Two fine igloos

Clouds

Sgor an Lochain Uaine & Cairn Toul almost appearing

Looking for a site in the stream gully

A ski tour image from the past

Chris Townsend descending from Toppstugan, Kebnekaise, Sweden, April 1994. Photo by Richard Baker.

I'm delighted to have received the above photograph from Richard Baker, who was on a number of trips run by Peter and Pat Lennon for whom I led many ski tours in the 1990s.

Richard sent me the image after reading my post on scanning old films. Like me he's found that scanning software can now result in better images than in the past. He tells me that this image was taken on Kodachrome 25, scanned on a Nikon LS-4000, and processed in VueScan. I've reduced his 6.88 mb image in size for posting online. Viewed on my PC screen the detail is excellent.

It's wonderful to see this picture. It brings back so many memories. I must scan some of my images from ski tours back then. I have hundreds and hundreds.

A Day On Skis In The Cairngorms

In recent years I haven’t been out in the mountains on skis very often. Mostly I’ve used snowshoes as the snow cover has been patchy. Unless I’m going to be on skis almost the whole time I’d rather not bother with them. I don’t like carrying them and I don’t like repeatedly taking them on and off or having to take a convoluted route linking snow patches. Snowshoes are so much easier to carry and anyway you can walk across snow free ground, snow with stones poking through, and even streams without taking them off.

View across Glenmore to Meall a'Bhuachaille

This last week has seen complete snow cover in the Cairngorms though so I thought it was worth taking out the skis. It really was too even though I had mismatched skis and boots (the latter too light and flexible for the former) for reasons I’ll go into in another post those uninterested in ski gear can ignore.

The air was crisp and cold, the sky blue, the sun shining. Perfect conditions. Visually anyway. The snow was hard work, especially on the lower slopes, as it was unconsolidated with a soft crust. My skis broke through constantly, the tips sometimes catching in the heather below the snow. Progress was slow. 

Walking would have been much tougher though, as I could see from the deep trenches left by those on foot. I saw several parties of half a dozen or more ploughing single file through the snow. At least they could take it in turn breaking trail.

I didn’t mind the effort involved. I was on skis and climbing into the mountains on a day with brilliant views. Lower down there was a cool breeze but I was warm enough with the exertion involved in pushing upwards through the snow.

Higher up the wind was stronger and bitterly cold. Spindrift blew across the snow and thickening clouds made for flat light. To see the terrain more clearly and for more face protection I swapped my dark glasses for snow goggles. For warmth I donned a light insulated jacket under my shell jacket, something I can’t remember having to do for a very long time. It really was extremely cold.

Beinn Mheadhoin

I found a sheltered spot behind the boulders of a little top not worthy of a name on the map but with a spot height of 1028 metres. Here I could pause and watch the light and shade delineating the complex folds of Beinn Mheadhoin and the white ridges of distant Ben Avon. Glorious views, glorious mountains.

Ben Avon

The ascent having taken longer than expected and fearing the descent would too I went no further. The slopes back down were not difficult to ski, being broad and fairly even, and the soft snow was ideal. My rusty skills, along with the mismatched skis and boots, were not however and I made a rather slow ungainly descent, though I did only fall over once, sinking deep enough into the snow I had to remove my pack before I could extricate myself. I was enjoying myself though. 

 

I love skiing from home!

Skiing from the front door is wonderful. I love it. I almost managed it during the recent heavy snowfall, now sadly all gone in a big thaw. In fact I could have skied from the front door but only a few yards before I’d have had to remove the skis to cross the fence (the garden gate being out of action due to the snow piled up against it – I could have dug it out but it’s easier just to cross the fence). Being pragmatic I carried the skis to the fence and put them on once across. It was also pragmatic to ski locally, the roads being a horrid treacherous slippery mess of snow and ice churned up by the occasional gritter. I didn’t fancy driving anywhere. And why bother when I could ski here.

The first day I had a short ski across the fields, getting used to being on skis again. The snow was soft and deep enough to make the going slow and arduous. Only when I turned and skied back along the tracks I’d made did I have that feeling of effortless movement that comes when the skis glide freely. On the edges of the snowfields the trees were plastered in heavy snow. 

In the latest issue of The Great Outdoors magazine (March 2023) I have a feature on a trip using the oldest gear I have. Although winter there wasn’t enough snow for skiing on that trip. For these local ski tours I did bring out some very old ski gear. My Asnes Nansen Mountain skis date back to 1986, my Garmont Tour leather Nordic ski boots to 1994. They both still work fine, though it’s been a few decades since I took them into the mountains. I have slightly newer (only twenty-two years old!) and more suitable gear for that. For local skiing on gentle terrain the older gear is ideal.

After that first short tour more snow fell. I decided to go further, into the woods and then out onto moorland. Under snow this managed landscape, the woods mostly decaying plantations, the moors used for sheep and grouse shooting, becomes wilder and more exciting. Suddenly there’s a feel of the arctic. Horizons expand, damaged land vanishes under the white blanket.

The snow was even deeper but also heavier and wetter, sticking to the skis and under my boots. I hadn’t brought any wax, these skis being waxless, so had nothing to rub on them to stop the snow balling up in great clumps underneath the skis. Banging them with my poles shifted some of it. More effective was skiing over the edges of fallen branches in the forest so the skis were scraped clean.

Skiing in the forest was difficult. The snow was soft and deep in places, crunchy and shallow in others. Weaving a way round fallen trees took time. An increasing wind shook snow off the branches. I was working hard and feeling quite warm but after one dollop of snow landed on my head and ran down my neck I put my hood up.

The reward for skiing through the forest was the delicate, ephemeral beauty of the snow-laced trees. There would be more snow but the woods would never look just like this again. Indeed, they would have changed when I came back this way later in the day. It was a privilege to see them like this.

Once out of the trees the wind caught me and I needed that hood for warmth. Progress was easier as the snow, whilst still quite deep, was even. The wind brought squalls of snow, short and fierce, followed by brief bursts of blue sky and sunshine. Although only a few miles from home I felt I was in remote wild country. All I could see was snow, rocks, and trees.

Before turning back I found a niche against a rock below an old juniper bush to sit out of the wind for a hot drink and a snack. With an insulated jacket on, sitting on a foam pad with my pack as a backrest, and a cup of hot ginger cordial in my hand, I felt quite cosy. I even bothered to set up the tripod and take photos of my pleasant little nook.

Beyond the camera the white world stretched out to distant cloud-shrouded hills. I gazed at the wild winter landscape for a while then reluctantly left my shelter to ski back along my tracks, much faster now with even some gentle downhills to run.

The high mountains are still snowy. That’s where I’ll go next.