Book Review: The Cairngorms A Secret History by Patrick Baker

Many, many years ago Cairn Gorm and Ben Macdui were the first hills I climbed in the Scottish Hills and the Cairngorms have been one of my favourite places ever since.  Having lived in the area for over 25 years I know the mountains fairly well, though of course there is much I’ve not experienced and much I don’t know, so I was interested to read this book, which promised a secret history of the Cairngorms. 

The author describes a series of ventures into the Cairngorms in search of long-gone shelters, traces of gem mining, the remnants of aircraft crashes, the source of the River Dee, the Big Grey Man of Ben Macdui and more. Are these stories secret? Not really. They appear in many sources (quite a few are listed at the back of the book) and I’ve known most of them for years and have visited many of the same places, though not in Baker’s intentional way but more as part of my general wanderings. This is not to detract from the book though, which is entertaining and very readable as Baker mixes stories of his own explorations, not all of which are successful, with the history of the various places and people and vivid descriptions of the landscape. Baker has done much research too and provides many details I hadn’t heard before, especially on matters like gem stone mining that I’ve never looked into.

Exploring a landscape like the Cairngorms that doesn’t offer many traces of human passing is an interesting exercise and having these stories gathered together does show that there is a little more history here than might be expected. Anyone interested in the Cairngorms or just human involvement in wild landscapes should find this book interesting.

Latest The Great Outdoors: Ethics of Wild Camping & Trekking Poles

The April issue of The Great Outdoors is in the shops now. My backpacking column covers the ethics of wild camping and minimum impact techniques. In the gear pages I review eleven pairs of trekking poles.

Also in gear Judy Armstrong looks at six women's softshell jackets and Daniel Neilson tries the Ecco Biom Trail FL shoes, which sound excellent. Daniel also gives a run down of the most interesting new gear he saw at the ISPO show in February.

The issue starts with the now usual set of enticing double-page photographs, three very different ones this time - David Lintern's atmospheric Lake District shot from Great Gable, Dougie Cunningham's dramatic rocky image of Bla Bheinn from Marsco on the Isle of Skye and Geoff Barton's colourful summer meadow picture taken near Edale in the Peak District. Geoff has been the TGO designer for quite some time. This is his last issue. He'll be missed.

Also in this issue The Great Outdoors has teamed up with the European Outdoor Conservation Association and readers can be involved in choosing which of six conservation project gets funding this year. In the Highlands Hanna Lindon tackles the splendid and challenging Aonach Eagach and Stefan Durkacz walks the 290-mile River Tay Watershed. Much further afield Daniel Neilson takes on the scary looking via ferrata to the Zugspitze, Germany's highest mountain, and Steve Bull goes backpacking in the Hornstrandir region of Iceland. I know which of those two adventures I'd prefer! Carey Davies is also abroad in his Mountain Magic column, exploring the countries of the Mediterranean. Meanwhile down in England, right down in England in the flatlands south and east of the hills, Edoardo Albert finds some surprisingly wild places. Away from walking trips Roger Smith considers the important role of local communities and conservation and Jim Perrin praises Heart's Desire by Edward Hoagland, an author but not a book I've heard about before.

Finally in the Hill Skills pages Mark Gilligan gives advice on photographing sunrise and sunset, doctors Jim Duff and Peter Gormly give a protocol for outdoor accidents and Tim Gent gives tips on loading a canoe for a camping trip.

A Wild Winter's Day

Across Glenmore Forest to the Cairngorms from the slopes of Meall a'Bhuachaille

Spring is here, at least according to the mass media. In the mountains the story is very different as I discovered on a trip up Meall a’Bhuachaille above Glenmore in the Cairngorms. As so often I’d chosen this favourite walk because the forecast suggested stormy weather on the main Cairngorm summits (Meall a’Bhuachaille is 810 metres, some 400 metres lower). Heavy snow in Aviemore suggested maybe I wouldn’t have to go that high before conditions became difficult and so it  turned out.

In the forest

 

In Glenmore Forest fresh snow carpeted the woodland floor, hiding all but a few hints of green. Down here it was calm, the air crisp and cold. As soon as the trees began to thin I felt the wind though. Waves rippled across dark Lochan Uaine. Above the hills clouds surged across the sky bringing flurries of snow. Once I climbed out of Ryvoan Pass and started the ascent I was being buffeted by the bitterly cold wind and only the effort of the ascent kept me warm even though I was well-clad.

Lochan Uaine

 

The path was icy and slippery, the wind having scoured away any soft snow, just leaving old hard drifts and ice glazes on the stones. Soon the gusts were moving me sideways – without trekking poles I would have been blown over. Spindrift began to whirl over me, more than head high, stinging my face. I climb Meall a’Bhuachaille several times a year and have done every year for the twenty-five years I’ve lived in this area. Probably over 100 ascents in total. Not once can I remember ever considering turning back. This time I did. Staggering along in a white whirlwind of snow with the wind threatening to send me flying with very step I began to wonder if I could reach the top. I also became aware that being knocked over could mean landing hard on rocks and stones and possibly injuring myself. I moved off the path onto the heather beside it. The snow was deeper and softer here and the deep vegetation would, I hoped, cushion any fall.

On the summit

Whilst my mind pondered turning back my body, ignoring my thoughts, plodded on, determined and stubborn. Eventually the summit came into view and the broken-walled windbreak round the cairn became my aim. All I wanted was to get there and hide from the wind. Reaching it I felt a surge of relief. I really was at my limits. Cowering behind the rock walls I had a snack and donned overtrousers and thicker gloves as my legs and hands were starting to feel cold. My nose had gone numb too and my cheeks stung. Reaching over the edge of the cairn I held up my anemometer. The wind was gusting between 40 and 50mph, with one blast reaching 52mph. The windchill was -14°C.  Out of the wind the temperature was -2.5°C. 

Loch Morlich

 

Reluctantly I returned to fighting the wind but at least I was descending now, again sticking to the heather and soft snow. Once I’d left the main ridge – any thought of continuing to the next summit had long gone – the wind began to ease and I dropped out of the swirling mixed spindrift, snow and mist (which it was impossible to separate). Across Glenmore the high Cairngorms were under dark clouds. Loch Morlich was a shimmering moving mass of wind ruffled water. Reaching the forest I finally relaxed after one of the toughest days of the winter.

Reviews of Rattlesnakes and Bald Eagles

Update March 4. A new review has just appeared in the latest issue of Outdoor Enthusiast magazine:

"It's a captivating read as Chris takes you through each step with vivid descriptions of his thoughts and experiences"

Outdoor Experience

My latest book, telling the story of my Pacific Crest Trail hike, has been out for a few months now and has garnered some positive reviews. Many thanks to all the reviewers. Here are some quotes:

" Every mountain, pass, valley and river is recalled and described in vivid detail and draws the reader into the changing landscape of the PCT............ Chris’ passion for the trail – or more accurately, his passion for exploring wilderness through long distance walking – shines through this book."

Pilgrimchris.com

"A rattlin’ good read...... I had to force myself to take breaks between chapters in order to savour the experience."

Blogpackinglight.

"This is a great book, skilfully written with charm and authority, and it will be enjoyed by anyone with an interest in backpacking or wild places."

Alex Roddie

"It's indicative of the simple honesty of using one's own two feet to cover long distances that is at the centre of all of Townsend's books, and this one is no different, but it has one extra quality that makes it important. It amounts to a walking manual - not a gear manual or a backpackers guide (he does those too!), but a manual on how to walk, think about walking, how to stop and not walk at times; and what you might get out of all of it. "

Two foot free

"Gripping reading at times ..... a real sense of life on the edge."

Rucksack Rose

"Lively and at times gripping account"

Roly Smith, Outdoor Focus

"Chris says the PCT was 'the defining walk of my life' and what followed was ' a continuation of the joy I found on that trail'. It's something of a privilege to share those feelings, all the way from beginning to end."

Roger Smith  The Great Outdoors

Allt Duine, Wind Farms & Wild Land

The wide open spaces of the Allt Duine hills

Update: since I wrote this piece two excellent features have appeared on other sites. Cameron McNeish has written about wild land, what it is and why it needs protection for Walk Highlands and Alex Roddie has written about the proposed Caplich wind farm and the North West Highlands initially on his blog and then in an extended version for UKHillwalking.com. Both pieces are well-worth reading.

Also, the Mountaineering Council of Scotland has issued a new vision for Scotland's mountains and wild land along with a petition on 38Degrees which I urge everyone to sign.

The future of wild land in Scotland is in the balance. Since the encouraging new planning regulations and the wild land map were launched last June (see my post here) only a few wind farms that would impinge on wild land have been turned down. Many more are awaiting a decision. Whether these are rejected or not will determine just how meaningful the wild land map really is. I echo Cameron McNeish’s recent call for the Scottish Government to state now that no wind farms will be built on wild land areas. That, it seems to me, is one of the points of the wild land map – to say that this land is protected so proposing wind farms or other destructive developments is pointless.

One of the key decisions, long overdue, is about Allt Duine, a proposed wind farm right on the borders of the Cairngorms National Park. This is the fight I’ve been most involved in, as spokesperson for Save theMonadhliath Mountains, with many letters appearing in newspapers as well as several blog posts, the key one of which describes a walk in the Allt Duine area and shows with photographs just how wild the area is.

As well as Allt Duine decisions are awaited on Talladh-a-Bheithe on the edge of Rannoch Moor which I wrote about here; Cnoc an Eas above Glen Urquhart not far from Loch Ness; Caplich above Glen Oykel in the North-West Highlands (Alan Sloman has written excellent posts with detailed maps about the last two on his blog here and here); and Beinn Mhor on the edge of Glen Affric (Highland Council will make a decision on this on February 24th). These five are the most potentially destructive currently proposed wind farms in my opinion. They are not the only ones of course. Highland Council has recently produced a Wind Farm Map of the region that shows all suggested and built wind farms that is very useful for seeing the possible spread of wind farms into wild land.

Ben More Assynt - the Caplich wind farm would be clearly in view from this magnificent peak

 

Then there is Stronelairg, a huge wind farm in the Monadh Liath that was excluded from the wild land map, though it should not have been. Planning permission has been given for this but the John Muir Trust are mounting a legal challenge. Please support them.

Pressure from wild land lovers is important to try and prevent these wind farms going ahead. Write and email objections and comments to Highland Council and to the Scottish government.  Objections to Caplich can be made in the comments section on the Highland Council website here. Comment on social media too, tagging ministers and Highland Council, and support those organisations fighting for wild land – the John Muir Trust, Mountaineering Council of Scotland, Save the Monadhliath Mountains, Keep Rannoch Wild

Wind measuring mast in the Allt Duine hills

Note: anything I post about wind farms usually gets some responses about the whole issue of wind farms, climate change and wild land in general. I gave my view here. I haven’t changed it. And no-one is going to persuade me that wild land is not worth fighting for or that sacrificing it is necessary to combat climate change.

An 'Easy' Day On Carn An Fhreiceadain

Carn an Fhreiceadain

Away to the south and west thick rolls of cloud covered the hills, clouds that were forecast to reach the Cairngorms and the Monadh Liath hills before the end of the day. Starting late I went for what I thought would be a straightforward walk up Carn an Fhreiceadain above Kingussie, a hill that can be climbed on bulldozed tracks. Whilst unprepossessing in itself Carn an Fhreiceadain –the cairn of the watcher – is a splendid viewpoint for the Cairngorms and the vast rolling expanse of the Monadh Liath. It lies on the western edge of the Allt Duine area, site of a proposed wind farm (about which more in a forthcoming post).

The Cairngorms

 

Sometimes finding a way out of a town and into the hills can be the hardest navigation of the day. Kingussie has a good path network and the track up Carn an Fhreiceadain isn’t hard to find so I wasn’t expecting problems and on the ascent there were none, though I did notice a closed bridge, path relocations and some new hydro construction. Climbing through lovely old birch woods to frozen Loch Gynack I had wonderful views across Strathspey to the Cairngorms shining white in bright sunshine though the views west along the loch showed dark overcast skies. Those clouds to the south-west were coming closer though and soon the first of them swept high overhead, casting the land into shadow.

Loch Gynack

 

Once above the trees there was soon enough snow left for me to use my snowshoes. Some of the drifts were deep enough that walking would have been slow and arduous as the snow was soft. Even with the snowshoes progress was quite hard work. I couldn’t use the snowshoes all the time however. I was climbing up long open slopes towards the subsidiary top of Beinn Bhreac and wherever the angle turned the track towards the sun, which was frequently, the snow had gone. The snowshoes came off and went on again many times, slowing me down. The mist was just touching Beinn Bhreac as I approached the summit. Away to the north-east I could see the rapidly fading Allt Duine hills. Mountain hares raced across the snowfields, pausing occasionally to glance in my direction, and grouse flew low over the ground, chattering quietly. Otherwise all was quiet and still. 

Mountain hares

 

From Beinn Bhreac to Carn an Fhreiceadain the mist was thick. If the snow cover had been complete I’d have been in a white-out. As it was I could always see rocks or heather in the distance though the snow in front of me appeared completely featureless. A few times I stumbled when the ground rose or fell unexpectedly. Again my progress was slow.

The clouds rolling in

Eventually the summit trig point loomed up, banked by snow but otherwise surrounded by a bare stony plateau. The wind was cold and the time late with sunset not far away. I didn’t linger but was soon descending the track that runs down the Allt Mor glen. Sheltered from the sun the snow here was deeper and unbroken and I was finally able to make good progress on my snowshoes. In places the snow was banked at steep angles across the track and I edged across cautiously, wondering about avalanches. Coming out of the dense cloud I could see tendrils of mist writhing across the glen below me and seeping into the dark trees.

Descending out of the cloud

 

By the time I reached the forest it was dark and under the canopy I needed my headlamp. The track was still snowy and I kept the snowshoes on. The mist drifting through the trees meant I couldn’t see far even with the headlamp as the beam bounced back off the thick air. I passed some big earth movers and various signs warning of the hydro work before reaching a cleared area with sheds and machinery. Beyond this the track reached some fancy gates and a private sign. A building with lights on lay not far inside the gates. I’d seen no junctions but knowing I must have missed one I turned back. Casting round the cleared area I found a half-hidden signpost pointing down a now-muddy track through the trees. Off with the snowshoes and then careful walking as although cleared of snow there were icy patches on the track.

I could hear the rushing waters of the Allt Mor becoming louder and louder, my hearing sharpened in the darkness, then a wide bridge appeared with a blue rope strung across it. Snow covered it and I could see many footprints. I followed only to come to an abrupt stop on the edge of a dark void high above the water. The bridge was not complete. Whether new or damaged I couldn’t tell but what was clear was I couldn’t go on. Back over the blue rope I skittered down the steep loose bank to the river and boulder-hopped across, my feet getting slightly damp as some of the rocks were under six inches of water, to haul myself on to the snow above the steep farther bank. I hadn’t expected to be fording rivers in the dark, my snowshoes clutched under my arm.

The walk had now taken a somewhat unreal air. I’d lost track of the time and seemed to have been in the dark mist-wreathed woods for hours. I knew I couldn’t have far to go yet felt as though I was in a remote wilderness. Eventually a sign appeared pointing back down to the river and to Kingussie. This time the bridge was complete. Up the other side I found myself on the edge of the Kingussie golf course. Again I cast around for a sign or a path. Nothing. Mist drifted over the links. I set off down the fairways, still feeling I was in the middle of nowhere. The golf course seemed to go on for ever. Eventually the club hut appeared and a road and soon my car, an hour and a half later than estimated. 

Thick mist, soft snow, broken bridges, confusing tracks – it had not been the easy day I’d been expecting. But it had been much more interesting.