A Glorious Winter Camp

A week ago I took advantage of the wonderful pre-Christmas winter weather to spend a few days in the Coulin hills between Glen Carron and Glen Torridon. I camped on a high col with spacious views and a sense of wildness and remoteness, a magnificent camp site. Many days of hard frost had left the ground hard and icy, though I was able to find a trickle of running water to fill my bottles. Dry weather meant I was able to leave the door of my shelter wide open and fall asleep lying in the entrance gazing at the stars and the almost-full moon. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a glorious and spectacular camp in December before. From my camp I had an exciting day on the hills, the going quite tricky due to ice covering paths, rocks and grass. Before the freeze the weather was very wet and the hills sodden, with a thaw of an earlier snowfall adding to the rain. The sudden coming of the frost had meant huge bubbles of ice rippling across the grass and running down crags where streams had burst their banks. Elsewhere a thin veneer of ice made rocks treacherous while long sections of paths were frozen into skating rinks. Only on the gravel and stone summits where there was no water to freeze was the walking easy. The sky was cloudless and the sun bright, though with little heat and always low down, making for dramatic side lighting even at midday. The air was sharp and cold and as clear as I can ever remember, with more detail in distant hills than I believed possible in our usually hazy air. The glens and straths were full of cloud however, a white canopy hiding roads and houses. Below my camp Coire Lair was full of cloud, which poured very slowly over the lip of the corrie and down into Glen Carron, like a waterfall in slow motion. From Sgorr Ruadh I watched the sun set and a dark red line spread out across the western horizon with the jagged silhouette of the Cuillin Hills on the Isle of Skye breaking into it. The next day I walked back down the icy corrie as the wind picked up and clouds spread across the sky, reaching the road just as the first raindrops fell.

The photo of my camp was taken late in the evening in a temperature of -5ºC. Photo info: Canon EOS 350D, Tamron 11-18mm lens at 11mm, f4.5@8 seconds, ISO 1600, tripod, raw file converted to JPEG and processed in DxO Optics Pro.

Outdoors Station Podcast on New Gear & GPS

A few days ago I did a podcast with Bob Cartwright, for The All New Podzine for 10/12/2007 on The Outdoors Station, talking about some interesting new outdoor gear and telling a story about a problem I had with a GPS unit earlier in the year. The same podcast also has Andy Howell talking about some outdoor books, including The Wild Places, which I reviewed in my last blog (6/12/07). You can find the Podzine here.

The photo shows the wide open spaces of the Ben Avon plateau in the Cairngorms on the morning when I couldn't get a GPS signal, as described in the podcast. Photo info: Canon EOS 350D, 18-55mm lens at 27mm, f8@1/160, ISO 100, raw file processed in Capture One Pro.

The Wild Places- Book Review

My wilderness journeys and my love of nature and wild places are inextricably linked with my love of literature. The two intertwine and inspire each other. This goes back to my childhood when I was enthralled by the stories of Arthur Ransome and even Richmal Crompton’s “William” books, which often have woods and fields as their settings (I still find William’s adventures hilarious). As an adult it has been writers like Henry David Thoreau, Colin Fletcher, Edward Abbey, John Muir and W.H.Murray who I have read and reread, always finding something new and thought-provoking in their work. A few months ago I wrote a piece on these writers called Visionaries of the Wild for the January 2008 issue of TGO magazine (out now in early December and full of suggestions for Xmas gifts, despite the cover date – one of the strange quirks of magazine publishing). I finished that piece with a reference to a recent book, Robert Macfarlane’s The Wild Places, in which the author seeks the wild in the British countryside, ranging from the Northern Highlands to Devon and East Anglia, in a series of short journeys, most involving a night or two under the stars. Macfarlane links these places with natural forces – the weather, geology, wild life – and the people who have inhabited the landscapes. He collects talismans – stones, feathers, shells, wood – that connect up the places in his memory and finds that these connections present a different map of Britain, a web of nature, to the road map most people are familiar with, a rigid structure that ignores nature. Macfarlane also discovers that wild places are not only remote and vast but can be found everywhere, that the natural state of the world is wildness and that to this it will return. Macfarlane’s discovery of wildness in little woods and lowland farmland brought me back to my childhood in the flat countryside of Lancashire where I discovered nature and freedom in such places. The book, a wonderful celebration of the wild, brought back other memories too and stimulated me to think anew about the meaning of wild places. It’s not a polemic in defence of wild places but the joy the author expresses in wildness shows the importance of these places and therefore the need to protect them (the author supports the Scottish Wild Land Group and does say “the contemporary threats to the wild were multiple, and severe”). The writing is compelling and enthralling, pulling the reader into the wild landscapes and the experiences of the author. Optimistic and life-affirming the book is a great antidote to the sense of despair and loss that can come with the experience of the destruction of wild places. As an old hippy-farmer friend of mine was found of saying many decades ago “nature will out”. That is the message of The Wild Places.

Winter Comes To The Cairngorms

Snow has lain on the high tops of the Cairngorms for over two weeks now, with storms sweeping the hills on an almost daily basis. The snowline has risen and fallen as warm and cold fronts have passed over, bringing rain and a thaw then snow and a freeze, but the summits have stayed white. I first ventured up into this winter world soon after the first snow fell, a thin covering above 700 metres. The ground was frozen, the lower paths ribbons of ice. Walking was easiest in the dry, cold snow high up, hardest in the forest where the paths were slick with wet fallen leaves as well as ice. The light was hard and grey and a cold west wind swept the hills. I climbed past frozen Lochan na Beinne and up the long northern ridge of Cairn Gorm to Cnap Coire na Spreidhe, whose summit cairn sparkled with white frost feathers. The temperature here at 1150 metres was -5C. I carried an ice axe and crampons but didn’t need to use them, though the crampons could have been useful if the paths had been icier.

Two weeks later I returned to the high tops, this time on skis, with climbing skins attached for the ascent of the Fiacaill a’Choire Chais, the long rocky ridge that forms the west wall of Coire Cas, which lies directly below the summit of Cairn Gorm. The ascent soon took me into thick damp mist. Higher up the air was colder and the moisture on my clothes and hair froze, leaving me plastered with frost and ice. A bitter north-west wind brought snow and visibility was soon reduced to 10 yards or less. A pair of ice climbers appeared out of the mist and clanked down past me, crampons on their feet, helmets on their heads, ice axes in their hands. “Nasty up there”, one said, “we’re going down for mugs of hot tea”. I pushed on; glad I had a flask of hot spiced ginger cordial in my pack (Rocks Organic Ginger – my favourite cold weather drink). A compass bearing for Cairn Gorm was needed from the big cairn at the top of the ridge to ensure I missed the steep slopes at the head of Coire Cas. Skiing up Cairn Gorm I traversed round rocks and across hard, wind-blasted icy snow, glad of the steel edges on my skis. Six walkers appeared descending, the leader kicking steps in the snow. None had ice axe or crampons or even trekking poles.

On the summit it was difficult to see the automatic weather station from the cairn, a distance of about 20 yards. I sheltered behind the weather station while I had lunch and warmed myself with hot ginger cordial. The wind was gusting to 25mph. The temperature was -7C. My plan of crossing the Cairngorm Plateau to Ben MacDui was abandoned. Struggling into this cold wind on compass bearings would be slow and unpleasant. Instead I skied back down to Coire Cas, difficult enough in the flat light, happy after the first ski tour of the season. I hope there will be many more.

The first photo shows the Cairngorm Weather Station in the dense mist. Photo info: Canon EOS 350D, Canon 18-55mm IS lens at 21mm, f8@1/800, ISO 200, raw file converted to JPEG in DxO Optics Pro

The second photo shows Beinn Mheadhoin and Ben MacDui, seen across the Loch Avon basin from the north ridge of Cairn Gorm. Photo info: Canon EOS 350D, Canon 18-55mm IS lens at 18mm, f8@1/160, ISO 100, raw file converted to JPEG in Capture One Pro.

Between Two Worlds: Glenmore Forest

Dusk was falling along with the rain as I descended into Glenmore Forest after a wintry day on Cairn Gorm. The narrow muddy path was overgrown, steep and greasy with wet fallen leaves. Slithering down this slick trail I used trees and shrubs as handholds as I struggled to keep my balance. Far below a line of orange lights traced a bright line through the now dark forest. Then strange music echoed through the trees, a repeating snatch of tune played on what sounded like bells and flutes. Emerging on the wide track on the floor of the glen I discovered that this was part of Between Two Worlds, a Forestry Commission Scotland event for the Highland Year of Culture.

A few days later I returned to experience the event in full. Between Two Worlds was created by sculptor and environmental artist Diane Maclean and light and sound artist Malcolm Innes with music by Bob Pegg to “celebrate the beauty and mystery of Glenmore Forest”. The event involves a two mile walk along a track and some purpose-laid boardwalks past various lighting installations while eerie acoustic music ripples through the trees. A river of silver light led out to a pool of light in an open boggy area, coloured lights turned trees red, purple and green, lights playing on a concrete bridge gave the illusion of walking on the water flowing beneath, lights shone through pine needle fronds to create curious patterns on the track. The centrepiece of the event took place at lovely An Lochan Uaine – the Green Lochan. Spotlights dimmed and coloured fountains and water spouts to erupted like liquid fireworks, creating fast moving patterns of light, while ethereal and unearthly music range around. Here the two worlds were meant to be our world and the world of faerie, there being a legend that fairies living in the hill above came here to wash their clothes, which turned the water green.

Another two worlds touched on were those of humanity and wild nature. Two square lights set against darkness gave the illusion of a cottage, lit from within. A woman singing rang out from the forest dwelling. And from deep in the trees came the sound of wolves howling. Away from the cottage into the depths of the forest pairs of bright orange-yellow lights flicked on and off, the eyes of the wolves. Behind them a long shaft of pale light mimicked the moon shining through the trees. The last sight brought back memories of walking and skiing through a moonlit forest without any lights or cottages. I’d prefer that to this event but it was entertaining and atmospheric and imaginative and worth seeing. I hope that when it is over all traces of it vanish from the forest though – 18 days is long enough to have long cables, generators and the rest of the paraphernalia intruding into the natural scene. I also hope that those who have enjoyed the event will venture out into a forest at night and experience the real mystery and wonder found there.

The photo shows lights playing on pines. Photo info: Canon EOS 350D, Canon 18-55mm IS lens at 28mm, f4@1/15, ISO 1600, raw file converted to JPEG and processed in DxO Optics Pro. The shot was taken handheld. Without the Image Stabilizer lens I doubt I could have taken a sharp image. Even with IS I still underexposed by three stops.

Autumn Light In The Highlands

Driving down to Perth for a Mountaineering Council of Scotland meeting late one afternoon last week I was struck by the beautiful light as I left cloud-covered Strathspey and began the climb up to Drumochter Pass. Momentarily the clouds dissipated and the low sun shone below the drifting remnants turning the moorland and hillsides golden brown. The dusting of snow on the summit of The Fara, a long hill running alongside Loch Ericht, sparkled and the sky had a lustre not seen in summer. The whole landscape glowed. Stopping to view the scene I wandered up a bank away from the car and the road, a cold wind belying the apparent warmth of the light. A few minutes later I was back on the road and the clouds were sealing the sky, cutting out the light and returning the world to a harsh, dull greyness. By the time I reached Drumochter the summits were in cloud and any sense of enchantment in the landscape had vanished. Many hours later, crossing Drumochter at midnight on my way back north, snow was falling, flashes of white streaming through the headlights towards the windscreen, a different sort of magic. These moments of storm and light, snow and sun, are one of the facets that make the Highlands a very special place. Sometimes the beauty is overwhelming, even from a car.

The photo shows the late afternoon light on The Fara, with Dalwhinnie to the left. Photo info: Ricoh GR-D, f8@1/160, ISO 64, raw file converted to JPEG and processed in Photoshop Elements 5.