14th December 2011

"How sweet the backward silent tracings, the wanderings as in dreams, the meditations of old times resumed" wrote Walt Whitman. Have you ever noticed how it warms the heart to look back and meditate over pleasant episodes in life? Sometimes in our wilderness expeditions, beauty comes at a price. Testing experiences are refined and filtered by exhaustion, though memories of achievement remain crystallized by beauty long after the pain and fatigue have faded away. Well here we are, two bothies and nine miles later in the heart of the Cairngorms, with four out of five of Britain's highest mountains at our behest.

Such an epic as this was, photographically speaking, we came away with nothing, you see I had just been doing some indoor photography and had altered my I.S.O to 800 and had forgot to set it back to 100! Consequently my pictures are very grainy this time Blogfans. Tom fared even worse, I think due to cold affecting the battery, after about fifty photos it refused to switch on, completely shut up shop. Chris and Harry are not keen photographers.

The journey up was not without incident in fact I wondered if we were ever going to make it up there. It was punctuated by three very strange occurrences 1. Heading down the A57 following a bin lorry, Chris has to swerve to avoid a flying broom! 2. On the A66 several cars flash us, we can't figure out why but although the boot is full of gear there do appear to be sparks coming from our exhaust! Is the thing going to blow up? To our relief after turning the car off and giving the engine a breather, the sparks abate. 3. At Perth a sign tells us that the A9 is shut at Blairgowrie due to an accident. The required 200 mile detour would have completely blown our logistics. What a relief to find out this was earlier in the day and they had just forgotten to change the sign.

We reached the Linn of Dee car park at about 10:30pm and got kitted up. It was a positive sign that there was only one car in the car park, that meant hopefully the bothy's wouldn't be full but we still took the tent as a safety measure. It wasn't excessively cold this time, as in previous years, maybe only a couple of degrees below freezing, getting prepared was more humane. As I was just fastening my gaiter I had to give Chris a double take, he was just securing his rucksack...to a sledge! What innovation was this? I watched curiously as he vigorously wrapped a rope around the whole contraption several times. This was certainly different. What we must appreciate with ideas and innovations is that if they work, you're a genius but if they flop you're the Whipping Boy, there's no middle ground. How did Chris fare? Well, not a good start, by courtesy of Tom and Harry, with superb acting they feigned map reading errors, the upshot being, Chris replete with Sledgesack walked in a circle three times round a most difficult section of the woods. Once on the track Chris had more trouble circumnavigating large branches that had been strewn across the path again by courtesy of Tom and Harry. It would appear the sledgesack was an impediment to Chris as he was lagging behind at the back and that's not like Chris. It has to be mentioned also that during this phase, the ability to laugh at one's self was at a premium, at one point Chris even tried to pin the whole sledge thing on Tom's Mum! Well what do you think Blogfans, genius or Whipping Boy?... I agree! I informed Tom and Harry that all we had to do now was keep our noses clean and the 'Golden Crampon' award awaits you Chris!

What can I say about 'Bob Scott's' bothy? Well it's a five star bothy without a doubt. Inside it's clean, rustic, all panelled out and very well insulated. The showpiece, a very effective wood burning stove. We had a chance meeting, with the man who installed it, on the way back to the car, Neil, who has a vested interest in the bothy. When we reached 'Bob Scott's', I noticed that the window was open! Middle of winter and it was by far the warmest bothy I've ever stayed in. What we must take into account with this bothy is the fact that it was purpose built. The original Shepherd's hut was built on the edge of 'Derry Wood' near 'Lui Water' one of its most famous patron's being the eponymous Robert Scott. The original building burnt down and was reconstructed further down river, this too burnt down due to an untended fire. The present bothy stands on the same site and was constructed in 2003.

There were three Scottish lads already bedded down at 'Bob Scott's' when we arrived and I'm ashamed to say, our decorum could have been better. We disturbed them at both ends of the spectrum. We got there at 1:00am and woke them up, Chris's 360 degrees jiffling may have even caused some consternation during the wee hours, then we were up again at 6:00am. We started off with the best of intentions, "Chris it's 6 o' clock" I whispered, just enough to break the silence, "yeah right o mate" responded Chris at about the same amount of decibels. We layed there contemplating getting up, when Tom's alarm went off which I think you could have heard at the Linn of Dee! Things went downhill from there the whispering and shuffling escalated to full blown talking, yawping about, telling jokes and even singing! Chris and myself got a five minutes head start. Chris had now abandoned the sledge notion in favour of the more conventional, rucksack strapped to the back method. Tom crept round the side to listen to the Scottish lads, who by now were up and about, sad to say, the words they said about us were not complimentary.

As the first traces of dawn tinged the 'Glen Luibeg' wilderness, the stresses and strains of modern life began to be subordinated. I've always been attracted to wild lonely places, suppose you could say I'm a wilderness enthusiast. It's my conviction that you can read as many Blogs and books as you like but the best way to comprehend a landscape is by personally walking through it, listening to its heartbeat and discerning its psyche. I've noticed over the years, that whenever I've visited the Motherland, whether on a family holiday or a serious hike/hill walk I've left a certain aspect of myself there and soon thereafter have to return to retrieve it.

When you walk in the Cairngorms in summer it's my personal observation that it can lose its wilderness edge, in parts it's that well walked, paths scar the hillside. In winter, it is not like that, in fact I'd say there is no such thing as a winter walk in the Cairngorms, but a winter expedition. I can only describe it as chaotic. You can forget paths and tracks, they've been obliterated by snow! This enhanced my respect for the Cairngorms as I interpreted this as a gesture that the Cairngorms would never ever lose it's wild soul!

Lairig Ghru... Cairngorms will never lose it's wild soul

Around Luibeg bridge and the south east spur of 'Carn a Mhaim', trees were running out fast, now was the time to accumulate our arsenal for the bothy fire. Tom and Harry took the lead. Tom with a handsaw and the knowledge of how to use it, Harry with a Leviathan of a knife. In no time at all, four trees were down, chopped into logs and assembled onto a sledge that the Whipping Boy of some other party had left behind. The quality of the soft winter light and metallic blue sky was matched only by the sweetness of the air but as we headed round Coire na Poite and onwards to the 'Lairig Ghru', the air turned a different kind of blue, well it would have done if we all didn't exercise self control!

Tom

Harry

Chris

Mark

A sledge left by a Whipping boy of a previous expedition

The Cairngorms had got a right pounding of snow. MWIS forecasted the week before we came a metre in a single day! The surface had a light crust on it but it wasn't enough. A child could maybe scamper over the top like a dog without penetrating it, I could tell by the footprints that Chris and Harry at times fitted into this category and perhaps to some extent Tom but me, at 141/2 stone a 3 stone rucksack and a log under each arm, was no way going to scamper over the top. I wouldn't have minded if I sunk three foot with every step or stayed on the top with every step but sometimes you sunk and sometimes you didn't. I called it 'two down one up' walking (2/1) and it must have doubled my energy output. We started out trying to push the logs on a sledge, Laurel and Hardy couldn't have done it better, this idea was abandoned in favour of a log under each arm, we had no choice but to 'jettison' the remaining logs. This was still tiresome but at last we find ourselves at the foot of 'Carn a Mhaim' and don't want to waste anymore precious time.

going to great lengths to transport wood that we were never going to use!

We were now all locked into a decision making process, do we jettison more logs in order to get to the bothy in time to do the 'Devil's Point', or do we do 'Carn a Mhaim' now, the latter being a change of plan. It was a little bit like listening to a bill being passed in the House of Commons. As we looked up at the shapely peak of the first summit etched against an ice blue silvery sky, we thought, well we are here now so we'd better get our rear ends up there. Sacks down, crampons on and we passed the first promontory in little over half an hour! The azure skies and snowy peaks converged to form photographic perfection. Cold, crisp conditions and soft light being a photographers best friends.

ascent of Carn a Mhaim

Summit of Carn a Mhaim and a vapour trail

As the blog drags, sorry continues on you will see it was self evident that never had a better decision been made! The world was soon to turn on its dark side for me though, as we skirted the grassy plateau just before the final pull to the summit, I looked down at my feet and to my abject horror, once again I had lost a crampon! Yes that's right, again! (see blog no.8 Mountain Moods) I thought that last time was a one off, one of those freak things that occasionally happen in life, like Man U beating Arsenal 8-2, a freak result but it's not going to happen again. I was besides myself, I pleaded with Tom " please may history be repeating itself, have you got it?" " no, we came up a different way to you" assured Tom, just what I didn't want to hear. A shred of hope remained in the form of Chris who was trailing behind and noticeably had a strap dangling in his left hand and more importantly a wry grin on his face. Hope was soon dashed when I realized the strap was from his ice axe. Chris understandably found it hard to contain himself when he was informed of the downturn in my fortunes. This was like a bad dream but unbowed, we forge ahead. All the time I'm thinking, "what on earth am I going to tell Deb"?

As I negotiate the rocky crest leading to the summit, my own words come back to haunt me, "if we all keep our noses clean, Chris will be the Whipping Boy!" Just then my walking pole literally snapped in half, kit failure. I think this looks like the passing of the baton. On reaching the summit I eagerly took a photo of Tom, Harry and Chris astride the summit cairn that for all intents and purposes could have been on the top of Mount Everest. Just as the shutter clicked my eyes are drawn to a yellow strap deeply embedded in snow, on the summit cairn, followed by rapturous cheering. My heart rejoiced. The beggars got me to take a photo of my own crampon! I commended the Lads for being such great actors and liars but backtracked on my previous promise to give a kiss to whoever found my missing crampon! We all had a good laugh about the incident but I pointed out that there was a serious side to all of this, suppose on the descent there was some steep sections of sheet ice and I only had one crampon, what could I do? Hop down! I have to get my act together really, in these expeditions, the higher we raise the steaks, the more important it is to have everything covered. I resolved to have one person watch me put the crampon on and another to check it, of course without bearing any responsibility.

Munro handshake. Note speck of yellow on summit cairn

The summit panorama had me reaching for my camera. These hills don't surrender their crown that easily, neither can you pop up them at the drop of a hat. Harmonizing our visits with normal life and good weather is a very tall order indeed, yet once again we seem to have done it. Pulling in 'Carn a Mhaim' was a respite from the difficult terrain previously mentioned but now it's tea break over and time to grind it out the next three miles or so to 'Corrour' bothy.

Chris persevered a while with the sledge full of logs however this was soon jettisoned in favour of a log under each arm, then just the one log and finally for Chris he jettisoned the lot and went log free! Three miles of 2/1 syndrome was taking its toll. It was such a relief to finally see the bothy, just over the River Dee, little did we realize though it was guarded like ancient Babylon! The River Euphrates becoming the River Dee, Tom and Harry were Darius and Cyrus whilst me and Chris were pictorial of the rest of the Medes and Persians. The next two hours were two of the most testing and taxing of my entire life, we spent a couple of hours in dense darkness, fighting snow, bog and 2/1 syndrome, shining our torches up and down the River Dee looking for this elusive bridge. The 2/1 was testing me to the limit, bringing on the dreaded hamstring cramps which I haven't had for a long time. I was beyond exhausted. Tom was well perplexed at one point but used good initiative and asserted "right, that's enough! Bags down, Mark and Chris walk east, me and Harry will go west, first person to find the bridge, flash your head torch". Me and Chris found it hopeless, you couldn't even stand still without sinking into the ground! But behold Cyrus' head torch is flashing, we reassemble with urgency, still no bridge, we conclude it must have been washed away. We now have but one option, wade across the River Euphrates! To make it easier Darius and Cyrus have already done a dummy run for us! We waddle through no more than gaiter high, Cyrus taking the lead and the rest of the Medes and Persians heading for the flashing light of Cyrus. We soon reach the bank on the other side, now for the fall of Babylon the Great!

What a sting in the tail that was , what should have took two minutes took two hours! When we were all having a rest, propping up a giant boulder just downstream, like four retired gardeners, we concurred that we would be in the bothy in half an hour and soon be sat round a roaring fire. It was dusk then and there was positively no sign of any bridge. In my opinion this was worse than our expedition two years previous, trying to find 'Ben Alder' bothy, we didn't find it until 4:45am about four hours later than anticipated, (see Blog 'A Winters Lament') but back then we were just plain lost, here we could see the wretched bothy but just couldn't get to it, it was as if it was teasing us. I think it's during moments like this that the duress can reveal something about us, who we really are, what we're really made of. I had the tendency to personify the 2/1 syndrome in order to focus my irritation and annoyance but that is counterproductive, you've just got to accept that this is the situation, get your head down, get on with it and grind it out. At times due to the 2/1 it seemed that my body had run out of energy like a car runs out of fuel but then you think "I can't just stay here stuck in a hole forever so I've GOT to move!" you therefore dig deep and find adrenalin induced energy you didn't think you had, in fact you have to do that several times. All in all we find deep satisfaction in accomplishing complex and demanding challenges, the whole concept morphs into a path of self discovery that reveals that we are all indeed gritty characters and you need to be as life can sometimes bring forth situations that need focus and determination. It's like the 21st Icelandic philosopher Christoff Christofferson said... "you live and learn!"

I hadn't quite finished my antics yet, for an encore, I volunteered to draw water for everybody which meant trekking back down to the River Dee with a bag full of empty bottles. The bag fell apart but that was the least of my problems, as I crouched down on what I thought was a solid chunk of ice, filling the bottles up with running water from the burn, the ice gave way and I found myself stood in freezing cold water! Just what I needed in my exhausted state, I thought, "well I'm here now, I might as well finish the job".

'Corrour' bothy was clean and tidy and again very well insulated. We had the prospect of having it to ourselves, which was a good job, the bothy not being much bigger than a garden shed! The bothy was originally built as a summer deer watchers hut in 1877 but fell into disrepair in 1920. Since 1928 it has been used as an open bothy complete with visitors book.



We didn't even have the energy to light a fire on that first night, incidentally out of the sixteen logs only three made it back to the bothy and out of the three only one was used, there must be a moral in that somewhere. Due to my late night performance in the River Dee, for the first time ever I used all my spare clothes, no great shakes even with my wet clothes in the bag it still only weighed 2lb and doubled up nicely as a pillow. The day's exploits and mental and physical exertion contributed to an immense nights sleep. During the first morning watch as I was musing over my breakfast, gathering my far flung thoughts together, amidst the backdrop of howling laughter, I was summoned to the front door of the bothy. Tom, Harry and Chris appeared to be taking in the environs of the Cairngorms, I joined them, scanning the horizon, until my eyes came to an abrupt halt at a' bridge' that stood out like a sore thumb against a brash landscape! How for Pete Thompson's sake did we miss it? To rub it in we made another discovery instead of trudging half a mile down to the River Dee, to draw water, there was a burn right just out of our front door!

how for Pete Thompson's sake did we miss it!

Corrour Bothy at the foot of the Devil's Point

As a prelude to doing 'The Devil's Point' I took a stravaig down to the bridge and had a 'turn' around the Glen. Once more I found myself in a photographers paradise. In this little 'reverie' amidst the colours of the dawn, I mused to myself how photography is very much the art of what is possible, it begins in the heart, of course being at the right place at the right time is paramount, having a good camera is almost an afterthought! That's maybe a bit of a hyperbole but in my opinion you don't have to have a good camera to take good photographs. At this point in time though, I AM in the right place at the right time. We are in a wild land that in winter has a special poise and subtlety. This region has noticeably fewer lochs and rivers than other wilderness areas in Scotland.The Cairngorms are remote and harsh, unrelentingly assaulted and battered by the elements but as I stand here taking a shot of 'Corrour' bothy against the backdrop of the 'Devil's Point', the canvas couldn't be better, a texture that softens into a pallet of the most delicate pageant. Gloriously brash, beautifully harsh. There is no doubt that this region has an uncompromising beauty, a lavish splendour that has the ability to reduce you to tears.

gloriously brash, beautifully harsh

That is the end of the reverie, now we're on our way up the 'Devil's Point'. The path, if you could see it, goes due west from behind the bothy, up a potentially dangerous snow slope. All the time I'm thinking " I don't fancy coming down this way. Rocks can be your friend for footholds and the occasional bit of handy work, actually we had to put hand to rock a lot due to the steep gradient, on descent, less rocks the better at that gradient. I had already seen where I was going to descend, the bealach at the Choire Gowl was still steep but rock free. We soon made good progress up this hill by cutting zig zags up the Choire Odhar. The well won summit of the 'Devil's Point' rewarded us with splendid views of the River Dee. As the eye scans the horizon, the magnificent hanging corries and deep hidden recesses of 'Ben Macdui' seem to demand attention. It's crown obscured by a brushstroke of mist. To the right lies 'Derry Cairngorm', this is not a scenic tedium gravitating toward monotony but it exhibits a simple beauty of a windswept plateau that never fails to amaze me. How can something so simple look so beautiful?

splendid views of the River Dee

ascent of Cairn Toull

Derry Cairngorm

Ben Macdui

We now swing North West up Stob Coire an T-Saighdair, a subsiduary top at 1213m. Beyond this top, the ridge curves round to Choire an T-Saighdair, dropping slightly and then climbing more steeply up the last 120m to the summit of 'Cairn Toul' at 1220m. It was at this point I remarked to Tom that I thought that the exploits of the previous day had hindered my performance on the hill today, as I was back to my standard twenty yards behind the last man. "Well you bounded up there!" Tom replied, applying the precise amount of sarcasm, that was like cracking a combination code to my sense of humour, I was doubled up laughing. It was during this phase that I expressed my concern about getting caught in 'white out', I mentioned it just before at a time when I think there was blue skies and no wind! With any of us lads you don't get away with saying anything daft, it has to be exploited and given some mileage, hitherto, Tom and Harry went throwing themselves into the ground, whacking their ice axes into the snow and shouting at the top of their voices "WHITE OUT!" There was a localized 'white out' when we reached our lovely alpine style hotel at the Spittal of Glen Shee, Tom and Harry used a little ingenuity in getting a member of staff to open our door then burst in enveloping me in a white quilt, shouting "WHITE OUT!"

Cairn Toul summit in mist

We started off heading west to 'Angels Peak' but after a hundred yards or so we decided to 'Barry it', the mist was well down now and it looked like it was here to stay. After persuading Chris not to walk off the end of a cliff, we retraced our steps to the col between the two hills. It was a steep snow slope, I walked down it with caution, Tom and Harry slid down on their backs, a technique known as Oz-sliding, using their ice axes as a brake. The snow seemed to funnel up from the ice axe like a car exhaust hence I called it an 'ice axe machine'. As I was into the rhythm of this downward slope, I felt the presence of a rushing stiff breeze behind me, "look out" screamed Chris as he shot past on his ice axe machine! From the Bealach to the bothy, Tom and Harry made it in fourteen minutes! Maybe shaving off at least half an hour! I was walking behind them at one point, maybe fifty or sixty yards, not looking at them but they were in my field of vision. My eyes lit up and I laughed out loud when I saw them throw themselves to the ground, I bet I could guess what they were saying. At this point the sun was setting behind this giant amphitheatre and the mist seemed to take on a different idiom, millions of particles of soft dancing light, like rainbow drops! Transforming this harsh landscape into a fairytale land. Life was good.

dancing raindrops transform harsh landscape into fairytale land

On getting back on the ground I noticed Tom was going to get some water, Harry was fiddling around outside with his crampons. I walked into the bothy, looked up at a guy and thought "that's not Chris!" and who are these other two lads? My heart sank, we are the first to admit we're not the best socializers on these jaunts, we thought we had the bothy to ourselves, it's a very small bothy and we needed some space to spread out. I went out and had a quick natter with Tom, he wasn't that fussed, the first thing he wanted to establish is that they weren't the Scottish lads from Bob Scotts bothy! As it turned out they were three smashing lads, we soon blended together sharing in the banter and swapping experiences. Part of the banter centered around Chris whom they informed had left the front passenger window open! It was as if we had known them for ages nor could we ignore the fact that it was like looking at three different versions of ourselves. Maybe sometimes it does you good to get out of your comfort zone.

Gem of a Bothy/ Chris closely examining kit

It's worth mentioning that the key to me sleeping so well this year was my new RAB sleeping bag, a couple of times I even had to let the zip down a little and let some heat out! Once I woke up shivering but just sunk deeper into the bag and was soon cozified in warmth. The word cushte comes to mind! Truthfully it was never excessively cold this year, I'd say at the most minus eight as our water turned to ice whist we were walking and it has to be pretty cold to do that. Tom asked me on the final morning whether I fancied staying in a lodge and having a pub meal rather than a final night in 'Bob Scotts' and finish our bothy food... mmmm? My resolve caved in like sand castles against an oncoming tide! We eventually ended up at Spittal of Glen Shee and it was exquisite, the whole place had a real alpine feel to it. Tom and Harry got some skiing in, we were really pleased for them, it's my belief that on these trips you should make the most of every opportunity.

By the last morning Chris and myself had realized that it doesn't matter what time the alarm goes off, you begin to move when the Bertins' move, otherwise you spend ages sat down twiddling your thumbs and looking at your watch. This circumstance had been duly noted by the other three lads, whom I suspect have a corresponding culprit. Well we did begin to move after another one of Chris' bacon sandwiches. We were planning to head for the ridge of 'Carn a Mhaim' and bag 'Ben Macdui', before descending on to the 'Glen Luibeg' path but it was blowing a blizzard so we had to shelve that idea, never mind I'm sure one day we will return. I think the spirit of the Cairngorms has finally began to resonate with all of us. No it's not the West Highlands but neither is it a scenic continuum of conical hills, the Cairngorms have attitude! Sometimes you have to dance a different tune. We asked the three lads at the bothy what made them come to the Cairngorms, as it was their first time in Scotland, and they said it was the wild nature of the Cairngorms that appealed to them. Yes one day we will definitely return... one day.

The first stage of the walk back was more arctic than alpine. The wind I estimated to be around 30 to 40mph on the ground. Three miles of 2/1 in front of us. I was puffing and blowing before we had even reached the bridge, that didn't bode well for the next three miles. I was more concerned about the return of hamstring cramps even more than 'whiteout'! Thankfully they never returned, they would have been a serious impediment if they had. In this instance though I had got fresh legs, a good night's sleep under my belt, all in all a rejuvenated body. At times we were on our hands and knees, sometimes blown over completely. It was a good job that the wind was at the side of us and behind us, not in our faces. The blizzard was that bad, at times I could only just make out the hazy contours of three figures, even though they were no more than ten yards in front of me. I would have loved to have taken a shot of it, it was like we were walking across Antarctica but it was too dangerous to reach for my camera. As we turned a corner and headed for the Luibeg bridge, the blizzard was right in our faces, I just made sure my cagoul was zipped up to the very top and pulled the top flap of my hood down. By the time we crossed the Luibeg bridge and picked up the 'Bob Scott's' path, the sun had got it's hat on.

It reminded me of a large scale Rachmaninov work, in spite of all the bombastic moments, a charming melody is never far away, here in a wild land, pleasant scenery is just around the corner. On returning to the Linn of Dee car park it was a relief to see there had been minimal damage to Chris' car, though it was a poignant reminder to see a sign informing us that theives operate in this area so make sure your vehicles are securely locked, there was Chris with a window down for four days! We came to a unanimous decision that there was to be no whipping boy this time, we had all expended ourselves, pulled together as a team remarkably and kept self control.

The opening gambit that the lads from Hull came out with was, "we're pleased to see that you're not normal!" When you ponder 'the backward silent tracings' how true that statement is, in fact it speaks volumes. If you were organizing a sojourn on a sun drenched island, staying at luxury hotels with tapas on the terrace etc, not that there's anything wrong with that, you would have a bus load of prospective delegates knocking at your front door. To spend five days hiking in midge infested, storm battered, minus twenty, 165mph gales, Highlands to stink in damp cold bothy's eating bland food, getting stuck fighting snow and bog, we can hardly find a car load, I can't for the life of me think why! It keeps coming back to the same pool of four or five friends but that makes those four or five special. Not just anybody is going to go on these expeditions, they have to be a special calibre and I'm sure the same situation obtains for the lads from Hull.

I hope I can harness the fitness to do more of these expeditions and keep the blogs flowing, rather than relying on 'silent backward tracings ' alone. My parting shot on the subject of 'not being normal' is, I think it can be refreshing to be different, of course without being objectionable. In fact I will conclude with a resolution: Always be different
Always be special
Never be normal.

Nice one Boys!


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