Clouds & mist on the Cape Wrath Trail: Some Photographs

Evening light over the River Garry

Sorting through the photos I took on the Cape Wrath Trail I noticed that a large number feature clouds, mist, and skyscapes, a result of the weather I experienced much of the time. There is beauty and drama in this weather and it certainly leads to more interesting pictures than endless ones of blue skies and sunshine however attractive those might be at the time.

Morning mist over Loch Lochy

Here's a selection of these moody scenes. I will soon get round to telling the actual story of the walk and also post my perhaps controversial thoughts on the environment along the way.

Clouds on the hills above Dorusduain Wood

Loch Lon Mhurchaidh in the rain

Allt na Doire Gairbhe before the rain

There's a forest in there. Above the Dundonnell River

Loch Ailsh & Benmore Lodge

An Atmospheric Day In The Cairngorms

Swirling clouds in the Lairig Ghru

The forecast of clearing clouds and touches of sunshine for the evening suggested a late walk on the Cairngorm Plateau, especially as winds were forecast to be light so midges were very likely lower down. The heavy rain and the thick clouds blanketing the hills when I arrived in Coire Cas weren’t so encouraging. I checked the forecast for Cairn Gorm again. The sunshine and evaporating clouds had vanished, replaced by rain and drizzle. Wandering round in mist and wetness didn’t appeal – I’ve done that too many times. A change of plan then. 

Creag an Leth-choin during a brief clearance

Creag an Leth-choin (Lurcher’s Crag), that rugged peak dramatically overhanging the mouth of the Lairig Ghru pass, was just brushed by the clouds. It’s 200 metres lower than the Plateau and so more likely to stay clear. I decided to head that way. I remembered a path up Lurcher’s Gully below the peak, though I hadn’t been that way except when it was snow covered (it’s a great downhill ski run) for many years. This path isn’t shown on the OS 1:50,000 map but is on the 1:25,000. Was it still there? Finding out would be interesting.

Buachaille Etive Mor & Creagan Gorm

Exiting the car I was instantly assailed by midges. A man in a t-shirt passed by flapping his arms. “The midges are terrible”. I set off briskly, the rain having given away to gentle drizzle. Across Glenmore the heather was purple on Buachaille Etive Mor and Creagan Gorm, until they disappeared into rain and cloud.

The line of the path up Lurcher's Gully just visinle

The start of the Lurcher’s Gully path where it left the main path up to the Plateau wasn’t clear. When I found it the path was narrow and overgrown. In places it was barely visible. I lost it several times soon picked it up again. The walking was no easier on the path than off but trying to find the line was an intriguing game.

Springs in Lurcher's Gully

The fading path suggests not many people come this way, which is a shame as the wide gully is lovely and colourful in summer with masses of flowers – mainly heather and bog asphodel, in places bog cotton, tormentil, common butterwort, harebells, and even some hawkweed. Higher up a series of springs and wet flushes glowed bright green, yellow and red. A covey of grouse, maybe a dozen, exploded from the heather noisily.

Rainbow

A squall swirled over Glenmore, hiding the hills, then swept on over Cairn Gorm, leaving a bit of rainbow in its wake. 

View over the Lairig Ghru

The gully gradually ended on flatter ground which I wandered across to the edge of the Lairig Ghru. Across the deep cleft of the pass clouds and rain squalls drifted over Strathspey. Looking back there was a similar scene over Cairn Gorm. Some of the clouds were below me. 

On the summit

Rocky slopes led to the short summit ridge of Creag an Leth-choin. The clouds thickened and the Lairig Ghru became a seething mass of vapours. All around the summit the swirling mass continued, a very mobile atmosphere. Ring ousels flitted and called in the rocks.

The Lairig Ghru

Mist came and went as I rested on the summit. The air was damp and chilly. On the descent the cloud lifted at first, giving a good view along the curves of the Lairig Ghru and out to hazy hills split by shafts of sunlight. Then the mist enveloped me and stayed most of the way down, creating a silent vague world. 

Sunset

I was almost back at Coire Cas when a line of red appeared under the clouds far to the north-west. The sun was setting. Soon the clouds flared up, startlingly bright and fiery, a stunning finish to the rather atmospheric day. 

Coire Cas Glowsticks

Not quite the finish though. After the sunset had faded I could see two glowing lurid green columns rising into the air, the raised Coire Cas car park barriers. Why they have to look like giant glowsticks I can’t imagine. I’d rather they didn’t. 

Some fine clouds and a chill wind on Meall a'Bhauchaille

Dense clouds over Braeriach

The last week has seen a run of very windy days with cloud down on the tops. A friend up from Glossop for a week was keen on a day or two in the Cairngorms but we kept putting it off due to the forecast until there was only one day left. So we went anyway. Thick clouds swathing the Cairngorm Plateau and a fierce wind at glen level persuaded us that Meall a'Bhuachaille, some 400 metres lower, sounded attractive.

Looking across the Ryvoan Pass to the Cairngorms Plateau

The approach through the always magnificent forest in Ryvoan Pass was sheltered and the air felt quite warm. Once we were climbing above the trees the wind quickly stripped away any heat though. Over the high Cairngorms clouds swirled and twisted, racing across the sky. Shafts of sunlight cut through briefly. Flashes of blue came and went. The air was alive. mobile. 

On the summit

The forecast was for showers and we could see squalls in the distance. None reached us though. On the summit the wind was very strong and very cold. For the first time since spring I donned an insulated jacket. Summer is definitely over. I kept it on for most of the descent and wasn't too hot.

Loch Morlich

We came down looking at shimmering Loch Morlich, its surface rippling in the wind. The first trees gave shelter for a more relaxing stop. As so often it felt a different world down here.

Mark beside a fine old pine tree

Not Quite A Thunderstorm On Meall a' Bhuachaille

 

Thunderstorms scare me in the hills. I've had too many close encounters with lightning, most recently on my Colorado Rockies walk two years ago (see this post), so I don't go out if thunderstorms are forecast. Usually. Today I did, surprising my partner, who pointed out that I didn't do this. But for the previous fortnight writing had occupied my time, enjoyable writing but intensive and tiring. Suddenly I felt in need of a break. My work rate was slowing rapidly, my concentration fading. I knew the signs. I needed a day in the hills. 

The forecast the evening before looked okay - showers, sunshine, enough of a breeze to keep the midges down. Certainly better than the following four days when heavier rain and thunderstorms were predicted, embedded thunderstorms too, the ones that scare me most as these are hidden inside other clouds so you can't see them coming. In the hills that can mean being in the cloud. Twice I've been walking high up in thick mist when thunder has cracked and a flash of lightning has lit up the mountainside. This is terrifying. Where is the storm? Which way is it moving? Go down, that's all you can do.

By the next day the forecast had changed confusingly. Thunderstorms were predicted for Aviemore but not Cairn Gorm, only some 18km away. Could the forecasters be that precise? I doubted it. As thunder storms were still predicted the next few days I decided to go anyway but to head for Meall a' Bhuachaille so I wouldn't be too far above the forest and could head down quickly if I heard thunder. I didn't fancy being on the Cairngorm Plateau in a thunderstorm.

The walk through the woods past An Lochan Uaine to the Pass of Ryvoan was as enjoyable as ever, the lush regenerating forest always glorious. In the trees it was hot and humid. 

Once I started the climb up Meall a' Bhuachaille and left the forest behind there was a welcome breeze though the air was still warm enough for rolled shirt sleeves and no jacket. Now I could see the sky I watched the clouds towering above the hills. Was a thunderstorm brewing? At one point it seemed so. A dark anvil-shaped cloud reared up (see image at the top of this post). I hesitated. Maybe I should turn back. The cloud was some distance away though and moving towards the Cairngorm Plateau. I carried on, watching it carefully. By the time I reached the summit it had lost its shape a little and was drifting away. 

As I descended shafts of light appeared through the clouds as the sun lit up distant hillsides. The sky was still dark and ominous but these sunbeams hinted at brightness and warmth. 

There were no thunderstorms. There weren't even any showers. The clouds were impressive but in the end posed no threat. The light had been magnificent. Maybe I could have gone higher and further. I'd have worried about lightning though. Now to see if there is any in the days to come, when I'll be safely back at my desk, rejuvenated and writing.

Photography note. As the clouds were the dominant feature and there wasn't much colour in the landscape I decided my pictures looked better in black and white.

A Spectacular Display of Clouds At Sunset

Evening is one of my favourite times and I often go out for a stroll at dusk and watch the day fade into night. Sometimes there is a red sunset, sometimes clouds glow with the last light, sometimes greyness just fades into black. And sometimes magic happens and the sly is ablaze with glory. 

That was the case on the second day of September. After a day of wind, rain and an overcast sky sunlight finally cut through the clouds, lighting up the Cromdale Hills. I wandered down the track through the woods below our house. A chat with a neighbour was cut short by the appearance of midges - they haven't gone yet. 

Leaving the woods now seemed a good idea so I walked back up the track and out into the fields, where I hoped the breeze would deter the midges. Looking back I could saw a rainbow arcing over the darkening Cromdale Hills. 

Towards the now vanished sun great swirls of cloud caught the last rays, turning orange and gold. The clouds were layers of twisting fantastic shapes. Out in the fields I stood and stared, entranced by one of the most glorious skies I have ever seen. This was magic indeed.

Clouds & mist & sun & snow: a glorious day in the Cairngorms

A distant Creag Meagaidh rises above a sea of clouds

Some days the weather is perfect and grey skies, bitter winds and dull light are forgotten. Such was yesterday. A day of deep blue skies and vast views. At least high in the Cairngorms. To the south and west clouds filled the glens. Down there the day would be dismal and damp.

A summit just pokes above the cloud in Strathspey

On the tops the air was calm, cold and bright. The only sound the crunching of my boots in the thin crisp snow. The hills felt vast as they stretched out to fade away in distant horizons.

On Cnap Coire na Spreidhe

As I headed up Cairn Gorm I watched a long cloud forming over Meall a'Bhuachaille and Creagan Gorm. I wandered over for a better look. This was a day for meandering, for going where my curiosity rather than following a set route. This cloud was unusual, just sitting along the summits. I've not seen this here before. Someone on one of those lower hills would think the day misty yet only a short way in any direction they'd have clear views.

Cloud on Meall a'Bhuachaille

On Cairn Gorm several groups were leaving the summit as I arrived. They missed the best of the light. The summit to myself, I wandered round, absorbing the views and the beauty. The moon, almost full, rose into the sky above a line of darkening pink.

Cairn Gorm Weather Station

The sun sank into the clouds. Beyond the now shadowed Cairngorm Plateau Cairn Toul and Sgor an Lochan Uaine rose into an orange sky.

Cairn Toul and Sgor an Lochan Uaine

I lingered until the final colour began to fade, reluctant to leave. A final flourish of searingly bright red far out to the west and it was time to head down into the moonlit night.

Last light

Drifting mists & an insubstantial beauty

Some days at this time of year I look out of the window at grey skies and a dark landscape and wonder if it's worth going for a walk. It always is. There's always something to see and feel, even if it's just a skin numbing wind and sheets of rain and sleet. Sometimes it's more than that, much more. A recent day was like that. Unpromisingly dull and flat, it seemed. But as I wandered the fields and woods the mists hanging in the valley started to rise and fall, drifting amongst the trees. The world became magical. In the distance I caught glimpses of snow-spattered mountains, freed for brief seconds from their blanket of clouds.

Trees appeared and disappeared, sometimes seeming to float in the air, ethereal and unreal. The land was quiet. A flock of rooks sailed silently overhead. Rabbits raced for their burrows. The air was cold, damp, sharp, scraping the skin. But it was peaceful watching the mist, watching the world changing constantly. A quiet insubstantial beauty.

Wandering home I felt reluctant to go back inside and took a meandering route, seeking out pockets of mist. I was glad I'd gone outside. I always am.

Blue Light, Blue Water, White Clouds: A Long Day from Friedrichshafen

The Bodensee, Friedrichshafen

The journey home from Friedrichshafen was long and mostly uninspiring (half was spent in Heathrow Airport waiting for a delayed plane) but there were moments of beauty and splendour, all painted in blue and white.

The day began well with an early morning stroll along the lake front in Frierichshafen looking out over the brilliant blue water to distant snow-flecked mountains. The rich colours were calming and peaceful. A lovely start to the day.

A zeppelin hangs above the Bodensee

The ferry across the Bodensee (Lake Constance) to Romanshorn was relaxing too, with the mountains drawing slowly nearer though still hazy in the early light. A zeppelin drifted high above. I watched it fade into the distance over Friedrichshafen, the place where these airships were born.

Swiss Alps

A pleasant train journey to Zurich - I love the double-decker Swiss trains with their wonderful wide views - and then the first flight. The Swiss Alps lined the horizon, magnificent and tempting.

Zooming in on the Swiss Alps

Then came Heathrow and the long wait. Cafes, people watching, Kindle reading (Richard Fortey's excellent The Wood For The Trees which is set not far from the airport physically but takes place in a different world of nature and slow history), writing, wandering, shop browsing (do I need a new lens, tablet, smartphone? No).

Above rippling clouds

Finally take off and up through the clouds to the late evening blue sky. Whiteness rippling below, the sky matching that above the Bodensee.

Then the plunge into the clouds, a warning of turbulence that didn't happen, and out into heavy rain and wet Inverness Airport. A drive through the storm on a dark Midsummer's Eve and home. A long day. It's the blueness I'll remember.