First Ski Tour of the Winter

Cairn Toul from Ben Macdui

I started the new ski season as I ended the last one – with a ski tour over the Cairngorm Plateau to Ben Macdui. Back in May the snow was deep and the skiing easy. On this December trip there was continuous cover but the snow was thin in places and care was needed to avoid the rocks just breaking the surfaces. Elsewhere the snow had piled up in great drifts and was soft and deep – as could be seen by the knee-high holes made by walkers.

Enjoying Stob Coire an t-Sneachda

The day was fine with thin clouds streaking the sky and barely a breeze blowing. The low sun gave no heat though and the temperature remained below freezing. Unsurprisingly, given the weather and it being a Sunday, the Northern Corries were well-populated with climbers, ski tourers, snowshoers and hillwalkers.  Once away from these easily accessible hills there were far fewer people, though plenty of tracks. The snow came in many varieties – dull packed powder that slowed the skis; refrozen icy ripples across which the skis skittered and skidded; breakable crust that held then gave way then held again, making for awkward travel. There were wind blown ridges – sastrugi – too, some soft and easily skied through, others hard and icy, scraping and deflecting the skis.

The Summit of Ben Macdui

Arriving late in the afternoon (3pm at this time of year) I had Ben Macdui to myself. The light was softer now as the clouds had thickened in the west. There was a touch of colour in the sky but no real sunset. The white winter wilderness stretched out all around, the Cairngorms at their best. Skiing back across the Plateau I watched the sky turn an amazingly deep blue over Cairn Gorm, where the clouds were still thin and intermittent. Jupiter rose, sharp and bright.

Cairn Gorm at Dusk

I descended via Lurchers Gully, a lovely ski run. The stream was open but the banks were deep in soft snow and I skied down by the light of my headlamp, making slow turns then relishing the joy of simply letting the skis run across gentle slopes. 

December Comes In With Snow

 

 

Here in Strathspey, in the woods and fields, it has been a mostly snow free autumn. Whilst there has been snow on the hills, down below, whilst it has been frosty sometimes and rainy often, only once has there been a touch of snow and that lasted less than a day. Today though, the first day of December, I woke to a white landscape. During the night snow had fallen and settled and remained. Winter had arrived.

The day remained cold though no more snow came; the temperature never reaching zero. The snow that lay was crisp and dry, easily brushed off clothing in a cloud of white crystals. I crunched through the trees and the meadows watching the colours and the light changing as the sun came and went between the clouds that sped across the sky from the north. Catching the low rays pine trees turned red and gold, giving a warm appearance to the landscape though there was no heat in the sun.

There is deeper snow on the mountains. Tomorrow I will go there. With skis.

Urban Landscapes: Edinburgh at Night

I’ve been down in Edinburgh for the Glenfiddich Spirit ofScotland Awards – a very glitzy affair rather outside my normal sphere but enjoyable none the less, especially when Michael Forbes – the man who stood up to Donald Trump – won the Top Scot Award, a really wonderful moment. I now expect Trump to denounce and insult Glenfiddich, the Scotsman, the people who voted for Forbes, everyone there and probably Scotland as a whole. I was there as a nominee for the environmental award, which was won, and rightly so, by Alan Watson Featherstone of Trees for Life (which I have supported for many years). I did get a bottle of Glenfiddich to take home, which was very nice.

Edinburgh was preparing for Christmas, which seemed to involve the erection of some garish, not to say tacky, fairground rides in the Princes Street Gardens that clash horribly with the architecture and generally rather strict feel of this part of the city. The new additions also created some interesting shapes, especially after dark when flashing lights appeared and many of the tawdry and distracting details vanished into the night.

At this time of year darkness is the norm anyway, with less than eight hours of daylight. Wandering round the city as the last light faded I was very taken with the contrasting colours of the lights and buildings, some warm and welcoming, others cool and distant. Edinburgh took on a magic lost in the harsh light of day. Over the shoulder of Calton Hill the white orb of the full moon and the bright dot of Jupiter rose into the deep blue of the sky.

Killington Wind Farm - Four Days Left to Object

For anyone who wants to object to the proposed Killington Wind Farm on the edge of the Howgill Fells between the Lake District and Yorkshire Dales National Parks, as mentioned in this blog post, there's just four more days to do so.

It' easy to object. The various ways of doing so are described on the Stop Killington Wind Farm website along with points that could be made.

The quickest and simplest way to object is the following:

On-Line: Click here to go to SLDC planning website SL/2012/0845
Make sure you click the little ‘object’ button above the comment box.



Please do object. This wind farm really shouldn't go ahead.

Quiet Beauty

Behind the ebbing tide large areas of flat water lay becalmed between the slowly expanding sandbanks. The sea was quiet, the only sound that of distant waves gently rolling, soothing and calming. Hazy sunlight filtered through thin, high clouds, casting a soft subtle light. A cool breeze blew intermittently. Land, sea, sky, light subdued and gentle. A quiet day at Findhorn.

Out on the sandbanks seals, bulbous and ungainly, lay in the faint sunshine, their sad cries carrying low over the water. Cormorants hung their wings out to dry. Gulls stood silent. On the still waters ducks and a lone young swan floated, barely moving. The world felt at peace on this gentle day. Now is the season of autumnal storms, driving the sea in great waves, hammering down the rain, blowing the sand across the beach. But not today. Today nature was resting, waiting, recovering, before the next blast of the coming winter.

 

We wandered along the beach watching the wildlife and the views of far-off hills. Distant faint Ben Wyvis was snow-capped, lower hills just pale silhouettes. Pebbles crunched under our feet, the still wet sand was soft. In shaded areas the frost still lay. Despite the sun the air was cold, chilling fingers holding binoculars or camera. Wildlife, waves and water watched the café called – hot drinks and a late lunch. A pleasant end to a restful stroll. 

Xmas Already?

The Christmas Lights are up in Grantown-on-Spey. There's still a week of November left. Oh dear!

A Cold Day on the Cromdales

Creagan a'Chaise and the Jubilee Cairn

The long, gently undulating ridge of the Cromdale Hills lies across Strathspey from my home. I see these moorland hills every day. I watch the clouds drifting over their silhouette and, at this time of year, the snowline rising and falling, appearing and vanishing. Yet despite their proximity and prominence in the view I rarely walk on them. The higher, wilder, more rugged and more dramatic hills just to the west call to me more strongly and it is to them that I usually go.

Yesterday was different though. The high hills were in cloud and the wind whistling down the glen suggested it could be hard to stand up at 1,000 metres. The sky above the Cromdales was bright blue though and a faint paleness to the summits suggested there might be a touch of snow so, for the first time in four years, I went to these hills. From Cromdale village lanes and tracks took me through a mix of rough pastures and conifer plantations. Frost lay thick everywhere shady, there was ice on the puddles and the air was sharp and cold. Passing through a dark corridor in the trees I felt the bitter chill sinking into me. At a gap in the trees I looked down a bright corridor to sunlit meadows, a shining gateway to warmth and light, a seeming entrance to a veritable paradise. But when I left the shelter of the trees I found the promise was false. I did indeed step into the sunshine but also into the biting wind. 

The Coronation Cairn and Creagan a'Chaise

Beyond the wonderfully named Claggersnich Wood I was out on open heather moorland, climbing up the slopes on a rough track to the tall Coronation Cairn, built for the crowning of King Edward VII and Queen Alexandria in 1902. Looking back Strathspey was a patchwork of fields and woods and moors with the Paul’s Hill wind farm dominating the horizon. This is developed countryside, not wild land. The woods are mostly commercial plantations. The lowlands are farmed and the uplands are heavily managed for grouse shooting.

The Coronation Cairn and Strathspey

From the Coronation Cairn I followed the broad ridge to the square block of the Jubilee Cairn, built for Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee in 1887, and the trig point on the summit of Creagan a’Chaise, the highest Cromdale hill at 722 metres. The soft and boggy ground was frozen, making the walking easier than usual, my boots crunching into the crisp mud. The wind was strong though, blasting against me and stinging my face. I was glad I had not gone to higher hills. The wind kept the air fresh though and the light was magical with the low sun turning the grasses golden. On the shaded side of every tussock snow and frost lay, protected from the faint heat of the sun and the scouring of the wind. 

 

Creagan a'Chaise

From Creagan a’Chaise I could see the thick clouds to the west rising towards the setting sun. I huddled behind the cairn for a snack and a hot drink, glad of my down jacket, then set off back down the ridge. The clouds enveloped the sun and the colourful sunset I had hoped for was lost. The world was dull and grey again but the light and the cold and the frost had given these rolling hills a touch of arctic tundra for a brief spell.