Navigation: Thoughts on Using the Tools

Cloud closing in on Buachaille Etive Mor

The last two decades has seen a recurring outdoor debate about the value of GPS compared to map and compass for navigation. This resurfaced on social media recently so I posted a link to this piece that I wrote back in 2012. Amongst reactions to this was a very interesting one from @tthef who gave a link to a blog post of his own called On the Importance of Being Lost that set me thinking.

tthef makes some good points in this piece, in particular about the need to be able to read the terrain and about situational awareness. I agree that both are very important. However tthef rejects GPS as just a convenience rather than a safety investment and says that using it deprives him of learning opportunities. For him it's 'little more than a way of sharing and following tracks'. Now I think this can be true of GPS but not necessarily so. It all depends on how it's used. Yes, you can programme in routes or just download them and then follow the little arrow. In the same way you can use a guidebook and walk a route with that in hand. In both cases you won't learn how to read the terrain or develop any situational awareness and in both cases if you wander off the route or fail to follow the arrow or route description you could quickly become lost and then have no idea what to do. However GPS doesn't have to be used in this way. Except when I'm testing one I never programme in routes or record tracks.

I taught myself navigation by trial and error long before GPS existed. And I got lost quite often. I only realised one of those expensive compass things might be useful after a wet misty November day on Kinder Scout when I became hopelessly disorientated and ended up descending far from where I wanted to be. Many years later I discovered that compasses aren't infallible when I descended the wrong side of Ben More on Mull - I didn't know the summit rocks were magnetic.

The longest I've been lost was for the best part of a week during my length of the Canadian Rockies walk. A supply box having failed to turn up (the only time that has ever happened) I'd set off with 1:250,000 maps, the only ones I could get locally, that were completely inadequate for wilderness walking. Once I wasn't sure where I was I had no means of finding out. I knew however that if I headed north I would eventually hit a road so I followed my compass until I did. The rugged forested terrain with many deep craggy valleys meant I couldn't walk north in anything like a straight line but had to constantly weave around obstacles.

That weaving around I think of as route finding. To me there are two parts to safe travel in the hills and wild places: navigation, which means knowing how to find the direction I need to go to reach my destination, and route-finding, which means finding a safe way there. This where reading the terrain comes in, something that doesn't require any navigation equipment but does require some skill and experience in understanding the nature of the landscape and how to travel across it. If my terrain reading skills had been better I might not have got lost on Kinder Scout despite not having a compass. In the Canadian Rockies I knew I was east of the main crest and that all streams and rivers would therefore eventually run east out of the mountains so I would have to cross them at some point to continue north. That was reading the terrain on a large scale. Hour to hour it meant finding safe ways down into the canyons and across the rivers and up the other side.

A brief glimpse through the clouds in the Fannichs

When I go to the hills I do so to experience the landscape, the wildlife, and being in the outdoors. I don't want to spend time looking at a map, whether paper or on a screen, or a compass. So I don't spend any more time than necessary on navigation, which can mean hardly any time at all. I do study the map at home and have an idea of the terrain if the place is unfamiliar. On the hill I may glance at the map occasionally, though that's often to identify a feature rather than for navigation. If visibility is poor I'll keep a closer eye on the map and make sure my compass is to hand. As long as I can relate the terrain to the map and to my expectations I don't use the latter though.

And GPS? That comes in as a quick and convenient way of pinpointing my exact position. I've done enough map and compass navigation over the years to welcome something that makes navigation easier. I have no objection to convenience! I think it makes for safer navigation too because I can find where I am so much quicker and often much more accurately than with map and compass. In the middle of somewhere like the vast undulating Moine Mhor plateau in the Cairngorms when the mist closes in it can be very difficult to work out where you are unless you've been keeping a close eye on the map - which I usually haven't been doing. Now the Moine Mhor isn't dangerous in itself as long as you watch your footing but you could easily wander round in circles for many hours and the edges are steep and hazardous in many places. Locating one of the safe ways off is much easier if you know where on the Moine Mhor you are. Yes, you can aim off with your compass (deliberately head to a linear feature such as the edge of the plateau to one side of the spot you want to reach) and then work your way round to the descent route but it's much quicker to head there directly. And that could be safer too as you'll be less tired and maybe won't be caught out after dark.

An opening in the pinyon pine forest on the descent from Telescope Peak

An example of where GPS saved me time and from going the wrong way occurred towards the end of my Yosemite to Death Valley walk last autumn. I had a long cross-country 11,000 foot/ 3350 metre descent from Telescope Peak down a fairly broad winding ridge to do. The initial steep descent down steep scree had no navigational problems - not going too fast and not falling was another matter -but below that I entered a fairly dense pinyon pine forest where the closeness of the trees and lack of views made route-finding quite difficult and sent me off in many different directions. There were spurs leading down into the canyons either side that I needed to avoid but the undulating nature of the terrain made it very hard to know exactly where I was. This is where my GPS came in. Every so often I'd check my position then correct my route so I was heading in the right direction again. I didn't walk with the GPS (my smartphone in fact) in hand - I don't like doing that and it wouldn't have been wise on the rocky, fallen tree strewn ground - but checked it briefly whenever I suspected I was going wrong (which happened quite a few times). I could have got down without GPS but it made it much easier and helped shorten what was any way a very long strenuous day.

Checking my position on the ridge below the pinyon pine forest

So my navigation starts with reading the terrain, followed by occasionally checking the map, and finally using the compass and GPS if I'm really unsure. The last two I do tend to use together - the GPS to find my position and then the compass for a bearing to follow.

Overall I'm in sympathy with tthef. Over-reliance on GPS (or guidebooks) can mean failing to learn about your surroundings. However I do think GPS is a useful tool and it is one I'm glad to have. It shouldn't take over though and doesn't replace basic navigational skills.

A Mountain Rescue Lesson

Coire an t-Sneachda

This piece first appeared in the Winter 2017 issue of Mountain Rescue magazine.

A typical cold January day in the Cairngorms. An icy wind, sub-zero temperatures, cloudy sky, snow on the ground. In Coire an t-Sneachda the great cliffs reared up beyond the half-frozen lochans, the dark rocks streaked with snow and ice. High above the corrie floor climbers were making their way up gullies and buttresses. 

  

I was with a group of employees from a major outdoor company who were there to experience the conditions their products were used in and to learn some basic skills. As a local outdoor writer I’d been invited along to take part and see how involved the company was with the actual outdoors (not all are!). 

The cliffs of Coire an t-Sneachda

Several local guides and instructors accompanied the group and one of these was giving basic lessons to those who’d never been out in snowy mountains before. Initially he was getting them to slide down a very gentle slope without ice axes. 

I had my back turned when the accident happened. I heard the loud yelp of pain though and turned to see one of the party lying awkwardly on the slope, one leg bent under him. Somehow he’d jammed one heel into the snow as he slid down and had then turned over, twisting his knee in the process. A quick examination showed that his knee was already massively swollen. There was no way he was walking anywhere now.

Coire an t-Sneachda isn’t that far from the Cairngorm Mountain ski area but suddenly it felt very remote. The cold seemed colder, the wind more bitter, the mountains bigger. If you’re going to have a disabling accident doing so in a large party with several experienced mountain guides is the time to do so however. There’s also a rescue box in the corrie. Very quickly we extracted a thick sleeping bag with a waterproof cover from this and slid the victim inside, very carefully as his knee was very painful. One of the guides produce a bothy bag and pulled this over the victim and a companion. The rest of us donned warm clothing and had hot drinks and snacks. I noticed that the guides were quietly checking that no-one was getting cold, as could easily have happened.

The rescue box also held a stretcher which was quickly assembled. Were we going to carry the victim out to the ski resort I wondered? No, we weren’t. One of the guides had a mobile phone and soon found a spot with a signal. He phoned mountain rescue and told them he thought a helicopter was needed. One’ll be on the way soon came the reply.

The victim was lying on a broken rocky slope. We’ll need to move him for the helicopter, said the guide. So, again using great care, we lifted him onto the stretcher and eight of us grabbed the attached slings and starting carrying him the hundred metres or so to a flat area suitable for the helicopter. Trying to keep the stretcher level and off the rocks whilst stumbling into holes in the snow and banging legs against stones proved very difficult and it was a chastening experience just going that short distance. The ski resort might not be far away but it would have been a long gruelling journey carrying a stretcher.

Soon after we reached the edge of the flat area we heard the whirr of the helicopter and saw the big yellow Sea King entering the mouth of the corrie. A big cloud of spindrift blew over us and I had to keep firm hold of my rucksack to stop it being blown away as the helicopter landed. A winchman ran towards us. In this weather we don’t want to linger he said and with a few others quickly carried the stretcher to the helicopter. Within minutes of arriving it was in the air and the injured man was enroute to hospital in Inverness.

Cairn Gorm & Stob Coire an t-Sneachda

The drama over instruction continued, the day finishing with a climb onto the Cairngorm Plateau. My thoughts though were on the rescue, the only one I’ve been involved in, and the lessons I’d learned. The first was just how serious an accident was in winter even in a place not that far from a road and people. The second was the value of a mobile phone. Back when this happened I was very much a purist, feeling that carrying a phone was against the spirit of the hills. This incident taught me that carrying one was not just for myself but for others too. If no-one had had a phone someone would have had to go out to the ski resort for help, adding much more time for the victim to suffer. In this case the injury was not life-threatening. If it had been the time saved by being able to phone for help might have been crucial. Yes, phones don’t work everywhere but even if there’s no reception at the site of an incident the chances are there will be somewhere not too far away. Since that day I’ve always carried a fully charged mobile phone plus a spare battery or external power pack. 

I also learnt just how arduous and hazardous carrying a stretcher over rough ground can be and why helicopters play such a vital role. This was a relatively straightforward and easy rescue of someone without a life-threatening injury. No ropes or technical climbing skills were required. Transporting the victim over steeper, rougher ground and a longer distance would have been far more challenging. We also had the equipment to keep the injured person warm and as comfortable as possible.

This short and easy rescue also vastly increased my admiration for mountain rescuers. Up until then my appreciation of them hadn’t been based on actual experience. Now I knew just how difficult and committing mountain rescue could be.

35 years ago - my first day on the Pacific Crest Trail

April 4, 1982. '1st day on the trail' starts the entry in my journal. The rest of the day is described in the mundane terms normal for the first day of a long walk. There are concerns about route-finding, water, supplies, sore feet, sunburn - all those little things that sort themselves out in the first days and weeks. The only sign of enjoyment is in one sentence - 'But this desert section is superb'.

At the Mexican border

Of course I couldn't know just how significant for my life the Pacific Crest Trail would be. I wouldn't know that six months later when I reached the finish after 2,650 miles of glorious walking. It took years before the meaning and importance of this magnificent experience sank in. Long-distance walks are said to change you. The Pacific Crest Trail certainly changed me.

Two years ago I took my journals down from the shelves and finally wrote a book on my walk. Reliving the adventure was wonderful.

Spring issue of The Great Outdoors: Waterproofs, Hilleberg Akto & a new Mountain Equipment sleeping bag

The Spring issue of The Great Outdoors - between the April and May ones - has just been published. In it I review eleven men's waterproof jackets (the wet winter has been good for this test, unfortunately) and Judy Armstrong reviews six women's ones. I also look at the story of the classic Hilleberg Akto tent and try a new Mountain Equipment sleeping bag, the Firelite. Also in the gear pages there's a discussion of layering from Outdoor Gear Coach.

The opening spread of this issue is a lovely moody picture of sunset over the Mourne Mountains from Tyrella beach by Brian McCready. Ten writers describe their perfect springtime walks, including Alex Roddie on the Coire Lagan Round on Skye, Hanna Lindon wild camping on Dartmoor, and Ronald Turnbull on the Jurassic Coast Path. Colin Henderson combines sea kayaking with hill walking on a trip to Ladhar Bheinn in Knoydart while on easier terrain Andrew Galloway walks the Sandstone Trail in Cheshire.

Far from Britain Alex Nail visits the dramatic Drakensburg Escarpment in South Africa. Some spectacular photos illustrate this piece. Carey Davies goes far afield too in his Mountain Magic column, walking in Andalucia.

In the first of a new series called Hill Walk & Shop Talk David Lintern goes scrambling in the Lake District with Paul Casey from The Climbers Shop in Ambleside.

In his regular column Roger Smith looks at a new report on land use from the Campaign for the Protection of Rural England. Roger also reviews Nicholas Crane's interesting-sounding  new book The Making of the British Landscape while in the Hillwalkers' Library Jim Perrin considers the poems of Edward Thomas.

The Hill Skills section looks at Bushcraft for Hillwalkers with some useful stuff on plants, navigation by the sun, natural shelters, responsible fire-lighting, safe water, and more.

Book Review: Annandale Way by Roger Turnbull and Jacquetta Megarry

The Annandale Way is a lovely long-distance walk in Southern Scotland that runs down the valley of the River Arran from its source in the hills to the sea. Depending on which option you take in the middle section it's either 85 or 90 kilometres long. Six years ago I walked this path on behalf of Walk Highlands (you can read my description here). Back then there was no guidebook and the route wasn't marked on maps. Few people had heard of it - including myself. I really enjoyed the walk, especially the quiet setting and the abundant wildlife.

Now there's an excellent guidebook, published just this year. It contains detailed 1:44,000 maps and an easy-to-follow route description. There's masses of background information too, including details of facilities, history, and natural history plus excellent photographs by Lynne Kirton.

Joe Graham's Monument on Almagill Hill

The book is printed on waterproof paper in a ring-binder format so it can easily be folded flat at the appropriate page. It weighs 198 grams (I don't usually weigh books but as this one is designed to be carried I did) and is published by Rucksack Readers. Hopefully it will attract more walkers to this little-known but attractive area.

Forest camp on the Annandale Way

Whilst there's plenty of accommodation along the route it's not evenly spaced and places may be booked up. Much better to do as I did and take a tent. There are a few farm and village campsites and plenty of opportunities for wild camping.

Spring Perfection on the Cairngorm Plateau

Early morning cloud inversion

Glasgow isn’t noted for its fine weather but whenever I visit it the sun comes out. So it was last weekend when I was there to give a talk at Mountain Aid’s excellent Skills for the Hills event and talk to people on The Great Outdoors stand.  A hot sunny Saturday was spent indoors in a city. It was an enjoyable event though and I had many interesting conversations. As someone whose work is mostly solitary, sitting at a desk looking at a screen, it’s always good to meet real people – especially ones who like my writing!

Checking the forecast it looked as though the good weather should last a few more days in the Eastern Highlands so once I was back home I made plans for a quick overnight trip onto the Cairngorm Plateau. What I found were perfect spring conditions. The sun was hot  - on both days I walked in a thin base layer with the neck unzipped and the sleeves rolled up – but there was still much snow, some of it so hard and icy that I wore crampons for the first time this snow season. There was no wind and whenever I paused all I could hear was the vast silence.

Sunset over Braeriach

The highlight of the trip was the camp. Having spent time meandering about on the Plateau looking at the views and the snow patterns the sun was setting as I approached Ben Macdui. Guessing that the rocky summit wouldn’t have enough snow to pitch my tent – as it turned out when I reached it the next day – I wandered over to the edge of the deep cleft of the Lairig Ghru pass where I found a fairly level patch of snow-free stony ground into which I could just hammer the tent pegs

A perfect camp

 

I was pitched not far from the snow-covered Allt a’Choire Mhoir. With my headlight on I followed the stream downwards hoping to find running water so I didn’t need to melt snow. Soon I could hear but not see water. I kicked at the snow. It was hard and I didn’t make much impression. However I had a snow shovel back at camp and once I’d fetched this I soon broke through the foot or so of snow to cold fresh water rattling over granite slabs.

A gusty wind rattled the tent in the early part of the night and I wondered if the weather was changing sooner than forecast. The sky was clear and bright with stars however. Given this I was surprised that the temperature only dropped to -1°C, just low enough for a skim of ice to form on my water bottle. 

View over the Lairig Ghru

Dawn came with a spectacular surprise. The Lairig Ghru was filled with grey undulating mist above which the great snow-streaked peaks of Cairn Toul, Sgor an Lochain Uaine and Braeriach shone in the sun. I sat and stared. This was tremendous. A perfect start to the day. Breakfast was outside in the sunshine watching the mist rise and fall. The night wind had gone and the air was still. The harsh rasping cry of a ptarmigan rang across the rocks. From somewhere far below in the mist I heard a rumble and crashing – rocks released from the snow as it melted. Otherwise all was quiet. A pretty little snow bunting fluttered over the ground, pecking at the sparse grass and waiting, I suspect, for me to leave so it could scavenge for any scraps.

View south-west from Ben Macdui

 

Eventually I managed to pack up and leave this wonderful camp and head up to the summit of Ben Macdui. The views remained superb though from the higher vantage point I could see that south and west the farther peaks were mostly hidden in cloud. From Macdui I crossed the Plateau watching the shining mountains. A last view down into the Lairig Ghru and out south to hazy hills and I began my descent feeling very, very satisfied.

The Lairig Ghru