photo essay winter wild camps
Winter Wild Camps David Lintern sings the praises of long dark nights in the hills
In common I imagine with a good
many of you, my passion for wild camping knows few bounds. I like to think of it as ‘staying over in the mountains’, because it reminds me I’m a guest, and because calling it ‘wild’ camping can sound a bit melodramatic. Whatever I call it, after a long day’s walk, staying out after dark in remote and untamed places feels like the punctuation in a sentence, part of the rhythm of my journey. It allows the day to ebb as well as flow. I may miss the pub or a hot bath and the food is often terrible; it can be wet, cold and even a little lonely – but staying out after dark is for me part of the bigger picture that goes to make the whole. For me, wild camping means continuity, even if it’s just an overnighter. But let’s not pretend it’s all sweetness and light – in the winter, the weather can be far from sweet and darkness is guaranteed. The outdoors doesn’t seem so great when I’m sleep-deprived at 6am with a face full of tent fabric and no space to put a coffee on. There are also up to 16 hours of darkness to contend with – what to do with all that time, and more importantly, how to keep warm? Even with the right skills and good kit, it can feel like an endurance test. Despite the trials and tribulations, I’ve come to relish rather than resent the long hours of cold and dark that accompany winter camping. With enough brews, a book, spare torch batteries and warm clothes it can even be cosy. The night sky is often dazzling on a cold night, much clearer than in the summer, which makes for better photos. 30
The Great Outdoors
January 2014
Carn Etchachan
This photo was taken near a very frozen Loch Avon (A’an) in the Cairngorms under the intimidating crags of Carn Etchachan. We cooked inside the pyramid shelter and woke up with condensation falling as snow inside. It’s a truly wild place buried in the heart of the Cairngorms that I hope a mobile phone signal will never, ever reach.
photo essay winter wild camps
the great outdoors Challenge
May isn’t technically winter, is it? It was in the Monadhliath on the The Great Outdoors Challenge in 2012. We went to sleep to the soothing sound of rain drumming on the shelter walls, and woke up deep in a winter wonderland. Because of the insulation provided by the snow, it was warmer than it looks. The rest of the day was a teethclenching mix of sleet, slush and micro-navigation.
Wild camping in winter is also practical – daylight hours, especially in the north, are so short that a later finish and earlier start is made possible by staying out, which means better access to the remote places we love. Staying over in the winter mountains reaches the parts day trips simply cannot reach. A monochrome magic is weaved at night when snow lies on the ground. Even familiar wild places are transformed as colour drains from the land. In their black and white raiment, features are both bigger and smaller – hills grow in stature and difficulty, but under snow, I’m drawn to look closer at the details: the tracks of arctic hare and red deer, the grain of rock, 32
The Great Outdoors
January 2014
fine textures of sculptured sastrugi, and new shoots of heather promising spring. Sound is magnified as night falls and sight fails, and a spell is cast. In stormy weather you may hear the oscillating roar of tent fabric under pressure, the eerie low end portamento growl of poles torquing in the wind, the thrashing of a door come loose, all endlessly abrasive and otherworldy. But in a late season weather window, with snow thick upon the ground, a hush descends, only to be reinforced by the genteel tinkle of water and ice from the nearby stream, the croak of ptarmigans or the flurry of grouse, and the comforting hiss of a stove promising hot soup. Silence and magic!
Igloo building
In January we went to the Cairngorms again, and built an igloo under the gentle guidance of The Great Outdoors’ backpacking expert Chris Townsend. It was a very British, improvised affair – only six to 10 inches of cover meant dragging snow on bothy bags, cutting a hole in the wall for the door, and no sump to drain the coldest air as in more conventional igloos. It was 11ft in diameter, slept five with gear, and took 10 hours to build: exhausting, collaborative fun!
happy New year!
I took my friends Andy and Nick to the Cairngorms for their first trip north, and my first Hogmanay in Scotland. Snow fell lightly, we nursed a dram or three, and a piper from the bothy across the river played the New Year in. We couldn’t have hoped for a better start to the year. This is a long exposure taken at 1am – Andy was asked to sit very still, and those are stars in the sky.
January 2014
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photo essay winter wild camps
Firth of Forth
Not all winter camps are snowy, remote, or even cold. After driving to the Scottish Borders one day in early January for a photo shoot, the weather turned me round and I opted instead for a coastal walk along the Firth of Forth. I snuck into North Berwick at around 5pm and camped discreetly underneath the golf course on the beach. In the morning I found an Eider duck, which had died in the night, curled up in its final resting place only metres from where I slept.
Winter ridges
Set deep in the Central Highlands far from any roads and flight paths, a trip to climb Ben Alder and Gael Charn by their best winter ridges (as featured in the last issue of The Great Outdoors) was a personal turning point. This photo was taken at the end of 48 hours of icy cold and clear conditions, during which the water in both my boots and my bottle froze solid. But I scarcely registered the temperature, I was so excited by this place.
Campfire
On a longer trip like the Haute Route Pyrenees, camping out every night for two months allowed total immersion in the mountain environment. When I returned I felt permanently rewired by the experience. This was taken in the last week, when we gratefully took advantage of an old fire circle as temperatures dipped below zero.
Glen SHiel
This was shot during the fulfillment of a long-held ambition to complete the full North Glen Shiel Ridge. After being pushed off-course by tempestuous weather, we took stock in a nearby bothy before splitting the walk over two days, camping at the Bealach an Lapain halfway along. The winds raged all night. In the pre-dawn light, I stumbled out to the first snows of the year on the peaks all around, frost on the tent and delicate bands of pink and blue in the sky. Home again, and worth every second of sleeplessness.
DOn’t miss
Turn to our Hill Skills section for essential winter camping tips from our backpacking and gear expert, Chris Townsend
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The Great Outdoors
January 2014
January 2014
The Great Outdoors
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