The Great Outdoors, Feature

My own private

Hillwalking gets more serious in winter. There are key moments in everyone’s outdoors development that give us confidence and can fling open the doors for new adventures.

David Lintern attempts two beginners’ winter mountaineering routes in the heart of the Highlands

Alpenglow begins over Ben Alder

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Himalaya

We met at Dalwhinnie. I was on time for once. I gave Fraser

the last of the coffee – it seemed wise, I’d drunk the best part of a litre on the way. In planning our first foray into winter mountaineering, we both seemed to favour somewhere both remote and new to us over something easier to access – no roads, no flight paths, and fewer people. And it is a long walk in to the Geal Chàrn mountains. A well-kept landrover track leads to Ben Alder Lodge, serving a 26,000-acre estate owned by the Swiss industrialist Urs Schwarzenbach. It’s plainly a slick and commercial sporting affair, and a favourite with the Royals. We slip quietly past other mini Balmorals rendered in concrete and glass on the lochside, glad to get off the track at last towards Culra bothy.

After a late lunch, we emerged from the bothy as the skies cleared, and continued up the glen into the sun. The river meandered and we meandered with it, even enjoying a little warmth from those rays.

We forded the river twice and found a flattish pitch – our home for the weekend. We had decided to base ourselves in one place, which turned out to be a wise decision. I tentatively had in mind two grade 1 winter mountaineering routes, weather and comfort permitting. In the

summer, these are relatively straightforward scrambles, but in full winter condition, the official grading changes present a real challenge to the novice. If this didn’t work out, there were plenty of other options in the area to keep us occupied. So, after some photos, food, and a little whisky, we settled down for the night. It wasn’t too cold, the cloud was down.

The giants of Culra slept above us, quiet for now.

Good start

Morning broke with an inversion under the bothy and pinkish hues on the giants above. We took our time leaving camp and slowly lined up for the Long Leachas, a classic ridge ascent on Ben Alder. A steep first section chosen unnecessarily meant kicking steps and daggering with the axe. Fraser had a number of blisters from the long miles of tarmac the previous day and was feeling under par, so decided to forego the ridge line. By then, however, my blood was up. I was excited and the weather was perfect – no wind, high visibility, and stable. It felt like now or never.

We made a flexible plan to meet at the top by alternate routes.

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The ridge was a challenge, as I expected, but it wasn’t sustained, and there were places to rest. It oscillated between firm snowy edges that I moved up fast on all fours, and overhanging crags surrounded by sugar snow or water ice, providing for one or two rare moments of concern!

However, once over the most difficult of these, it opened out onto more classic mixed terrain, and I was able to pick my way carefully along the fine line of the ridge. I was rewarded by heavily rimed granite glowing in cloud-veiled sunlight. A ptarmigan waddled casually near the crest, croaking at me. Otherwise, total silence, complete calm, a feeling not of vain pride, but of gentle achievement as I neared the end of the route. I felt quietly blessed, as if the mountain had told me a secret. Then again, it was possibly just the adrenalin.

I walked towards the summit across a vast plateau, avoiding the cornices under which Fraser would now be walking. Squinting into the sun even in goggles, reaching the summit cairn took an hour in snow of varying density. I ate lunch in a snow hole, trying to keep warm in the persistent sub-zero wind. After 40 minutes or so, I decided to move on.

If Fraser came up, I would see him coming along the ridgeline, if not I should meet him at the bealach below.

Zeppelin-shaped clouds cast lazy shadows across a bleached landscape, and the descent was long and tiring and in places a little too steep for comfort. I don’t enjoy going down as a rule, and being only 5’8” and left-footed, struggled to match my footsteps to others left deep and hard in the snow. I passed a place where someone had been sick. Had Fraser been taken ill and had to retreat? I felt a little bad about choosing to go our separate ways. But before too much further I saw a solitary 30

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figure waving at me from far below, and waved back. He was fine, and had simply decided he’d collected enough blisters for one weekend.

As alpenglow kissed the tops, we sauntered back through the bowl towards the Bealach Beithe, chatting and trying to capture the gentle fireworks that surrounded us with cameras in hand. Only in Scotland is there this peculiar softness in the light, a gentle shawl thrown on rocky shoulders, abrasion and comfort juxtaposed. It’s entirely unique. The temperature dropped as night drew on, and we grew tired and started to drag the front points of our crampons. Time to head home to stoves and shelters, for hot food and an early bed.

All alone

Sunday, and Fraser left for a long (and sore!) walk out. I was in two minds as to my route – should I accept the challenge of the Lancet Edge or opt for the Munros behind via Diollaid a’Chairn to the north-east? In the end, I sidled up for a closer look, following deer tracks alongside a glassy burn. All was quiet and it was another perfect blue-sky day.

Temptation got the better of me as I reached the spur below. I fixed crampons and started up the ridge just as cloud began to tumble over Ben Alder opposite. I followed deep footsteps and was grateful for the guidance. The snow was almost ice hard and without the steps kicked before me (and wearing only B1 boots and Kahtoola crampons) it’s likely I would have had to retreat. This was definitely more exposed, and there were fewer places to catch my breath than the previous day’s outing. I realised I was committed fairly quickly, but once ‘in’ began to relax.

winter scrambling scotland

It’s all in the mind?

We’re out to enjoy the challenges, not to be a slave to them. The right mental approach is key: • Get ‘psyched’ – Put simply, you have to be up for it! If you’re not up for it, don’t do it – the hills will still be there next time, and it’s not a competition. Bravado will certainly lead to mistakes, which can be fatal.

• Be ‘committed’ – Knowing that I’m ‘in’ for the duration and that it’s easier to go on rather than to retreat really helps me to focus on the task ahead. Rather than panicking, it means I am in control of the climb. Being calm and relaxed is integral to making good, low-risk decisions about my route choices ahead.

• ‘Swing leads’ – Partner up if you can, and take it in turns to lead the route. It will help take the pressure off. However, do go with someone you know and trust – a melt down at altitude is not fun. If they don’t fancy it, change your plans to accommodate.

• A little fear is a good thing – There's nothing like clambering on all fours with your face two inches away from a crag to remind you of your animal ancestry! Being a little afraid is a very sensible thing – it engenders caution, which stops you falling off. Too much fear and you’ll freeze up or panic – only you can know what’s comfortable. If all this sounds like your idea of fun, it’s time to make the leap (not literally!). If not, no pressure, don’t do it.

Safety first Transiting skills from hillwalking and summer scrambling to Scottish winter mountaineering, we can give ourselves the best chance of success by equipping with knowledge beforehand, which allows us to concentrate on the challenges of the route itself whilst in the moment.

The most important thing is preparation.

In the summer, these are relatively straightforward scrambles, but in full winter condition, the official grading changes present a real challenge to the novice

‘Small Ridge’ and ‘Delighful Hill’ in perfect winter condition

• Get beta on the route – Watch videos and read guide descriptions online or in guidebooks. If possible, do the same route in summer first.

• Do other summer scrambles, at least grade 2, before your first winter one. I’d already done dozens of other scrambles, including Crib Goch, the zigzags, and the Aonach Eagach, before I felt ready for these routes in winter.

• Take a winter skills course and be familiar with different axe placement and crampon techniques. These need to be practised and become second nature, not fresh off the course.

• Wait for the best weather to attempt these routes. It needs to be cold, stable and clear.

Use MWIS and SAIS to assess weather and avalanche conditions. See Hill Skills on page 64 for our series on avalanche safety.

• Be fit! You will need to kick steps in hardened snow, take your own weight and that of your kit on one leg for a number of minutes, and have upper body strength to equal that of your legs.

You will also need to move at a consistent pace.

If you keep a low centre of gravity and move with a steady regular rhythm, the snow doesn’t have time to ‘give’ as much under your weight. It also reduces the chances of cragfasting, or freezing up a little from exposure on some of the more open lines. Lastly, it keeps you physically warm.

• Be ready to go, and be ready not to.

Have a good plan B in case of the weather, fitness or conditions are not 100 per cent, so as not to be disappointed.

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Twilight on the Long Leachas Washbasin Rest stop on the long leachas

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I found a small ledge where I was able to put my camera in my backpack and regroup for the steeper stuff ahead.

The cloud grew thick as I moved higher up the ridge. I shuffled over a few rocky sections gingerly, but thankfully there were no overhangs.

Once again, I entered the upper realm by the side door and was blessed with that incredible sensation of connection and calm that follows the concerns of an ascent. It’s an addictive cocktail.

I ate an early lunch on the summit, leaving crumbs for the ptarmigans, before making my way down to the bealach and west-north-west to Geal Charn. I was now in a whiteout, with features only occasionally revealing themselves. I kept time and bearings carefully and slowly climbed to the plateau, walking through nothingness. All was still, not a breath of wind, and very beautiful.

Reaching the summit cairn had taken longer than I calculated. I decided not to try for Aonach Beag. Without views it felt a little futile to go further, and I knew that steep descents awaited me in either direction.

But then, an invitation arrived in the nick of time. Without warning, the skies opened up and revealed the way ahead. It was incredibly odd – the clouds literally parted in front of me. And where the mountain leads, I can only follow.

The Munros of Aonach Beag (‘Small Ridge’) and Beinn Eibhinn (‘Delightful Hill’) lay ahead in dazzling sunshine. I walked down to another bealach alongside haute couture cornices and climbed the rounded curves of Aonach Beag to reach the summit around 4pm.

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There wouldn’t be time for a fourth Munro today, but this was more than enough. Coming down from my last top of the day the descent steepened, until I was perched high over the corrie on a narrow ridge with the sun setting fire to the hills on my right. A single eagle surfed the breeze below me and above the hill ahead. ‘Delightful’ was one way of putting it, but a bit understated – I felt I was in my own private Himalaya.

Down in the corrie, I contoured around rivers under the snow as the light on the hillsides moved through red and orange umbers to arrive at ultra-parma-violet. I sat for a while and watched the colours change, eating the last of my snacks. Then, as dusk became night at the foot of the glen, I crossed a partially collapsed snow bridge to find the track back over the col to base.

A long walk back under torchlight lay in wait. Up there I’d covered a good distance south-west, towards Corrour. The axe and crampons came back into play as I neared the Bealach Dubh. In the dark a convex descent into an avalanche-ready bowl barred my way, but I found a shallower alternative off to the left flank. As I looked back, the glen seemed to whisper sweet gentle threats under moonlight. Softly, softly, you aren’t home yet.

I got back to camp at 9pm, ravenous but deliriously happy. The night was bitingly cold and clear, and both my platy and nalgene were frozen solid by the morning. I awoke to another inversion under Culra bothy, and a long walk out in bright winter sunshine. Back whence you came, your guest visa has now expired. Until next time.

winter scrambling scotland

Route descriptions Long Leachas is a classic ridge ascent to

Ben Alder on the north-east spur of the plateau.

The correct approach is via the path from Culra Bothy to Bealach Beithe along the beautiful and meandering Allt a’Bealaich Bheithe. A small cairn at NN515744 indicates where you cut right to walk over heathery moorland, ford the river (difficult in spate) and make for the Long Leachas just to the left of a hillock on the ridge. There is no need to do as we did and attempt the first crags at NN507739. Under snow these are very steep and you can just walk around them.

The route is really a succession of snowy walks, increasing in steepness and eventually taken on all fours, sometimes daggering with the axe. After each snowline, there are more vertical crags or rocky barricades to work around. The third barricade is the most serious, and it’s where a loose gully is supposed to be situated. I attempted a line straight up and through the crags, but covered with sugar snow and water ice, they were either too soft or too hard for my axe or crampons to gain purchase.

I retreated slowly and not being able to see the gully, worked around to the right and moved up and over the rocks to find a rest stop again.

After the third craggy overhang, it becomes more rocky and exposed, but the remainder of the route is straightforward and there are no real issues. It’s even possible to pick out a path under less snow cover. Near the top, the way narrows and turns into a crest before flattening out to achieve the plateau.

It’s a long way to the summit of Ben Alder, after which you can choose to descend due west via a spot height of 1,056m, or follow the easterly ridge (be very cautious of cornices!) round to a steep descent south east, by way of Sròn Bealach Beithe to the Bealach Breabag’. A full horseshoe demands the ascent of another Munro to the east, Beinn Bheoil, or else an easy path runs north via the Bealach Beithe back to Culra.

The Lancet Edge is the leading western edge

of a ‘subsidiary top’ named Sgor Iutharn, attached to the Geal Chàrn range. It’s actually higher than many Munros at 1,028m but is connected to the rest of the range by a fairly gentle descent west. It’s craggy and quite exposed, not quite ‘knife edge’ but still a very exciting route up onto the plateau.

This is a much more sustained and exposed route, with longer and harder snowy sections

and only the occasional rocky outcrop in the first half to allow for brief breaks. Steep enough for me to spend much of my time on all fours daggering, and if it hadn’t been for deep steps kicked in the hard snow I might have had to retreat. This shows the need for less flexible boots and sharp crampons on even basic ‘mountaineering’ routes. When snow consolidates enough for it to be safe, it also hardens up.

That said, there are no overhangs on this route.

Higher up, two rock bars located where snow cover was minimal, near the head of gullies leading down to the loch on the right, meant shuffling around on my bottom for a metre or two, and one crest where I needed to slide down and around the rock to the left which felt quite exposed, but otherwise there are no real technical issues.

Once the top is reached, the ridge becomes a wide flat summit making for a comfortable perch for lunch to replace all those calories you’ve just burnt! You can now descend slowly towards the bealach east, to make a horseshoe around Loch an Sgòir, or continue onwards to Geal Chàrn and Aonàch Beag. A return route is possible via the Coire a’Chàrra Bhig.

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