Snow & Water & Wind, An Autumn Overnight in Glen Feshie

Dusk merging into night

Sometimes trips don’t quite work as planned. For my first overnight trip since returning from the GR5 trail in the Alps I planned to traverse the Moine Mhor plateau above Glen Feshie from Carn Ban Mor to Mullach Clach a’Bhlair and then descend back to Glen Feshie to camp. I always try and have at least one camp in the glen in the autumn. It’s beautiful year-round but the autumn colours and the stags roaring make this time of year special.

The first significant snowfall of the autumn had fallen just a few days earlier and the summits were white and shining in the sunshine as I set off for the Cairngorms. Packing an ice axe and crampons seemed wise. Summer was definitely over. In Glen Feshie the bright yellow birches glowed in the late afternoon sun. Having been up until the early hours completing work the night before I was late to rise and slow to get going. I didn’t mind. The forecast was good and snow walking under the stars is always magical.

Dusk

Cold and unconsolidated the snow collapsed under my steps. Others had ploughed a path up to the plateau, making the walking reasonably easy even when the snow became shin deep. A cold breeze sliced across the snow chilling my face. To the west the sky was gold and orange as the sun set. Soon the sky darkened. Down Glen Feshie I could see cold white snowy slopes under a cold dark blue sky contrasting with the last warmth of the sun.

I reached the plateau. The myriad boot prints turned away towards Sgor Gaoith. Towards Mullach Clach a’Bhlair there was just one set of holes in the snow. I set off and quickly realised this was going to take a long time. Stars shone. My headlamp beam lit up sparkling snow. It was magical but for once the magic didn’t work. My heart wasn’t in this. It felt too arduous. I should, I thought, have brought snowshoes. I stopped and dithered. It was too cold to spend long over a decision. I might regret not turning back. I might regret not going on. But the former was easier and less committing. I turned and began to retrace my steps down the mountain.

I wasn’t happy with the decision, but I also felt I wouldn’t have been happy going on. By the time I reached the first trees I was fed up with myself and even considered just going home. That thought startled me. I certainly wasn’t going to do that. I wanted this night out. 

The Enchanted Waterfall. A grainy phone photo but it captures the feel. Nothing was distinct or sharp.

 

On a whim I turned down a narrow, overgrown side path I’d seen many times. Soon I could hear water rushing. The Allt Fhearnagan, the stream that ran down the corrie below the main path. I pushed through some bushes and suddenly there was a lovely waterfall in a little amphitheatre. In the light of my headlamp it glowed a greenish yellow and the vegetation round the water shimmered indistinctly. I was entranced. Here was the magic of the night. My mood changed instantly. How wonderful to be here. I crossed the stream below the falls then followed it downwards past more sparkling falls and silvery waterslides. The water was smooth and silky and noisy and rough all at the same time. But what I noticed most was the way it and the trees shone whilst all around was blackness. A secret world. An enchanted forest. 

Camp

 

Whatever else happened the trip was now a success. Just that first sight of the waterfall was all I needed. Everything else just amplified that moment. Eventually I left the water and walked through the trees to the next stream rushing down from the Moine Mhor. I followed this upwards until I found somewhere to camp close to two old Caledonian pines and sheltered from the cold wind by a steep bank. A bright waning moon cast a cool light.

A cold wind

Dawn came with racing clouds and a frost. The sun lit up distance slopes but the bank that protected me from the wind also blocked the rising sun. I made way back along Glen Feshie admiring again the brilliant colours of the birches. In the open the wind was fierce and bitter. I reached the car just as sleet and hail began to fall. My short, unusual, but ultimately excellent trip was over.  

In Glen Feshie

A Trip to Glenridding: John Muir Trust AGM/Members Gathering, a short cruise on Ullswater, Aira Force

View over Ullswater to Birks

Last weekend I was in Glenridding in the Lake District for a very enjoyable and productive time at the John Muir Trust AGM and Members Gathering. I was delighted to see so many members there and to chat to many of them along with JMT staff and fellow Trustees - I've just been re-elected for a second term. There were excellent informative and inspiring talks from staff members and from guests from the Patterdale Parish Council, Foundation for Common Land, Lake District National Park and Fix The Fells.

Rob Bushby, John Muir Award Manager, addressing the packed meeting

The whole weekend was extremely well-organised and as on previous occasions I was impressed by the dedication of the JMT staff. The locally provided food and drink was excellent too. Tirril Old Faithful golden ale was a refreshing welcome discovery!

Ullswater

Amongst all the talking, formal and informal, there was time to enjoy the outdoors and on the Saturday afternoon I joined a group for the short trip on an Ullswater 'Steamer' to Aira Force. This was a 'self-guided' outing, which meant that once off the boat you were on your own to make your way back to Glenridding any way you chose. A few people neglected to get off at Aira Force and ended up going all the way to Pooley Bridge at the far end of the lake and then back again on the boat!

Aira Force

I wandered up beside Aira Beck to the main waterfall, crashing down under an arched stone bridge and watched by dozens of people. This beauty spot - and it is lovely - is very popular as its easily accessible. Once above the bridge there were fewer people and a quieter more peaceful feel. Sunlight on the bright spring leaves created a light airy atmosphere that was soothing and relaxing. Wild flowers - bluebells, ramsons, wood sorrel, primroses - dotted the floor of this long narrow strip of woodland - it doesn't extend far beyond the beck either side.

Aira Beck

Always there was the gentle company of the beck, swirling in deep pools, tunbling down rocks in little cascades and gliding dark and deep through narrow miniature gorges. At the top of the path I set off across fields intending to walk back to Glenridding over the lower fells. At a stile I turned and looked down to the ribbon of green I'd just left. Ahead the hillside was brown with last year's bracken. I hesistated then headed back to the beck. I was enjoying the trees and the water too much to want to leave them so I forgot the hills and descended the path on the other side of the beck. Back at Ullswater I followed a path back to Glenridding through fields and woods and at times right by the lake. Although close to the main road I did enjoy this walk and for once I was glad I hadn't climbed up into the hills.

Ullswater

On the train north the next day I reflected on the weekend. It had gone very well, I thought, and the John Muir Trust was in good shape. It needs to be. Too much wild land isn't.

Coire Garbhlach, a 'secret' canyon

In the heart of the canyon

Cairngorm corries are generally big and wide, spacious curving bowls carved out of the mountainside and visible from afar. Coire Garbhlach is different. Coire Garbhlach is narrow, twisting and hidden, more of a canyon than a coire, a deep cut gouged deep into the hills. A side valley of Glen Feshie it's passed by many walkers. Few ever venture into though. That I think is because from below, from the path that crosses the Allt Garbhlach on its way up Glen Feshie it doesn't look special or even very interesting. That's because you can't really see it. You're only looking at its mouth, a green V between steep slopes. Venture through that V and a marvellous hidden world is revealed.

View up the canyon

With rain and high winds continuing a day on the tops didn't seem appealing so I decided to visit Coire Garbhlach again during a short gap between much desk work and many indoor meetings. This was the first time I'd been there since winter floods had ripped out the path at the confluence of the Allt Garbhlach with the River Feshie and I wondered what I'd see upstream.

Following the burn is hard work, not due to the angle, which is gentle, but due to the terrain, a mass of heather tussocks and boggy grass. Often I followed the banks of stones lining the stream, finding wobbling over these loose rocks easier than fighting through the vegetation above. In many places big sections of the hillside had collapsed and there was much loose rubble. There's no path, just a few sketchy deer tracks.

Looking down to Glen Feshie

With no rain since the previous day the burn wasn't in spate though it was still deep and fast, roaring noisily down the canyon. There were many flowers on the banks - tormentil, butterwort, violets, daisies, buttercups, lady's smock, moss campion and more. Grey wagtails and dippers darted along the waters edge. A deer watched me from above, probably startled to see a human here.

The waterfall

Once round the first curve in the canyon the outside world vanishes. Glen Feshie is gone, the summits above hidden. This feels a closed-in, secretive place. I wandered as a far as a fine waterfall then sat and watched the water, mesmerised by the delicate yet powerful torrent and the constant sparkling of the falling drops. Above these falls the canyon splits in two and ends in steep stony slopes rising up to the Moine Mhor. With no time to climb these this day I turned and descended back to the open space of Glen Feshie, refreshed and content.

Igloos, Storms, Lightning Strikes & Snow - It's Summer!

The Allt Coire nan Eoin

The heatwave came. Glasgow was hot. I wasn’t. I was inside building an igloo and then watching it being filmed. On the hottest days of the year I was wearing winter mountain clothing and needing it. The first day we spent almost twelve hours working on the igloo (and discovering that artificial snow has strange properties), finally venturing out into the Glasgow night an hour before midnight. The air was warm. The city felt unreal, basking in the heat. The next day it was back into sub-zero temperatures and playing with fake snow. That evening I was on my way home, watching torrential rain lashing down as the heatwave broke.

With that rain came thunder and lightning. Back home I had no phone line or internet connection. The wall socket was dead, fried by lightning. A frustrating day was spent talking to BT help people who assured me nothing was wrong with the line – ‘you must have left the phone off the hook’ was one comment (I’d disconnected the phone and the router whilst away anyway). Finally it was agreed that an engineer would come out and check the line – in a week’s time. During that week, when I did bits of work in various cafes that had wi-fi, BT sent me texts saying tests showed the line was fine and I’d have to pay if the fault was with my equipment. I knew it wasn’t. When the engineer did arrive it took him a few minutes to confirm the wall socket was blown and just a few minutes more to replace it. Back online!

Sunshine in Glen Spean

 

In between the café wi-fi sessions I headed off into the hills for sanity and escape. The plan was for a two-night trip. The weather thought otherwise. I drove across the Highlands to Glen Spean in sunshine. The hills looked wonderful. The evening was warm as I set off through flower-filled meadows into Killiechonate Forest. There was a gusty wind though and I knew this was meant to strengthen during the night so I intended finding a sheltered site at the forest’s edge ready for a climb onto the Grey Corries ridge the next day. The wind did indeed become stronger, much stronger. I reached the forest boundary where a hydro dam lay across the Allt Coire nan Eoin diverting much of its water into a tunnel. Above the dam the river, running free, crashed down in a series of cascades and water slides. Also above the dam the wind hammered down the open slopes. There was nowhere sheltered here. I retreated into the edge of the trees and pitched the tent beside some alders. The wind was much gentler. There was a pink sky after sunset. Maybe the next day would be sunny? The forecast said the wind would ease during the morning and any clouds would clear in the afternoon.

A sheltered site?

A roar woke me before midnight, a roar of wind rushing down the glen, wind that soon shook the tent. Then there was calm. I dozed off. But soon the wind returned with another great roar. I slept on and off, woken frequently by the huge gusts and then, in the early hours, heavy rain. After finally giving up on sleep I looked out to mist drifting across the tree tops and steady rain falling. The wind roared on. For a few hours I stayed in the tent reading but eventually I felt the need for more space so I packed up and ventured out. The river was spectacular as it tumbled over crags and slabs. The hills were hidden in the cloud. Above the waterfalls the battering wind and driving rain made walking difficult. There was no sign of the storm easing. Tired from the disturbed night I retreated again, this time back through the forest to my car and then to hot food and coffee in the Stronlossit Inn in Roy Bridge. The rain continued to pour and did so all the way home.

Storm clouds race across the Cairngorms

 

A few days later the forecast was for equally stormy weather, though much colder. Much, much colder. Snow was predicted. Snow in July. I couldn’t resist. In the Cairngorms it was certainly cold. I wore hat, gloves, fleece jacket and waterproof jacket and trousers all day. Showers of rain as I set off turned to wet mist on the summit of Cairn Gorm. The northerly wind was fierce. I wandered over to the subsidiary summit Cnap Coire na Spreidhe and sheltered behind big granite boulders. There was a hint of whiteness in the bits of wind-flung drizzle. Back on Cairn Gorm I waited to see if it would snow. The temperature was just above freezing.  I sat amongst some rocks out of the full strength of the wind, watching the mist. Then a white splash hit a rock followed by another and another. Big wet snowflakes were falling. They touched the stones, lingered for a fraction of a second and then were gone. But it was snow. 

In the Cairngorms storm