A Walk & Camp Above Loch Avon

Loch Avon

Back in March I camped by the Feith Buidhe (yellow bog-stream) on the Cairngorm Plateau and went up Ben Macdui (see this post). I had planned on walking to where the Feith Buidhe crashes over the cliffs at the head of the Loch Avon Basin, one of my favourite places in the Cairngorms. However I didn’t have snowshoes or skis and the snow was deep enough to make walking slow and arduous so I took the easier option of retracing my boot holes in the snow back to the track up Ben Macdui where the snow was already beaten down by others.

I missed not looking down on Loch Avon and the great cliffs and planned on returning in the not too distant future. I did so in early May. The contrast couldn’t have been greater. Instead of deep snow I was crunching over crispy dried-out ground. There was no difficulty now.

Sunshine briefly lights up a distant hill

The afternoon I climbed up onto the Plateau the sky was clouding over. I watched as Ben Macdui then Braeriach, then Cairn Gorm lost their heads in the encroaching cloud. Just occasionally the sun lit up a hillside, brief flarings that soon faded.

Hell's Lum

I wandered across the top of Hell’s Lum Crag and gazed down the deep chasm that gives the cliff its name (‘lum’ means chimney). A dramatic spot, cold and dark.

Camp in the morning

I found a good grassy site not far from the Feith Buidhe and made camp as the mist drifted not far above. I was soon in the tent. I woke once in the dark and looked out to see just grey dampness. I was in the mist.

The Feith Buidhe begins its descent

Thankfully, dawn came with a clearance, the rising sun scattering the mists and bringing colour to the land. I followed the Feith Buidhe the short distance to the start of its speeding, tumbling fall down smooth granite slabs to the Loch Avon basin far below.

Cairn Gorm 

Broken rocky ground led round to the flat top of the Shelter Stone Crag. I weaved a way through the boulders where the grassy gentle plateau crumbles and disintegrates into a chaos of rock. It’s a splendid place though not one in which to hurry. I rock-hopped across the Garbh Uisge Beag and Garbh Uisge Beag (big and little rough water), happy to keep my boots dry. Whilst still noisy and rushing the streams were low.

Carn Etchachan from the Shelter Stone Crag

The northern prow of the great cliff of Carn Etchachan  - the rocky hill of ( probably) the juniper (from the Gaelic aiteann) - rose starkly above the Shelter Stone Crag. More stony terrain led up to the surprisingly broad and long flat summit. The best view from the top is little east of the cairn as the gently rounded foreground cuts off views from the latter. Just by walking a short distance I could look down to Loch Etchachan and across to the pyramid of Derry Cairngorm. In the distance Lochnagar stood out clearly.

High altitude pine

I returned to camp by a slightly easier though still rocky more direct route. I was surprised to find a small Scots pine protruding from granite slabs up here at over 1000 metres.

Coffee in camp

Back at camp I had a late lunch. The morning had been glorious, the scenery spectacular. I was happy to relax. I felt content. The trip wasn’t over though and soon I packed up and headed back across the Plateau. As I neared the edge of the Northern Corries I saw distant figures and realised I’d seen no-one all day. I’d all that glory and wonder to myself.

Rediscovering Strath Nethy

My camp in Strath Nethy

There is a danger in thinking you know a place, especially when what you think you know is negative so you have no interest in returning there. I’ve just discovered this after an inadvertent visit to Strath Nethy in the Cairngorms. It’s not that I’d never been there. As a regular walker in the Cairngorms I had crossed the valley regularly, both at its foot on the standard route to Bynack More and halfway along when going between the north ridge of Cairn Gorm and Bynack Beg, which was my aim on this recent visit. I’d also often looked across the strath from the hills either side. It felt familiar.

It is many, many years since I walked the length of Strath Nethy and my memories of it were of a tedious, muddy, rocky path that went on and on with nothing of interest to see. Hence my lack of a desire to return. That I did so was due to the weather.

Bynack More in the mist

I’d set out from Coire na Ciste on a cloudy day with bits of drizzle, patches of blue sky, and the occasional shaft of sunshine. The forecast suggested it would be clearer later. I planned on a high camp between Bynack More and A’Choinneach. Crossing a notch not far from Stac na h-Iolaire on Cairn Gorm’s north ridge I looked across Strath Nethy to clouds shrouding those hills.

The clouds were still there when I reached the floor of the strath. A night in the mist didn’t appeal. I decided to camp down here and go up Bynack More in the morning if clear. If not, I’d walk up the strath to The Saddle, the col between A’Choinneach and Cairn Gorm and then across the north ridge of the latter and back down to Coire na Ciste.

Another view of camp

The night was quiet and peaceful, other than a helicopter passing low overhead late in the evening. (I learnt later that there’d been a search for a missing walker not far away – they were found ok). I woke a few times and looked out. Once there were a few stars. Otherwise the sky remained overcast. As it was at dawn. I didn’t hurry over breakfast, hoping it would clear. It didn’t. I’d go up to The Saddle. Just briefly the sun shone on Stac na h-Iolaire then it was gone.

A brief burst of sunshine on Stac na h-Iolaire

I was camped about half way along the strath, at the point where it begins to narrow and the steep slopes either side start to close in. (Strath is a misnomer – it means a wide valley and Strath Nethy is anything but that). It was about four kilometres to The Saddle, where I knew the views would be good if it was clear. I didn’t expect to enjoy the walk there.

Looking up to the north ridge of Cairn Gorm

The path was as rough, boggy, and awkward as I remembered it but how had I forgotten the rugged landscape all around, how had I forgotten that it would look different down here than from high above? Down here I was immersed in it and it was wonderful. This upper part of the strath is a complex mass of boulders and bogs, with the Garbh Allt – the rough stream - rushing through it. High above rock towers and pinnacles line the edge of the north ridge of Cairn Gorm. This is a joy to walk through, a rugged gateway into the mountains. Why did I not remember? I must have had an awful day here sometime in the distant past!

Strath Nethy

The path climbed gently but steadily. Near the top it feels as though you are almost in the mountain, hemmed in by steep slopes on either side. Ahead is a rocky peak with a small flat top. Then The Saddle is reached and the world opens up. Below me long Loch Avon stretched out to the great rock peaks round its head. This one of the grandest views in the Cairngorms and I now think Strath Nethy is the best way to reach it, so it appears suddenly as you emerge from the narrow closed-in valley. 

Loch Avon &, from the left, Stacan Dubha, Craig Etchachan, & the Shelter Stone Crag

The peak that appeared to lie at the head of the strath was now revealed as Stacan Dubha, a subsidiary summit of Beinn Mheadhoin on the far side of Loch Avon.

Another brief touch of sunshine, this time on Cnap Coire na Spreidhe

From The Saddle a rough path angles up the steep eastern slopes of Cairn Gorm to the bowl of Ciste Mhearad. As I headed up sunshine caught the top of Cnap Coire na Spreidhe, encouraging me on. It didn’t last and I emerged from Ciste Mhearad in thick mist. Having found Strath Nethy to be the opposite of my expectations I was content though. I felt I’d discovered a new part of the Cairngorms.

 

Return to the Cairngorms

Morning at the camp below the Shelter Stone Crag

For the first few weeks after my return from my long walk in the Colorado Rockies I was content to wander round the fields and woods around my home. I also had much to do catching up with work stuff. Soon though I started to think about a camping trip to wilder places. The itch to do so soon returns.

Mark on the descent to Loch Avon

When Mark, a friend from down south, came to visit I suggested a day or two in the Cairngorms. I'd been missing them. On discovering that despite many visits over many years he'd never camped in the Loch Avon basin that was the obvious place to go. A late start start saw us descending Coire Raibert at dusk. The steep path down to Loch Avon was slippery and wet, with much fresh erosion. It felt harder and more precarious than when I'd descended it in snow and ice in March and we were glad to reach the lochside before it was totally dark.

Morning view

 

By the time we'd made our way along Loch Avon, forded several streams, and evaded flooded ground it was dark and starting to rain. I can't remember ever seeing it this wet here. We found a less saturated piece of ground and were soon making hot drinks in our tents. There was no wind and the rain fell steadily for hours. It was the night of the full moon but it was invisible through the dense low clouds. By dawn my tent was soaked inside and out, with condensation dripping from the flysheet. But the rain had stopped and the clouds were clearing from the summits.

Loch Avon

Packing our wet tents we set off up to Loch Etchachan and the path to Ben Macdui. More blue sky appeared and the rain was soon forgotten. Soon we were looking across Loch Etchachan to Cairn Gorm, the always splendid view enhanced by the delicate patterns of thinning clouds.

Loch Etchachan & Cairn Gorm

The clouds rose as we climbed and soon the summit of Macdui appeared. Distant views were still cloudy but the top was clear. Much of the cloud was below us, drifting round lower summits and along the glens.

Mark on the summit of Ben Macdui

The walk back across the Cairngorm Plateau was a delight. Only a slight chill in the still air and the red and brown colouring of the grasses showed it was no longer summer. We passed shining Lochan Buidhe, crossed the slopes of Cairn Lochan and Stob Coire an-t Sneachda then descended back to Coire Cas. Rain and sunshine. A not untypical twenty-four hours in the Cairngorms. It was good to be back.

Lochan Buidhe

Sunshine and Storm in the Cairngorms

Loch Avon

One reason I never tire of the Cairngorms is that they're never the same from one day to the next. On this overnight trip the contrast between the two days could not have been greater.

Back in the autumn film maker James Chapman had contacted me to say he'd like to make a film with me as part of his last year's work at college. After a meeting and many emails we finally set out from Coire Cas in early March shortly after the unseasonal February heatwave had faded away and a light dusting of snow covered the hills.

Cloud over Cairn Lochan

Clouds drifted over the mountains and bursts of sunshine lit the snow as we climbed to the Cairngorm Plateau then headed down Coire Raibert. Our destination was Loch Avon, which James was keen to see for the first time, rather than any summits. Coire Raibert is gentle but the slopes above Loch Avon are very steep and the stream in the corrie makes a sudden plunge down a ravine for some three hundred metres. There is a rough path here, on this day with a few patches of snow and icy rocks in places but no real problems.

Loch Avon comes into view

Once by the loch we admired the reflections of the mountains in the calm water and the touches of brightness as the sun cut below clouds far to the west. All was peaceful and serene. Above rose the great cliffs of Carn Etchachan and the Shelter Stone Crag. I pitched my tent on the flat glen floor below them - a favourite site - while James opted for the Shelter Stone itself.

Loch Avon, Carn Etchachan & the Shelter Stone Crag

Night brought a wondrous starry sky and the ethereal beauty of snowy rock peaks in the pale light of night. I felt excited and content at the same time.

Down by the loch the mountains were still reflected in the dark water. The air was sharp and cold.

The calm beauty changed during the night. I woke at 4 a.m. as a gusty wind blew through the open tent door. The sky was overcast, the stars gone. The thermometer read -2C. I checked back - four hours earlier it had been -7.6C. The weather was changing. I zipped the door shut and fell back to sleep. Waking again at dawn I heard a gentle swishing on the tent. Snow. Snow falling steadily in a gusty wind. Clouds swirled round the summits. This was a different place now.

We decided to return by the same route, hoping that the ravine would still be passable safely and that the wind and snow in Coire Raibert wouldn't be too severe. There was much more snow on the rocks now, soft and slippery and treacherous. There were passages we'd descended I wasn't looking forward to ascending. One was a short traverse above a waterfall. The rocks had been wet and greasy. Now they were snow covered. Reaching this section we decided to climb straight up the sides of the gorge instead, using ice axes and hands on the mix of snow, heather and stone. At times I needed to stand on the head of James's ice axe in order for my short legs to reach the next relatively secure footing. I was very glad of the security of my axe thrust into the snow or ground.

Eventually the terrain eased and we could traverse into Coire Raibert and into a blasting wind and horizontal snow. Visibility was minimal - if the rocks and grasses had all been snow-covered we'd have been in a total whiteout. The snow stung the face, the wind knocked the body sideways. Any thought of filming or photography were long gone. I checked our position on my phone a couple of times, pretty sure where we were but feeling it was wise to be certain. The last time was when steep slopes appeared to one side. I was puzzled. The GPS map position showed we'd come further than I'd thought and were almost at the big cairn at the top of the Fiacaill a'Choire Chais, our descent route. A few minutes later and the cairn rose up out of the storm.

The descent was easier than I'd expected, the wind having blasted the snow off the ridge so there was less than there'd been the day before. Soon we were down in the abandoned-feeling Cairngorm ski resort. Ragged snow fencing laced the mountainside. Drag lifts swayed in the wind. James suddenly commented that it wasn't freezing anymore. His frozen camera had come back to life. I noticed that the snow had changed. The fine stinging pellets were gone. Now it was heavy wet flakes that soaked into our clothing. The storm was behind us and it was only when we removed our packs in the shelter of the Coire Cas buildings that we saw they were plastered with snow.

The Cairngorms had shown us calm and storm, beauty and ferocity. Now it was time for Aviemore and the excellent Explorer Cafe.

Into The Storm: A Wet Cairngorms Trip

Above Loch Avon

The forecast wasn't good but it wasn't bad either. Strong winds looked to be the worst aspect. With a friend visiting an overnight camp beckoned. High up seemed inadvisable but we did want somewhere with a feel of wildness and mountain grandeur. The basin at the head of Loch Avon below the great cliffs of Carn Etchachan, Shelter Stone Crag, Hell's Lum and Stag Rocks with the waterfalls of the Feith Buidhe and the Garbh Uisge Mor crashing down between them seemed suitable so we clinbed to the Cairngorm Plateau and then dropped down Coire Raibert to Loch Avon. There was a cold wind but it wasn't that strong and a cloudy sky but without rain.

First view of Loch Avon

Once past the head of the loch we found a dry pitch in the partial shelter of some boulders. The Shelter Stone lay not far above. In a big storm this is a welcome refuge but it is dark and damp inside and generally I prefer to camp. The evening was cold and breezy with occasional glimpses of blue sky and brief shafts of late sunshine. I wandered up to the Shelter Stone and gazed down at our little camp.

Camp below the Shelter Stone Crag

Looking down on our camp

The wind was chilly however and we were soon making hot food and drinks in our tents. The temperature was 10C, rather cool for late June.

The rain began at 4.30 a.m.. Or so Graham told me. I was fast asleep, waking two hours later to look out at grey wet air, falling rain and Graham's wet tent. We were camped in the cloud. The temperature was 6C.

Rain and mist the only view

The rain was to keep up all day and into the evening, one of the wettest days in a wet month. Coming from the north-east the rain was cold too, driven by a strengthening wind. Clad in waterproofs, fleece jackets, hats and gloves we climbed the stony path up into Coire Domhain, admiring the waterfalls and the rushing stream. All else was lost in the mist.

Blasted by the wind we traversed Stob Coire an t-Sneachda, the only peak of the trip, and then went north to the Fiacaill a'Choire Chais. The air was bitter now and the icy rain stung our faces. The cold wet weather continued throughout our descent. As did the mist, all the way to the Coire Cas car park. We saw no-one on the hills all day, which is really unusual for this accessible area even in stormy weather.  Damp and chilled we drove down out of the mist, the car heater on full, and were soon esconsed in a cafe with hot food and coffee, steaming gently and staring out at the rain bouncing off the pavement and people struggling with umbrellas in the wind. It had been a short trip but the weather had made it an intense one.

'A weak ridge of high pressure'. Grabbing a quick wild camp in the Cairngorms.

View to Cairn Gorm (left) and Beinn Mheadhoin from my camp.

After a week of drizzle and rain and the hills covered in cloud down to their lower slopes a forecast for a brief respite from the dreich weather was worth seizing. ‘A weak ridge of high pressure’ was meant to bring sunny skies Saturday afternoon followed by a cloudy night and morning before rain returned Sunday afternoon. Hardly an inspiring forecast but the best there’d been for a while and just right for a quick overnight camp in the Cairngorms.

Coire an t-Sneachda

 

In Coire Cas the sun was shining but a cool wind meant I set off wearing a jacket as well as sun hat and dark glasses. Looking into Coire an t-Sneachda as I climbed I was surprised at the still extensive snow patches. After much warm and humid weather I thought they’d have diminished rather more.  (I remained surprised at the amount of snow throughout the trip – I’ll post a separate selection of pictures soon). Once I reached the Cairngorm Plateau the wind eased and hot sunshine accompanied me over the stony ground and snow patches to Ben Macdui. The grey harshness of the plateau was broken by the bright green of fresh grass and moss and the multi-coloured lichen on many boulders. The sense of space and vastness always found up here in clear weather washed over me, removing tensions and worries, soothing my mind. This freeing of my thoughts is always welcome and useful too as it’s usually followed by ideas for writing, photography, exploration. Positive thoughts overwhelming any negative ones. I think better when walking in wild places.

Camp above the Garbh Uisge Mor

The sky was darkening as I reached the summit. A snow bunting watched me from the trig point then hopped around hoping for crumbs. Clouds rushed in and the wind strengthened. The view shrank and vanished and I left the summit in thick mist, following the snowmelt-filled headwaters of the Garbh Uisge Mor (Rough Big Water). Others were camped here. I passed one tent high in the broadening corrie and far below I could see another beside a small pool. I camped on a shelf well above the damp ground beside the stream, just below the mist and, I hoped, sheltered from the increasingly strong wind.

Beinn Mheadhoin appearing through the mist

The last turned out not to be true as the wind changed direction and blew across the corrie, rustling my little shelter and knocking the fabric against me. I slept briefly, woke, half-slept, woke, dozed, before finally falling asleep properly as the sky lightened in the early hours and the wind eased a little. Heat woke me a few hours later. The sun was shining and the temperature had risen from a chilly +5°C to a hot +22°C that had me overheating in my sleeping bag. Wriggling out of it I was soon outside looking at the hills shining in the bright light, the colours of the vegetation and the rocks and the whiteness of the snow vibrant and sharp. Beinn Mheadhoin rose above clouds boiling up above hidden Loch Etchachan. Anyone camped down there would be in the mist.

Garbh Uisge Beag & Loch Avon

The lovely start to the day didn’t last. Within an hour the sky was overcast and the chill wind had returned. I spent the morning water watching,  following the Garbh Uisge Mor to its confluence with the Garbh Uisge Beag on the edge of the steep slabs and crags dropping down to the Loch Avon basin. Filled with snowmelt the streams boiled and surged with white water, crashing and foaming over the rocks. The sounds of rushing water were everywhere, stimulating and exciting.  Far below the dark loch lay placid under the grey sky. The last stream was the Feith Buidhe, tumbling down the steep slopes below Hells Lum Crag. Many snow bridges crossed the wide water. I was tempted but decided they were probably too rotten so I tried boulder-hopping instead and ended up with wet feet anyway when a rock tipped as I put my weight on it. The near-freezing water was bitterly cold but my feet soon warmed as I climbed the slopes above back into the mist in Coire Domhain. Only when I neared Coire Cas and the end of my trip did I drop back out of the clouds. I was back home though before the rain started, rain that hammered down for hours.

The Feith Buidhe heading for Loch Avon