Silver & Gold: Autumn Returns

Eleven days ago the hills were silver, yesterday they were gold. The first touch of winter has gone, autumn has returned. On a day of drifting mists and a sometimes bright, sometimes hazy sun I wandered up the long, quiet north ridge of Cairn Gorm. 

Approaching the ridge I passed Lochan na Beinne, calm and unruffled in the still air. Underfoot the ground was wet and muddy after all the recent rains. With no wind and temperatures well above freezing I didn’t need a jacket, let alone hat and gloves. 

On the ridge grey boulders protruded through the gold and red grasses. The ridge is a lovely walk with many little rocky tors and the ground become stonier and stonier as you climb. On the east side steep slopes fall away into deep Strath Nethy. In clear weather following the edge of these slopes rather than the path in the centre of the ridge is well worthwhile. The mountain feels more dramatic here.

As I gained height a cold wind began to sweep across the slopes, and I remembered it was mid-November. On with jacket, hat, and gloves.  

Thin clouds streaked the sky, thin sunshine kept the ground golden. The sun was low now and some hills were becoming dark. I was in shadow as I headed up the final slopes to the summit of Cairn Gorm. The sky beyond was turning red and gold. Three figures were silhouetted against the sky as they climbed towards the Cairngorm Weather Station.

We reached the summit at the same time and I recognised Gary Hodgson of Tarmachan Mountaineering who was guiding two people on a navigation and wildlife photography day. “We’ve finally met,” he said. We’d almost done so eleven days ago. He was one of a pair of walkers I almost caught up with far out on the Cairngorm Plateau, before I’d stopped to put on microspikes. No need for those today, there wasn’t a hint of snow or ice. As on that day Gary and his party were the only people I saw on the hills. We’d both posted photos of our trips and realised we’d almost met up.

The temperature was dropping on Cairn Gorm but so was the wind and I lingered to watch the glorious colours after the sun had set, and the banks of cloud rippling and rolling over the hills below a darkening sky. An almost full moon rose, shining palely through streaky clouds.

Gary and his party headed off to practise night navigation then descend to Coire Cas. I had some night navigation of my own locating the path down to the Coire na Ciste car park. A headlamp lit descent was all this walk had in common with the one eleven days earlier. The mountains were the same. And quite different. Winter then, autumn now. 

 

The 'Thing' On Cairn Gorm

April 30, 2021

On the last day of April I went up Cairn Gorm in a mix of stinging hail showers, dense mist and blasts of startling sunshine. Fresh snow lay on the ground, deep and soft enough to make me regret not bringing skis or snowshoes. No sense of spring up here.

The mists cleared from the summit while I was there, the sun lighting the snow and ice encrusted weather station, which looked dramatic against dark clouds. I posted a phone picture on social media and it's had a huge response, some of the comments showing that the posters had never seen it before, several commenting it was like something out a science fiction movie. (The picture at the top of the post was taken at the same time with my camera).

Having been up Cairn Gorm at least once a year for over forty years I'm very familiar with the weather station. Trying to look at it as if with fresh eyes I can see that it is a strange edifice to find on a mountain top, especially when coated in snow.

February 6, 2015

My picture also elicted many entertaining comments. One poster even came up with the opening scene for a film:

A running husky enters the scene down below. A helicopter fills the screen right. A Norwegian aims a sniper rifle at the animal. A shot. It misses. A second also goes wide. The animal's nearly at the colossal research station.
And those within.
TITLES. https://t.co/OBtykq5aS7

— Binyizdabbalah (@FunkadelicHorse)

Others referenced Star Wars  (A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away ...  @TheBlueLady3) and other movies.

January 19, 2019

The Cairngorm Automatic Weather Station was erected on the summit in 1977 by Heriot-Watt University Physics Department and has been recording data ever since, building up a valuable collection of information on the weather on one of our highest mountains. On Jan 3rd, 1993 at 11:48 (it's a scientific instrument, it's precise) the weather station noted the highest recorded windspeed in the UK, 176 mph. I've been up there in some horrendous winds but that would blow you off the mountain and far away. 

November 25, 2007

I find the weather station most mysterious in dense mist when it suddenly looms up in front of you, huge and strange. Then it really does seem something has landed from outer space. If the heated cylinder that records the data then rises into the air with loud mechanical noises, as it does every half hour, you do wonder what else is going to emerge.

April 13, 2005

Without snow the weather station is a little more mundane, though the sound of the recording cylinder, seen protruding in the picture above, is still weird when it echoes through the mist.

December 22, 2019

Unless the weather is vile I usually spend some time on the extensive summit as it's a good viewpoint. I love revelling in the sense of space and looking across the vast rolling Cairngorm Plateau to distant Ben Macdui. The summit is popular, being reasonably easy to reach. I usually plan on being there late in the afternoon after everyone has gone but I don't mind sharing. It's a great place for everyone who loves the hills.

December 11, 2012

A Winter Sunset on Cairn Gorm

Each day out at present feels a little wintrier. I’ve carried an ice axe three times now, though still not used it. A few days ago I added crampons as well, and almost put them on. My load has outgrown my 30-litre daysack. I’m up to 38 litres now. When I need a snow shovel and maybe even more clothing with perhaps snowshoes or skis attached some of the time I’ll search out my 50-litre pack.

The weather forecast was for snow overnight with strong winds then easing during the morning to give a fine afternoon and evening. A day for a sunset from a summit. With short daylight hours I decided on a relatively short walk (about 12km) along the north ridge of Cairn Gorm. The snow was light and the prediction was for temperatures to stay well below freezing all day. 

There were few other vehicles in the car park. A few boot prints led up the ridge towards Cairn Gorm, my eventual descent route. No-one had been along the path I took. There were tracks though – fox and grouse clear, much smaller tracks from vole or mouse less distinct. The snow was thin, brushing the tops of the heather. There was a thin sheen of ice on some of the rocks. Care needed! Lochan na Beinne was calm and blue, beyond it the white cone of Meall a’Bhuachaille.

Climbing steadily, I soon reached the ridge above the lochan and turned to follow it upwards. Across Strath Nethy Bynack More was brown and white and rugged, shadows darkening its lower flanks, the early afternoon sun already low in the sky.

The air was sharp and cold. I had on two warm jackets and was not too hot. Every so often a chilling wind cut across the slopes. Mostly though it was calm. Looking back I saw two brightly clad figures on the edge of the broken crags that fall into Strath Nethy. I was only to see one more person all day, a runner spotted briefly disappearing over Cairn Gorm.

Crossing a long section of gentle terrain as the ridge broadened I admired the wind-sculpted snow streaming out on the lee side of every patch of grass and every rock. Walking round these little drifts I watched out for ice on the almost snow-free gravel. 

As I approached the final steepening before the summit of Cairn Gorm the first soft colours of dusk appeared. To the south mist filled the glens and drifted over cols. To the west the clouds swirled and curled. The silhouette of distant Ben Nevis stood out. Nearer, Creag Meagaidh was at the centre of the circling cloud, the deep gash known as The Window prominent. 

Cairn Gorm was cold and empty. I stopped for a hot drink and watched as the sun sank behind Braeriach. The time was 3.30pm. My thermometer read -5°C. Across the Cairngorm Plateau Cairn Toul and Sgor an Lochain Uaine were fading into darkness under an orange sky.

Between the rocks and small patches of snow the ground was a sheet of ice. I considered crampons but decided I’d probably wreck them on the stones and decided to step carefully over the ice instead. As I set off down, the colour now drained from the sky, I saw that others had worn crampons. They had zigzagged about to stay on the ice and snow. I zigzagged to stay on bare ground or the deeper snow patches. Half-frozen streams bubbled across the path in places, requiring care to cross. The first stars appeared; my head torch went on. I was back in the empty car park at 4.30pm but it felt like the middle of the night in the dark silence.

An Evening in the Cairngorms

 

Yesterday the sun shone. In the distance the Cairngorms were etched sharply against the blue sky. The air was hot and heavy. And I was trying to write a review of waterproof jackets. Concentration was hard. Too hard. How could I think about waterproofs in weather like this? I couldn't. I gave up and decided to go for a walk instead. It was late when I set off but I was happy with that as it meant the hottest part of the day was over and developing clouds meant there might be a colourful sunset.

As I climbed to the Cairngorm Plateau the clouds thickened with masses of shimmering mackerel clouds above sheets of grey. The air was humid, sticky. The midges were out. Two walkers ahead of me abandoned their ascent and turned round. "The flies are horrendous", said one. But once I reached the crest of the ridge there was a breeze and the midges faded away. Two descending rock climbers stopped for a chat. One showed me his orange helmet. It was spattered with black spots. Dead midges. 

Once on the Plateau I wandered up Stob Coire an t-Sneachda and then over to Stag Rocks. Despite the hot weather there were still substantial snow patches in Coire Domhain and on the headwall of the Loch Avon Basin. I could see the white water and hear the rushing of the Feith Buidhe and the Garbh Uisge as they tumbled down the rocks towards Loch Avon. Closer by ring ousels perched on rocks just below me and a family of ptarmigan scuttled across the stones.

As I looked down on the loch the sun sank below the thicker clouds and started to light up the slopes of Beinn Mheadhoin. Two tents were pitched on the sandy beach at the head of the loch. Midgey down there, I thought. Earlier I'd spotted a tent pitched high on the Plateau. That was the place to be.

As the low sun strengthened colour began to return to the land and the sky. I set off up Cairn Gorm, looking down on a hazy Strathspey as mist began to form. Further north lay a blanket of low cloud.

 

To the west layers of mountains were sharp and clear, Ben Nevis and Creag Meagaidh standing out.

I reached the summit of Cairn Gorm half an hour before sunset. The north-western sky was turning a brilliant searing orange. The air was still and quite cool now. Alone I watched the glorious sunset.

As the colours began to fade I started down. Ahead of me throughout the descent was a gradually narrowing band of colour. The details of the landscape vanished into darkness, leaving pale Loch Morlich and the lights of Aviemore dominating the view. Above me an owl circled, hoping, I guess, that I would disturb some prey.

I couldn't have had a grander evening. Refreshed I returned home and my thoughts turned back to waterproof clothing.

Getting used to skiing again as the weather changes

Cairn Lochan

With the fine weather of the last week due to break Friday night I set out for a day in the snow and, I thought, sunshine and calm. I took skis as I knew there was plenty of snow. I haven't skied that much in recent years due to low snow cover and, I must admit, laziness. Snowshoes are so much easier - no need to take them on and off to cross snow free areas, no problem to carry on the pack, no need for special boots that are hell to walk in. For many years I've reckoned that if I wasn't going to be on skis most of the time then I'd take snowshoes. With complete snow cover down to car park level I had no excuses this time. Skis it would be.

Cairn Lochan

In the car park another ski tourer was unloading her gear. Her skis made my old ones look like matchsticks. They'd been regarded as wide when I got them, but that was twenty years ago. I wondered, not for the last time, what it would be like to use such wide skis. I'd put climbing skins on mine back home so was soon heading up to the Cairngorm Plateau. The sun was warm, the air still. Hat and gloves were soon shoved into pockets. To the south-west Cairn Lochan was sharp and clear. I hoped to cross the summit, maybe even go on to Ben Macdui.

My plans changed with the weather before I reached the Plateau. A strong cold wind came out of the west. Cairn Lochan became hazy, the sky overcast. The weather was changing sooner than forecast. 

'Good to see real skis', a climber descending commented. Appreciation for my old skis! I was pleased.

I decided I would go with the wind not against it, east over Cairn Gorm, not west to Cairn Lochan. Where the broad ridge steepened near the top my skis started to slip and I had to side step up, using the metal edges to bite into the hard snow. I could do with new climbing skins, I thought. I'd has these for many years. Since my first trip to Yellowstone with Igloo Ed in fact, when I'd bought them in an outdoor store in Boulder, Colorado.

Walkers on the Cairngorm Plateau

Looking back I could see Cairn Lochan disappearing into the mist. Walkers crossing the Plateau enhanced the sense of vastness I always feel up here. Soon I too was in the mist, visibility vanishing. Light snow fluttered down. The Cairngorm Weather Station loomed up, snow and ice encrusted.

Cairngorm Automatic Weather Station

The building gave some shelter from the bitter wind, a place for a snack and a hot drink. Several others arrived. Climbers with ropes and harnesses and crampons, ski mountaineers with those wide skis again. One stripped off his climbing skins. They looked twice the width of mine. I could climb anything in those!

As I drank my hot ginger cordial (a wonderful drink for warming up) and ate my flapjack I looked up at the fantastic rime ice decorating the weather station tower. Three skiers took off into the mist. I contemplated my skis. Keep the skins on, I thought, at least until out of the mist. I didn't feel confident.

Skis ready and waiting

As on other occasions skiing downhill with skins on was awkward, the skis slipping then grabbing in stop-start jerks. I should have remembered. The skins came off and suddenly the skis felt free, sliding across the snow unencumbered. I let them drift down with me to the top of the ski tows of the Cairngorm ski resort, taking wide sweeps across the slopes linked by slow gentle turns.

The ridge on the far side of the pistes was wind-scoured and rocky. I'd be walking a fair bit if I descended that way. For the first time in many years I decided to descend the runs. At first I was cautious, tentative, clumsy, but as I descended my muscles remembered and turns started to flow and feel natural. Snowboarders and alpine skiers raced past me, but then they always had. I've never been a fast skier. Touring requires care, especially solo. When I finally removed my skis I felt pleased. I could still ski. I must go out on them again soon.

The Solstice on Cairn Gorm

Top of the Fiacaill a'Choire Chais

A walk on the solstice to celebrate the turning of the light. Now the days grow longer. I went up onto the Cairngorm Plateau. My plan was to go over Stob Coire an t-Sneachda and Cairn Lochain and gaze down the cliffs to frozen lochans far below and across the white snowy sweep of the plateau to Ben Macdui.

Cairn Lochan

But clouds swirled over Cairn Lochan, shrouding the plateau. Ben Macdui was hidden. Cairn Gorm, though, was in sunshine. I changed direction and cramponed up the hard icy snow to the weather station. The ragged edge of the clouds was just breaking on Cairn Gorm, strands drifting over the summit.

The Cairn Gorm Weather Station

A party of walkers was just leaving as I arrived. Then I was alone, with the Cairngorms spread out before me and the sun sinking in the west. 2.30 pm. The shortest day.

A hot drink, a snack, another jacket, warmer gloves, camera on tripod, waiting for the sunset. The summit was hazy as thin tendrils of mist drifted over, then bright with sunshine, then hazy again. The clouds were thickening and rising though. The sun was disappearing.

For a few brief moments I was above the clouds, watching their tops turn gold and the sky darkening. Then the mist enveloped me, cold and damp. Time to descend.

Drifting clouds, snow and cold on Cairn Gorm

Coire na Ciste

An overcast sky solid with dense grey cloud didn't seem to offer much for a mountain day as I headed for Coire na Ciste and the north side of Cairn Gorm. Typical November. Dark, damp and cold. But up high there was said to be snow and I wanted to see it.

Swirling clouds

Arriving at the car park  I looked up Coire na Ciste. Hazily, through shifting clouds, I caught glimpses of rugged mountainsides fading in and out, mysterious and insubstantial. But to the north there was blue sky above the mists shrouding Strathspey. Bands of cloud drifted across the forest below Meall a'Bhuachaille.

Meall a'Bhuachaille and Loch Morlich

A muddy path led upwards. It was soon spattered with white and then faded away as the snow cover grew more extensive. Pools were frozen, the air chill. Frost feathers decorated the grasses. This wasn't the monochrome of deep winter though. The last colour in the grasses still glowed. The land was dull gold as well as white.

The higher summits remained in the cloud. I entered it as I approached the summit of Cairn Gorm. The weather station emerged from the mist in its winter coat, as familair and eerie as ever.

There would be no sunset. I didn't linger long. As the sky darkened I set off down past the forlorn empty Ptarmigan Restaurant, waiting for a train that may now never arrive again. It's over a year since the last one. Beyond Meall a'Bhuachaille mist covered Strathspey.