A Visit To The Abandoned El Alamein Shelter In The Cairngorms

On a sunny day in late April I decided to wander up to Cairn Gorm’s long north ridge and have a look at the abandoned El Alamein shelter, which lies on the steep bouldery slopes falling into Strath Nethy. I’d visited the shelter before and I remembered that it wasn’t that easy to find. It can’t be seen from the ridge, you have to descend a fair way down before it comes into view and even then from many angles it looks just like a pile of the boulders that surround it. Only the rusted metal of one gable end is at all noticeable.

The ascent along the edge of Coire Laogh Mor took me over many slippery patches of soft snow. They weren’t steep though and there was no need to get out my ice axe. The sun was hot and there was barely a breeze. Sun hat, sunglasses, and sunscreen were the most important piece of gear.

El Alamein comes into view. Just visible bottom left.

Starting down the far side to look for the shelter I was soon in the shade though it wasn’t any cooler. I dodged round several large snowfields then thought I could see the shelter far below. A little further and I was sure.

El Alamein

El Alamein was built by the military in 1963, one of three shelters high in the Cairngorms. After the Cairngorm Disaster of 1971* when six people died after failing to reach one of the shelters it was decided they should be removed. Two went, El Alamein remained. Why? Perhaps it couldn’t be found! More likely it was felt that no-one would ever try to go there anyway. It’s not on a route to anywhere. There are no paths nearby.

El Alamein with Bynack More in the background

So why is it here? The general view is that it was meant to be constructed on the ridge above but the builders either misread the map reference or were given the wrong one. If that’s so they just obeyed orders and built it here though they must have wondered why. Or perhaps the weather was stormy on the exposed ridge and they thought they’d drop down to somewhere more sheltered and ended up here.

Beinn Mheadhoin from El Alamein

Whatever the reason this is where it is, in a splendid wild situation half way down a rugged mountainside with a tremendous view. If you wanted to build a shelter as a peaceful haven in the mountains this would be a perfect spot. I sat outside watching the hills glowing in the late sun.

El Alamein and Bynack More

Like the other shelters El Alamein has a metal framework with hessian-like material over it for insulation and then rocks piled on top. It’s quite high inside but there’s not much floor space. Three people could sleep inside, maybe four at a squeeze. The hessian has now rotted away in places and some of the rocks have fallen down from the sides, hence the exposed metal at one end. There are holes in the roof and the walls. I guess it would still provide a little protection in an emergency. But then I can’t imagine anyone descending the mountainside and finding it in bad weather.

Cnap Coire na Spreidhe

Leaving the shelter I headed back up to the ridge to watch the sunset from Cnap Coire na Spreidhe, a subsidiary top of Cairn Gorm. A bright moon, three days off full, hung in the darkening sky.  I descended on the Ciste Ridge path with the deep red sky spread out before me. Loch Morlich was a shining jewel in the dark forest. In the distance I could see the lights of Aviemore. Soon I needed my headlamp.

Sunset

View down Coire na Ciste to Loch Morlich

I made a little video of the trip, with a look inside the shelter.

*The Cairngorm Disaster: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cairngorm_Plateau_disaster

In Search Of Changing Light In The Cairngorms

Late afternoon light

One afternoon a few days ago I headed up into the Cairngorms in the hope of seeing the sunset. The day was sunny and quite warm for the last day of February but the forecast was for cloud coming in from the south-west on strong winds. I hoped this wouldn’t arrive too soon but at just the right time for the setting sun to colour the clouds red and gold.

My favourite times in the mountains are dawn and dusk. However, as I’m a night person who wakes up slowly as the day progresses I see far more of the latter than the former, especially on day walks. To see the dawn I need to be already there, camped high up. An early start from home and then walking in the dark doesn’t work for me.

Blue sky on the ascent

On this walk I also hoped the change in the weather would bring more complex and variable light. Brilliant sunshine and a blue sky are wonderful and I do love them but changing light is more interesting. It makes for better photographs too.

Clouds approaching.

Blue sky and sunshine accompanied me up to the north ridge of Cairn Gorm. The breeze was light and I didn’t need hat or gloves. That changed when I reached the ridge and met a much stronger cold south-west wind that was bringing clouds. 

Clouds getting closer.

Summits not too far away were already vanishing into greyness. To the east though the hills were still in sunshine. The lighting was already dramatic.

Stac na h-Iolaire

Heading down the north ridge I had the wind at my back. There were large areas of hard snow but I was able to skirt round these, as I had on the ascent, and my crampons and ice axe stayed on the pack. Ahead the crag of Stac na h-Iolaire glowed gold in the now low sun.

Suddenly in the mist

Seemingly out of nowhere mist enveloped me and snow and hail began to fall. Visibility went from hundreds of kilometres to a few hundred metres. The temperature dropped noticeably. The squall was brief. After ten minutes or so it had passed over and was just a grey cloud heading north. A useful reminder of how fast the weather can change though and the need to always be prepared for that.

Lochan na Beinne & Loch Morlich

The aftermath of the squall revealed a thin drifting band of mist between the shining waters of Lochan na Beinne and Loch Morlich. The mist caught the low sun, shimmering in the light. Above the sky was now mostly overcast.

Sunset

Descending there was one brief glimpse of colour in the sky before the clouds thickened and all was grey. The weather had changed.

The trickiest part of the walk was the final stretch. The path was muddy and in places icy. It was growing dark rapidly. I managed without a headlamp until a final steep descent to a bridge over a rushing burn on a narrow path with patches of snow and ice. Then the day was over. There’d been no spectacular sunset but there had been interesting light and just getting up into the mountains and forgetting about the rest of the world, especially at the moment, felt such a relief.

Book Review: The Corbetts by Rab Anderson

The Corbetts is the latest volume in the superb Scottish Mountaineering Club Hillwalkers’ Guides series. Like the earlier books The Corbetts is beautifully designed and illustrated. According to the publishers it’s the third edition of a guide first published in 1990 as The Corbetts & Other Scottish Hills but in fact it’s so different that it’s really a new book. Everything is new – route descriptions, illustrations, maps. The format is bigger too, even though the ‘other’ hills have gone.

The Corbetts are Scottish hills between 2500 feet (762m) and 3000 feet (914.4m) high with a reascent of at least 500 feet (152m) on all sides. Although lower than Munros many are no easier and some are amongst the finest hills in Scotland. That 500+ feet of reascent means that linking Corbetts is hard work. Many are best climbed singly. They cover a wider area than the Munros too, with Corbetts in the Southern Uplands where there are no Munros and on six rather than two islands. These are hills deserving of respect.

They deserve a book like this too. The 1990 volume is good – my copy is well-thumbed. This glorious new guide is much better. Credit must go to the author Rab Anderson who also did the layout and took many of the photographs and to the publishers, the Scottish Mountaineering Press.

The Introduction has a brief biography of John Rooke Corbett, who first compiled this list of hills in 1939, followed by notes on the route descriptions, safety, and other useful information.

The hills are organised into twenty geographical sections, each starting with a lovely double-page photo (I especially like the dramatic one for section 14 of Beinn Airigh Charr across Loch Maree) and then a map of the area with the Corbetts marked. There are maps for each hill or group of hills too. The maps are in colour and show the routes and the topography. They are lovely to look at but I must admit I find the simpler non-topographical maps of the original guide easier for actually locating the Corbetts.

The hill descriptions are excellent and have advice and information as well as the bare bones of the routes. Each one is accompanied by one or more photographs, most of them superb. This is a book you can browse just for the photographs. They certainly lured me in, reminding of many Corbetts I haven’t visited for many years and inspiring me to go and climb them again.

This is a book for all lovers of the Scottish Hills. You don’t have to be a Corbett bagger to enjoy it. You might be after flicking through its pages though!

The Corbetts is published by the Scottish Mountaineering Press and costs £35.

Last Hill & Camp of 2025

After sunset

Between Christmas and New Year I managed a last overnight trip of 2025. Without much time and given the short hours of daylight plus a forecast for the weather to turn stormy by the end of the second day I didn’t plan to go far.

I did want a high camp though, so I decided to head up into the Cairngorms and camp somewhere near Cairn Gorm itself. I set off in sunshine, though the air was chill in shadowed areas. Only patches remained of the last big snowfall, several weeks ago now, as most of December had been wet and mild. Today the ground was frozen though and the old snow rock hard.

Frozen landscape

Rather than take my crampons on and off or blunt them on rocks I zigzagged around the bigger snowfields and crossed smaller ones by carefully treading on small patches of grass or stones protruding from them.

In the sunshine

In the sunshine I needed dark glasses but not gloves or a hat. A light warm jacket was more than enough to keep off any chill.

Before sunset

Out to the west the sun was turning the lower streaks of cloud orange as it neared the horizon. Soon the sunset was intense. Reaching the broad ridge north of Cairn Gorm I dropped my pack and wandered about watching and photographing the splendid colours in the sky. Finding a camp site could wait. This wasn’t to be missed.

View to Ben Nevis and Creag Meagaidh

As the sky greyed and darkened I retrieved my pack and headed down into the bowl of Ciste Mhearad looking for a site out of the cold wind that had sprung up but not down on the floor of this little corrie where cold air would sink. A flattish area soon appeared that looked suitable. The ground was frozen hard. At other times I expect this is boggy and I’d never think of camping here but in the cold it was fine. 

Beinn Mheadhoin after sunset

As I expected the stream was flowing fast where it poured out of the steep side of the corrie so I had water and there was no need to chip off lumps of frozen snow to melt. Lower down where the burn slowed it was covered in ice.

Camp in the morning

A cold night ensued but I was warm in the tent and had plenty of food and a book to read during the long hours of darkness. Outside a hazy moon appeared but the clouds had thickened and there was no bright starry sky.

Frozen water

I left the tent doors open, as usual if it’s not stormy, but even so by dawn there was frozen condensation inside the flysheet and frozen dew on the outside. An intermittent breeze was strong enough at times to rattle the ice-up tent. The overnight low was -5.5°C. The water in my pot was frozen but soon thawed over the stove.

There was no sunrise, just mist gradually turning a lighter shade of grey. I was in no hurry to leave the tent. It was peaceful and relaxing just watching the shadowy landscape.

The sun almost shines

When I did go outside I thought the mist might dissolve as a faint sun appeared shining high above. That was the only sign of sunshine I was to see all day though. I shook the crackling tent as I took it down, shedding as much of the ice as I could.

Fogbow

As I set off blue sky appeared ahead of me and, briefly, a pale fogbow. Then the mist closed in again.

Cnap Coire na Spreidhe

Not far from my camp lay the granite tor that marks the summit of Cnap Coire na Spreidhe, a subsidiary top of Cairn Gorm. That was my final hill of 2025. I had thought of going over Cairn Gorm but in this mist I wasn’t going to bother. It was the right decision as it didn’t clear. I only dropped out of it as I reached the car park. It was a grey monochrome day. There were frequent light showers of freezing rain, matting my beard with ice and coating my pack.

Frozen beard

The trip made for a fitting end to the year though. I was glad I’d made it.

Icy pack

I made a little video of the trip.

November Sunset in the Cairngorms

Cairn Toul & the Lairig Ghru just before sunset

One of the big advantages of the winter months in the Scottish Highlands is that sunset is in the middle of the afternoon not the middle of the night. I took advantage of this late in November when the forecast suggested clear calm weather. Just right for watching the light and descending in the dusk.

At the start of the walk, looking towards Cairn Gorm

My plan was to climb to the Cairngorm Plateau. However I made a mistake just before I set off. I left my snowshoes in the car. There wasn’t much snow visible at the start of my walk so I decided I didn’t want to carry them. Soon the snow became deeper and walking more difficult. I’d come just far enough that I didn’t think it worth going back for them. It would have been.

Enough people had been along the route to punch holes in the snow but not enough to create a trench. Some of the holes were knee deep. I stepped in and out of them. Laborious but easier than breaking my own trail. Sometimes shallow boot prints collapsed under my weight. I lurched slowly upwards.

Cairn Lochan

A couple passed me descending then a lone walker. This turned out to be Dan Bailey of UKHillwalking and we spent a pleasant few minutes discussing the snow (should have brought snowshoes we agreed), the weather, gear, the state of outdoor publishing, and more. Dan said he had a down jacket to test but it was too warm in the sun to try it.

Last sun on Creag an Leth-choin

I was in the shade as I headed up and it was well below freezing. However as soon as I reached the large flat area of the Miadan Creag an Leth-choin the sun reached me. It certainly was too warm for a down jacket. Indeed, I took my gloves off, unzipped the top of my Paramo jacket and sat on my pack while I had a snack and a hot drink and admired the snow and the view.

The sun about to set over Braeriach

The very best views here are on the edge of the steep slopes leading down into the Lairig Ghru pass so I left the boot holes that marked the path and headed that way. My admiration for whoever had broken the first holes soared. Plunging through the snow was incredibly arduous and the two hundred metres or so I walked seemed endless. I wished I’d brought those snowshoes!

Sunset sky over Sgor Gaoith & Sgoran Dubh Mor

Every step was worthwhile though. The view up and down the Lairig was magnificent. The sun was close to setting behind Braeriach and the light made the landscape glow. Orange and red crept across the sky as the vanishing sun lit up thin bands of cloud out to the west.

Last sun on Cairn Gorm

As the brightness faded from the mountains they suddenly looked cold, the pink tinge on the snow turning blue. Just the summits and then just the sky kept the warm colours.

The dusk darkens over Cairn Gorm

I set off back down, admiring the snow-plastered cliffs of Cairn Lochan. A crescent moon appeared in the sky. It had been a good day. Even without snowshoes.

Moon rise

Cairn Lochan

I made a little video while I was up there.

 

Autumn arrives: a walk and camp in cooler weather.

Camp in the forest

Sometimes season slide in gently, gradually, almost unnoticeable, until one day you realise it’s not winter or spring anymore. Not this year. This year the change from summer to autumn has felt sudden, abrupt. Sunny and dry to cool and wet just like that.

Sunshine & cool winds - autumn!

Having felt puzzlingly chilly at home, the thin shirts of summer suddenly inadequate, I pulled out a long-sleeved base layer, a garment I hadn’t worn for many months, for a mid-September overnight trip. A warmer top over it too. Summer had gone. Just like that.

View over Rothiemurchus Forest to Creag an Leth-choin and the Lairig Ghru

The forecast was for showery weather with strong winds high up, so I didn’t plan on a mountain camp. I didn’t plan on spending much time on the tops either. A forest camp sounded a good idea, especially as the first autumn colours were starting to appear, so one afternoon I ambled through the Rothiemurchus woods past Loch an Eilein and into the Inshriach Nature Reserve. Here I found a pleasant camp site in a small grassy meadow surrounded big by juniper bushes. Not far away bright red leaves shone startlingly amidst dark green pines. Wild and remote. Well, it was the first, and felt the second.

Autumn colour in the forest

Gusts of wind swept the meadow, interspersed with stillness that brought out the midges. Not that far into autumn yet! Dawn came with sunshine and a dew-soaked tent. Any hope it would dry before I packed up was ended with a shower just as I was stuffing my sleeping bag away.

Sunshine in the trees

The sun soon returned and shone for most of the steep climb up through the magnificent forest onto the open hillside on a rough, narrow path that for some reason doesn’t appear on some maps. Blasts of wind prevented it being hot though. Above the trees I could see dark clouds massing to the south. I didn’t think the sunshine would last long.

The Argyll Stone

It didn’t. By the time I reached the rock tor known as the Argyll Stone (Clach Mhic Cailein) the sky was grey and the wind distinctly chilly. This contorted, eroded block of granite is said to be named for an Earl of Argyll who paused here in 1594 while fleeing after defeat at the Battle of Glenlivet. I paused here too, sheltering from the now fierce wind while I had a snack.

Cairn Lochan in the clouds

My high point of the day, 848-metre Creag Dhubh, was only a short stroll away. This is the northernmost summit on the wonderful long ridge that runs south-north from Carn Ban Mor above Gleann Einich. Creag Dhubh is an undistinguished flat-topped hill without even a cairn. In fact it’s hard to work out which is the actual highest point, not that it matters.  The views, however, are extensive and superb, especially to Braeriac, Cairn Lochan and Cairn Gorm, though today they were shrouded in swirling clouds. Rain was coming. I could see squalls all around.

Loch an Eilein

None reached me though as I continued on down the broad north ridge of the hill, the wind behind me. Far below Loch an Eilein was blue in the green forest, it’s unusual shape clear from up here. In the other direction I could just see the silver foot of Loch Einich below dramatic dark clouds.

Loch Einich

Dropping down rough slopes I reached the Gleann Einich track and followed it into Rothiemurchus Forest. A large bird lumbered through the trees to perch on a high branch, a capercaillie. Always wonderful to see one. I passed a shockingly shrunken Lochan Deo. I’d never seen the water so low before. The hot dry summer may be over but it’ll take time and much rain before its effects vanish. (The rain is here though, I’m writing this at the end of the wettest day for many months, a relief for us as our water supply is only just holding out).

Lochan Deo