Winter : Part 1 – Early Elation…and Relief

.

Late last week I noticed the first snows of winter covering the mountains above Callander and tickling the top of Ben Cleuch, the high point of the Ochil Hills.  The snow line on Ben Vorlich, just south of Loch Earn, looked just above the 600m contour.  Admittedly I was some 30 miles away at the time so I might be the odd metre or so out.

It did however bring back memories of good days out in the snow when FD and I would venture onto the high tops when the early winter weather was at its calmest.  I don’t think we ever could have been described as adventurous hillwalkers, we rather flattered to deceive on that point, but we did manage to make it sound as if we were risking life and limb as we slogged our way through…oh…sometimes a whole 2″ of snow!  But that was the fun of it; straying into the freezing white wilderness to test our metal against the freezing cold, those deep swathes of fine ice crystals, the cloudless blue skies and that blazing sunshine; us and generally about 20 other seekers of impossible solitude all intent on doing the same.  Let’s face it, it wasn’t exactly life on the edge.  But it was great fun and if I managed the camera shots properly then we at least looked like heroes.

I think those sunny winter days provided the most satisfying summits; that feeling of elation knowing that the slow slip/sliding of upward torture had ended and another peak had been erased from the mandatory to-do “list” .  Needless to say that feeling of elation lasted about as long as the summit photos and the much needed cuppa before it was rapidly forgotten in the decidedly faster slip/sliding of our somewhat anarchic descent.

While elation was the norm on those sunny days of blue skies and pristine white snow, on hard fought days through less favourable conditions other emotions took hold.

.

Ben Vrackie

Early elation came on the ascent of Ben Vrackie in November 2006, some two months after our first major hill.  FD and I teamed up with a doggy walking acquaintance G and his dog Star.  No spikes or axe, but on reflection none were needed. The first fall of snow was sticky and provided good traction other than where the boots of many feet had compressed the snow to solid steps.  This was our very first view of an about-to-be-climbed snow clad hill.  Not bad eh?

White topped Ben Vrackie

.

G, Star and The Fatdog

I don’t think that, in all the hills we climbed after Ben Vrackie, we’ve ever had the same weather pattern where small clouds scuttled by as we gained height on the trail.   It was a magical moment.

I could have watched this cloud pattern all day

It was a day of firsts and our next “first” was the “python”.  We caught up with this marvellous creature  as it began its stretch out/compress ascent of the steep section of the day’s climb.  The “python” stayed in near perfect slithering shape for the rest of the walk.  As it left the summit I couldn’t resist another photo of this strange phenomenon of the mountains.

A "python" on full zoom

.

A descending "python"

It was on the top of Ben Vrackie that we saw our first…and last…broken spectre.  I put this down to my subsequent obsession with picking cloudless days for our hillwalks.  In being so conservative I  think we missed out on the more interesting weather effects that could have been had in more variable conditions.  In those early days we went out almost regardless of what the skies might throw at us.  Thankfully we had some good luck…and a couple of very mild winters with very little snow.  The mountains of the Southern Highlands were there for the taking in the winters of 2006/07 and 2007/08.

Our one and only broken spectre

.

Ben Vorlich

Greater elation was yet to come when a few weeks later we found ourselves in the company of Alan and the 84 year old Angus on the ascent of Ben Vorlich (Loch Earn).  Again luck picked us a damn fine day and great company.  I’ve never laughed so much on a walk.  That day I was taught how to climb a hill.  Many young legs shot past us on the early stages of the walk, only to be reeled in and left struggling as the machine that is A.&A. left them exhausted in their wake.  A slow, steady…and utterly relentless pace.  My legs were good in those days but they had to wait for me to catch up before we reached the summit.  I think this was one of the coldest days I remember on a hill.  The big camera stayed resolutely in its cosy case inside the pack.  In reality I didn’t dare take my gloves off to haul it out such was the cold.

Alan and Angus kitting up.

.

This is where I began to drop off the pace

.

I never knew what steep felt like until this slope...and the feeling that I really didn't want to slip

.

On the summit...a view over the whole of Central Scotland

That very same day I discovered the benefits of wearing spikes or at least not wearing cheap boots with sod all tread on them.  As A&A skipped down the scree towards the bealach with Stuc a Chroin I slipped and slithered after them, arms wind-milling frantically in an effort to keep my balance and my dignity.  Totally oblivious to the slapstick performance behind them A.&A. strode on regardless.

I managed to stash the camera before the windmilling started

.

Pride of place has to go to this shot taken on the ascent.  It’s well underexposed but I think works incredibly well.   The final 3 figures in silhouette are Alan, The Fatdog and Angus.  Great memories.

One of my favourite shots...ever!

.

Benvane

Sometimes there is elation…and on other occasions nothing but utter relief.  The ascent of Benvane on the 28th December 2006 came into the latter category.  The snow depth varied on the ridge but was generally upwards of 3″ deep, the distance from the car to Benvane was some  9km and the visibility was about 20m in cloud.  I remember little of the journey other than it took us over 3 long hours to reach the summit, navigating by the old boundary fence posts…and that there was nobody else stupid enough to tackle the route at that time of year (given the absence of footprints).

We also had the dreaded Loch nan Corp to deal with…I think the name is a bit of a giveaway.  It is said that a funeral party crossing the bealach to St Bride’s Chapel on the Loch Lubnaig side of the hill fell through the ice on the lochan and drowned.  This is not the sort of thing you want going through your mind on a dull, dreary, day in low visibility where the light plays tricks on your eyes.  We moved sharply past.

Lochan nan Corp...I'm sure that's a body...

We’d seen bugger all on the way to Benvane, other than the odd short, steep, descent to a burn and those fabulous fenceposts that were keeping us on track.  One of the great features of many Scottish mountain ridges are those ancient 3′ high metal fenceposts that have long since lost their wires to weather and corrosion but stand as implacable route markers in poor visibily.  Sadly the miles and miles of treacherous trip wire, now partialy hidden by reed and heather, is a less welcome feature.  I’ve lost count of the times I’ve had to give the natural high point of the ridge a wide berth to keep Maisie away from the risk of cut paws.

It was a dull, miserable plod, the snow slushy from the naturally soggy nature of the Ben Ledi – Benvane ridge, soaking through boots and socks.  There was no elation today…only relief that we’d eventually made the summit.  It seemed perverse that, in that this remote world of near total grey, my mobile phone should work.  I gave J a call to tell her we were well behind schedule and it would likely be dark by the time we got back to the car.  As I turned round, phone still at my ear, I was astonished to see that the murk had dissipated somewhat and that we were sitting between two cloud layers.  In the distance the twin summits of Ben Venue were sticking above the lower blanket – just and no more.  For a brief spell Ben Ledi was also visble and gave me the only semi-clear shot of the day.

The twin tops of Ben Venue

.

Ben Ledi - the route back is to the left of the photo

After I took this last photo the cloud piled back in and once more we were in the dull dreary world of all enveloping grey.  As we dropped back down the first part of the trail the cloud thickened and visibility dropped…

The way back was hell on earth.  I wasn’t used to walking so long in snow and my legs almost gave out as we struggled back up the numerous rises on the ridge between Benvane and Ben Ledi.  I finally hitched up Maisie to give me a bit of a tow on the last few uphill sections as an incredible tiredness set in.  Our passing of Lochan nan Corp for the second time today, exhausted and the light fading fast, was not one of life’s more reassuring moments.

.

.

Next time…

The remainder of that first winter would see us tackle 3 more snow days.  A blizzard on Ben Cleuch, a ice-crunch trip to Ben Chonzie and an incredible day on the Tarmachan Ridge on the last patches of winter snow.