Stars & Frost & Snow: A Winter Camp in the Cairngorms

Light snow trickled down, gentle, soft. An evening in the tent would be restful but I had hoped for stars. I half-closed the tent door to keep the snow, drifting on a breeze, from entering. Soup, dinner, a book to read. The soothing trickle of the nearby river.

Looking out I could see a solitary star and brightness behind the clouds that must be the moon. Not much later I heard movement, footsteps. My companion, Alex Roddie, was outside taking photographs. The sky was clear. I soon joined him. Orion, the Plough, Cassopeia, Venus, the Moon; all sharp and clear. The hills white and black and silent and calm. The universe vast.

Frost and cold and peace. I wandered around slowly watching the sky, the silhouettes of trees, the pale snow. Beautiful and alien. I loved it. I wasn't really there. Not consciously. I felt absorbed into the wild world. Time passed. I was reluctant to return to the tent but eventually tiredness persuaded me. I left the door open so whenever I woke I could see the stars.

Dawn came with a pink glow and a hard frost. Alex wanted to be away early, hoping for summits and another camp high up. I was only out for the one night. Our camp was packed away before the sun reached us.

Heading up Bynack More we soon needed sunglasses. And snowshoes. The deep snow was still quite firm but did break underfoot occasionally. The snowshoes made progress easier. Deep boot prints showed how difficult walking was when the snow was softer, as it would be later in the day.

Ahead the final summit pyramid of Bynack More rose steeply, the rocky hill of summer looking alpine. The snow was glazed and hard here. Climbing in the snowshoes became more awkward and it seemed the place for crampons. And ice axes. How stable was the snow? Alex dug an avalanche pit. A top block broke away quite easily. Not this way then. A walker passed not far away on a gentler slope. Maybe that was a better way. We traversed across and Alex made another pit. The snow here was much more stable.

I paused and decided this was far enough. I was coming back the same way anyway and wondered how stable the slope would be when the sun had been out several more hours. I was also feeling the effort of climbing with a big pack for the first time in several months and whilst still regaining fitness after being ill most of January. I could have left the tent up and most of my gear in camp. But down there I'd thought I might do a longer route and not return the same way.

I watched Alex climb to the crest above and then disappear from view. Late the next day I heard he'd had a superb high camp and two great days. I'd like to have had more time but overall I was content with my overnight trip. I couldn't not be after that camp. Heading back down I stopped for lunch by some rocks and swapped crampons for snowshoes. Away to the east lenticular clouds were building over Ben Avon.

Once past the camp site I was soon in the woods, walking through shadows and brightness. My mind was back the night before, still entranced by the beauty, mystery and magnificence of that camp under the stars.

Sunshine, Stars & Snow: A High Camp in the Cairngorms

Camp under the moon and stars

Last week the Scottish Highlands were glorious, the weather perfect. Snow and sunshine and stars, the mountains at their most magnificent. Conditions were ideal for a high camp so a friend, Mark, and I climbed up onto the Cairngorm Plateau then tramped through the snow to the northern slopes of Ben Macdui where we camped at dusk looking out across the Lairig Ghru to the tremendous skyline of Cairn Toul, Sgor an Lochain Uaine and Braeriach.

Stob Coire an t-Sneachda

As the last sunset pinks and reds faded to deep purple and black the first stars appeared and then a bright waxing moon, almost half-full. A gentle cool breeze swept over the snow. I spent several hours outside watching the stars and the mountains and the snow. To the north a hazy white curving cloud became the Northern Lights, a more subtle display than many but still magical.

A touch of the Aurora

Dawn came with a sudden burst of brightness as the sunshine hit the snow. Leaving the tents we climbed shady slopes that were still icy from the night’s freeze to the summit of Ben Macdui. To the south the glens were filled with cloud, the higher peaks poking through. We gazed and gazed before wrenching ourselves away and returning to camp.

Dawn view from the tent

View from Ben Macdui

Leaving our spectacular campsite was hard too but eventually we packed our gear and headed back across the white slopes. The mountains shone, the sun beat down, the snow began to soften. All too soon we were back at the car after a trip that will shine in our memories.

Braeriach & our camp

Stars and Clouds and a Wild Camp

Camp on The Saddle

April has been a kind month in the Cairngorms. It’s not always so. Some years April can see big storms, heavy snow or torrential rain. But this year it has mostly been sunny, warm and calm. The mountains, still laced with snow, have shone in the strengthening spring sunshine. Rivers and streams full of snowmelt have sparkled and rippled, blue and white in the brightness. A green tinge of new growth is beginning to spread up from the glens though it will be many weeks before it reaches the mountain plateaux.

For the second time I decided to take advantage of the fine weather with a high remote camp. An evening start took me through the always lovely woods of Ryvoan Pass and out onto the open moorland that leads from Strath Nethy onto the broad northern flanks of Bynack More. Here I turned and followed the narrowing and increasingly rocky north ridge to the jumbled boulders that make up the summit. Although snow patches lay to either side there was none on the path or on the top, which was good as I was in trail shoes and had no ice axe or crampons. This, I’d decided, would be the first spring trip, the first of the year without the accoutrements of winter. If I encountered much snow I would take another route.

The Barns of Bynack

 

Beyond the summit the golden rays of the sinking sum lit up the big granite tors known as the Barns of Bynack. I passed these by and went on to the massive gentle rise of A’Choinneach, once a Munro. A solitary reindeer paused to watch me then continued its crossing from Strath Nethy to the Lairig an Laoigh. Ptarmigan called harshly and half-flew, half-ran over the mossy ground. To the west the sky turned briefly red above the north ridge of Cairn Gorm.

After sunset

 

I had hoped to camp on the south-western side of A’Choinneach overlooking Loch Avon but the terrain was more broken and rocky than I remembered, it having been many years since I last traversed this hill. I continued down until I reached the boggy neck of land separating Loch Avon from Strath Nethy known as The Saddle. Casting round in the almost-dark I found a dryish spot between the pools. Above the first stars were appearing.

The camp at night

And the next morning

The Saddle was splendid on a night like this, with a vast array of stars covering the sky and dark mountains all around splashed with pale snowfields. There was no wind and the air was soon freezing, with frost on the tent and ice on the puddles. Away to the north out beyond the mountain walls the Northern Lights briefly flickered, a wavering white curtain with just a hint of red. But the real glory was in the wild situation, in being here amongst the mountains and under the stars. 

Cloud monster

 

I woke to the first sun touching the tops high above. To the east a curving wave of pink wind-blown cloud appeared to be bearing down on the camp like a giant pterodactyl. The ground crunched underfoot, the pools hard with ice. I waited for the warmth of the sun but it never came. Clouds slid over the sky from the south, sinking down on the summits, and a cold wind began to blow. A ragged path led up the steep slopes of Cairn Gorm past big snowfields and into the little scoop of Ciste Mhearad, still full of snow. The slopes were gentle though and the snow firm but not slippery and I was soon on the wide ridge above, enveloped in the mist.

I crossed the ridge quickly, having no desire to linger in the damp cloud and biting wind, and descended above Coire na Ciste. On the far side skiers were gliding down the last remaining runs. Once out of the cloud I could see sunshine ahead over the forest and glistening Loch Morlich. Behind me the mist hung in a great curve over the tops with blue sky above. A last walk beside the cheerful and attractive stream of the Allt na Ciste took me through slowly thickening pine forest and back to Glen More. Down here the air was warm again and there was the rich scent of spring.