Building an Igloo indoors.

I recently spent an unusual day down in Glasgow at the Snow Factor indoor snow slope to see if it was possible to build an igloo indoors using manufactured snow. This was for a proposed slot in a BBC children's programme. When the BBC first approached me I had to admit that I had no idea if it could be done as I'd never even been in an indoor snow sports place and knew nothing about what the snow would be like. So to find out I loaded the IceBox igloo-making tool in a pack and headed off on the train south.

The snow I discovered had a rather grainy sand-like quality and a dull finish with none of the brightness of the real thing. The nearest type of real snow would be wind-blown compacted powder. That wouldn't be my first choice for igloo building but it's not the worst type of snow either. Squeezed handfuls of snow made wet lumps so compressing it in the IceBox would, I hoped, provide stable blocks. And it did. Slowly. Once the first blocks were made I felt pretty certain an igloo could be built and once I'd started on the second layer and deliberately angled the blocks too much to see if they'd stay in place I was certain. After one and a half layers we stopped, the test complete.

Building an igloo in an indoor snow resort was a strange experience. The place itself resembles a large warehouse but with pictures of Scotland's actual ski resorts and trees and snow on the walls to remind you of the outdoors. Skiers and snowboarders and sledgers whizzed past our little fenced off corner and at times loud music bounced off the walls. Bright lights illuminated the windowless cavern. Concentrating on making the igloo I could ignore all this but whenever I stopped to look around it did seem quite surreal. When we wanted a break and a hot drink and a snack there was no need to get out the stove or dig a sheltered spot out of the wind. We just went up to the excellent cafe overlooking the slopes. I know which I'd prefer but if you're going to be building an igloo indoors you might as well have some luxury to go with the experience.

The Cairngorms At Their Most Magnificent.

Sunset from Ben Macdui

Spring in the Cairngorms can bring alpine-like conditions with bright intense light as the sunshine reflects off the snowfields. The clarity can be startling with distant white peaks etched sharp against a deep blue sky. That’s how it’s been this week as high pressure has brought settled conditions for the first time this year.

View back across the Cairngorm Plateau to Cairn Gorm

A high camp, possibly the last on snow until next winter, seemed a good idea so late one afternoon I headed across the Cairngorm Plateau to Ben Macdui. The mountains were split between winter and summer, half almost bare of snow with the rocks glowing warmly in the sunshine, half still covered with a sheet of white. After a day of hot sun the snow was soft and easy to cross though I did sink in rather far on occasion. There was no need for ice axe or crampons though. Not today.

Sunset over Braeriach

 

The sun was just touching the horizon as I reached Ben Macdui. A couple were camped right next to the summit cairn, with their stove set up in its stones. I wandered west to my usual viewpoint overlooking the great gash of the Lairig Ghru. The sun was setting behind Braeriach, the low clouds above the mountains an intense mix of orange, yellow and red, the snow on the hills tinged with pink. I sat and watched as the sky darkened and the colours grew deeper and richer before starting to fade as the dark blue of the night sky began to dominate.

Camp beneath the moon

 

Turning away I descended a short distance east of the summit and pitched my tent on a vast open snowfield under a vast starry sky. A bright almost-full moon rose in the east. There was no wind and the temperature hovered just above zero. For once there was no need to shelter in the tent and I stayed outside watching the sky. It was a perfect evening.

Sunrise

Dawn came with a red sunrise and a pink cast on the snow. A chill wind now swept the snowfields and I stayed in the tent for breakfast, taking photographs out of the door.

Dawn view from the tent

 

As the sun strengthened and the day grew a little warmer I packed up and set off for the Lairig Ghru. Once across the shoulder of Ben Macdui I descended by the Allt Clach nan Taillear – the Tailor’s Burn. The soft snow of the previous day had gone, frozen hard overnight and I needed crampons and ice axe on the steep upper slopes. Across the Lairig Ghru the great mountains shone in the new daylight.

In the Lairig Ghru

 

Long before I reached the floor of the Lairig Ghru I left the snow for deep heather that made for awkward and unstable walking. I was glad to reach the path and turn northwards to follow the headwaters of the River Dee, sparkling in the sun and racing down full of snowmelt, up to the half-frozen and silent Pools of Dee. Crossing the high point of the pass I noticed avalanche debris below the big cornices on the edge of Sron na Lairig.

Then it was through the rocky ravine of the Chalamain Gap and back below the Northern Corries to Corrie Cas and my car. I’d been out just over twenty-four hours. Twenty-four magnificent hours.

Camp below the stars

The Great Outdoors Latest Issue: Waterproof Jacket for £100 or less, when does spring begin?

An igloo on the Moine Mhor in the Cairngorms, mid-April, 2014

The May issue of The Great Outdoors has just appeared. My gear piece is a review of eleven waterproof jackets costing £100 or less. Can you get an adequate jacket in this price range? Yes, you can, and a few are really good for backpacking. Which ones? Read the review to find out! In my backpacking column I look at the start of spring, or rather the wide range of dates over which it starts depending on location, altitude and weather.

This issue is described as the Backpacking Issue. To that end there's a big feature on backpacking 1000 miles right round Wales via the coast and the Offa's Dyke Path by new TGO Editorial Assistant Will Renwick along with his suggestions of the best places, wildlife, castles, pubs and more. Carey Davies has an overnight walk in the fells east of Ullswater while Mark Waring goes much farther afield and spends ten days backpacking on the Arctic island of Svalbard (a fantastic place where I once led a ski tour - it's the farthest north I've ever been - and for the only time ever carried rifle, as Mark does, in case of an encounter with a polar bear).

Also in this issue Jessica Traditi looks at whether Everest has become too commercialised, Ed Byrne takes an outdoors first aid course, Robert Mercer photographs the island of Handa, Carey Davies is depressed by the 'renaming' of Malham Cove, Roger Smith wonders why our natural treasures are accorded such a low value, and Jim Perrin praises Colin Kirkus' 1941 classic Let's Go Climbing. In the Gear pages Daniel Neilson reviews and likes the chunky-looking Hoka One One Mafete Speed shoes and Kirk Watson tries seven mountaineering tents.

This is also the last issue under the guidance of Acting Editor Daniel Neilson who is standing down on the return from maternity leave of Editor Emily Rodway. Daniel says he will still be writing for TGO, which is good. Daniel has done a great job in my opinion and it's been good working with him.

Looking at some tents

I spent the afternoon pitching, looking at and thinking about some new backpacking tents in preparation for a review that'll appear in The Great Outdoors in a few months. It's always interesting trying several at a time and seeing how they compare in design, space and ease of pitching. Now I'll leave them up for a few days and see how they deal with the weather. It's raining tonight.

Smartphones & Distractions In The Hills

It’s two and a half years ago since I last wrote about using smartphones in the hills in one of my most popular posts. Then my aim was to counter the arguments against using smartphones and tablets as GPS units. The same arguments still surface today and I think my piece is still valid. I’m not returning to that here however but to the question of how appropriate such technology is in the hills and whether it can be a distraction.  I’ve been thinking about this since reading a fascinating blog piece by author Alex Roddie entitled Ditching the infinity machine– five months later in which he describes swapping his smartphone for a basic phone after becoming concerned that the former was spoiling his enjoyment of the wilds. After this experiment Alex has returned to his smartphone but he now uses it in a different way so it’s far less intrusive.

Most of my walking having been done before smartphones existed (and much of it before mobile phones) the options for distraction from the wilds came down to just one – a book. And I carried plenty, often several at a time. Mostly I read in camp in the evening, especially when the weather meant staying in my tent was wise, (and I sometimes left rather late in the morning because I spent too long reading over breakfast). But sometimes a book gripped me enough that reading it became more important than where I was and I read while walking, my mind far away from my surroundings. Often though I was reading because where I was walking wasn’t that wild or interesting. I was still cut off from the world around me though and probably missed much. Alex Roddie in his earlier piece on smartphones describes the problem of battery failure with smartphones. Books don’t run out of power. Instead they run out of words. I can remember hoarding the last pages of a book, only reading a few at a time, because I was so concerned about finishing it before I reached somewhere I could buy another. Occasionally I’ve arrived in a town with finding books my main concern above food, showers, resupply or somewhere to stay. I couldn’t imagine doing a long walk or even an overnight trip without something to read. I still can’t but now I take a Kindle loaded with dozens of books for the same weight as one small paperback. Of course the Kindle can run out of power too but it’s not happened yet, even when I’ve been out for a week at a time. In fact I’ve not yet needed to recharge it from my back-up battery. And with the Kindle in a waterproof case I can read in the rain, as I did on a crossing of the Coirrieyairick Pass on a TGO Challenge walk. That’s the roughest terrain I’ve read myself across. Some people go further. Hamish Brown describes reading a paperback along the South Glen Shiel Ridge in Hamish’s Mountain Walk. 

Reading my way along a Mohave Desert road on the Pacific Crest Trail

Alex Roddie mentions using his smartphone as an e-reader, saving the weight of a Kindle. I did this on the Pacific Northwest Trail, before I had a Kindle, but found that it drained the battery too quickly. Given the weights of back-up batteries I reckon it’s lighter to carry the Kindle. Reading on a Kindle is a much more pleasant experience too as the screen is larger and there’s no glare.

My main use of my smartphone – currently a mid-range Sony Xperia SP, which does everything I need, is quite light (174 grams with protective rear case) and is still small enough to be used comfortably for actual phone calls – is for navigation with ViewRanger. Usually this just means locating my position and maybe walking a short distance to check I’m going the right way so the phone doesn’t need to be on all the time. A secondary use is for photos that I can send to social media before I get home and can download the images from my cameras onto the PC (I don’t have one of the latest cameras that links easily to a smartphone). I also send texts to my partner sometimes during a trip and always as soon as I’ve finished for the day. As I’m usually in places where a phone signal is a rarity (still the case in much of the Scottish Highlands) I’ll upload a photo or send a text and then put the phone back in the pack still switched on, as long as I have enough power. Generally at some point over the next few hours it’ll pick up enough of a signal to send the text and, less often, the photo. I don’t have any notifications or sound switched on so I don’t hear any bings or beeps and can forget about the phone. 

In camp I rarely look at the phone except to locate exactly where I am if I’ve camped after dark and am uncertain. The Kindle books and writing in my journal are enough distractions if needed. If I've enough power and there's a connection I might check the weather forecast. Occasionally I'll listen to the radio. However on long walks the phone always comes into use anytime I reach a town as then I can update my blog, answer emails, check social media and even submit reports to The Great Outdoors, something I did on both my Pacific Northwest Trail and Scottish Watershed walks. 

How communication technology is used in the hills is up to the individual of course. There are no rights or wrongs. I see no reason not to check emails and social media or even make phone calls if you find it satisfying any more than I can see a reason not to read in the hills (and I have been told at times that it’s ‘wrong’ to carry a book). The key is for you to control it and not the other way round. If it becomes intrusive and you think it’s spoiling your enjoyment the answer is simple. Switch the damn thing off!

Go Wild: New BMC TV Film

There's a nice new peaceful short film on BMC TV called Go Wild with some lovely drone shots of the NW Highlands in perfect winter weather. Here it is:


Go Wild

Winter Returns To The Cairngorms

Cairn Gorm from the shoulder of Cairn Lochan

Spring storms bringing rain and warmer winds had been eating away at the snowpack for many days and winter seemed to be on the wane. Then the weather changed. March is usually too early for the end of winter in the Cairngorms and so it is this year. Waking to a heavy frost with the distant mountains coming and going in swirling clouds I decided to go and see if the promised overnight snow had fallen.

View across Coire Domhain (note snowholes) to Ben Macdui

I knew before I parked my car that it had. The clouds lifted and broke as I drove up Strathspey, revealing mountains bright with fresh snow. In Coire Cas the wind was strong and bitter. The climb warmed me up, especially as the new snow was soft and in places deep where the wind had blown it into big drifts. Underneath the old snow was hard and smooth and the rocks were glazed with ice. 

Trying to take a selfie while keeping off the spindrift

 

Reaching the Cairngorm Plateau the full force of the southerly wind hit me, bringing clouds of spindrift, and I cowered behind a big cairn while I donned more clothing. No sign of spring up here. The Plateau stretching out to Ben Macdui was almost completely white. Across the green and brown of Glen More Meall a’Bhuachaille was snow-capped again. I followed the rim of the Northern Corries over Stob Coire an-t Sneachda and Cairn Lochan. Climbers were at work on the frozen cliffs and I heard them calling above the wind and the occasional crack of an ice axe.

Cairn Lochan

 

Clouds came and went along with flurries of spindrift, casting shadows over the hills and changing the light constantly so the world seemed fluid and mobile. Visually it was wonderful – ideal for photography. Physically taking pictures was difficult though. Holding the camera still in the wind, managing the controls with thick gloves on – my fingers quickly went numb when I tried removing them, constantly wiping spindrift out of the lens. Lying down was good for stability but there was almost constant spindrift at ground level. Crouching or leaning on boulders were a good compromise.

Cairn Lochan

 

The wind chased me down the west shoulder of Cairn Lochan and back across the mouths of the corries to Coire Cas. The streams were running out of the corries but there were still solid snow bridges across them. On the way home I paused at Loch Morlich to look back across the blue waters to the shining white mountains. A few hours later clouds covered the summits and have remained there since I returned home some thirty or so hours ago. Down here it has rained. Up there I expect there is more snow.