Cairngorms Adventure Part 1: Winter Skills
March 2024:
For a few years now, I’ve wanted to do a hike in the Alps that involves crossing a glacier. Although I can ski, I have little knowledge of walking in such places, so I booked onto a Winter Skills course in the Cairngorms by way of preparation. Coincidentally, my father donated me his ice axe and crampons last year, so I had a head start on the kit list.
I felt despondent on the run-up to the course, reading reports about this winter being the warmest since records began, and I was expecting an email to say the course had been cancelled due to lack of snow. This apprehension was compounded by the images on the Aviemore webcam: more ploughed field than groomed piste. Nevertheless, no email arrived, and in early March, I whizzed up the east coast on the train from Newcastle.
On arrival, I checked into the Youth Hostel and then recced the location of the course that was starting at 8.30 am the following morning: the Explorer Café above a Tiso outdoor shop. Across the large car park, I got my first glimpse of the snow-capped Cairngorms to the east as the sun set behind. A very urban foreground for my first ‘alpenglow’.
The following morning, I joined a small party around a table at the café. After introductions – a young couple from Leeds; two friends from London; trainee instructor Liz, who once lived on Skye and traversed the Cuillin ridge in a single day; and me, significantly increasing the average age – our instructor, Ella, gave us an essential lesson in avalanche safety. Surprisingly, despite walking all my life in the north of England, I had no idea this was a risk in Scotland. We learned a whole new vocabulary of avalanche terms: ‘aspect’, ‘cornice’, ‘weak layer’, ‘wind slab’ and ‘snowpack’. Ella also showed us the affectionally nicknamed ‘wheel of doom’ report on the Scottish Avalanche Information Service: ‘Moderate risk on North through East slopes above 900 meters.’
The rest of the group was then fitted with gear from the shop below while I struggled to put on my crampons back to front. Liz patiently showed me the correct procedure and lengthened them to fit my feet. You don’t know what you don’t know! Fortunately, my time-served leather Zamberlan boots were ‘B1’ and compatible with my father’s ‘C1’ crampons with their tether binding. More new terminology.
By mid-morning, we were up in a snow-covered corrie beyond the ski area, where we practised walking in crampons over different terrain, including icy boulders and slopes, with the aim of making good contact with the snow. ‘Walk lightly, but push the spikes in’, said Ella. I also remembered my father’s advice to keep my feet apart so as not to skewer my angles, and I took to it quite well. Unfortunately, one member of our group had a narrow gait and shredded his waterproof trousers to ribbons.
In the afternoon, three of us, led by Ella, climbed a steep icy slope out of the corrie up towards Cairn Gorm. ‘Foot, foot, axe; foot, foot, axe’, called Ella as I crawled up, not daring to look back down. I’d never dreamt I’d be doing this on day one of the course. We celebrated on top with photographs before reaching the summit itself.
The weather on the second day was a complete contrast, with strong winds and clouds. After a session on navigation, we were back in the mountains, trudging up a track near the ski area, where we had great fun making a snow shelter. Ella asked us to remove our rucksacks and stack them in a pile. Then we covered them in snow. My humiliated 44L Montane Trailblazer will never forgive me! After compacting the snow, Ella pulled out the packs, and we took turns excavating the inside with a snow shovel while everyone else continued enlarging the exterior. Eventually, the hole was large enough for us to squeeze inside like little snow hobbits. Ella told us she had once spent a night in a snow hole with friends that they all decorated with fairy lights. Magical, so long as you don’t get trapped inside.
We climbed higher up the mountain in a line, battling 50mph winds and spindrift blasting our faces. I paused to take a photo from the rear, and the scene was reminiscent of a Himalayan expedition, except for the lack of ropes and yaks.
After shoving down half a sandwich, Ella demonstrated how to ‘fall arrest’ with the ice axe without breaking our ankle as she once did, accidentally pivoting on a jammed crampon spike. We then each practised the life-saving technique that is predicated on holding the ice axe correctly in the first place in the uphill hand, with the spike (or, more correctly, pick) facing backwards. Then, when sliding on your back, grab shaft in spare hand, roll onto front, jap pick into the snow, push down on the ‘adze’ with chest, and turn your face away so as not to lose an eye. And remember: feet and crampons in the air. Simple, except when your life depends on it.
Etymological deviation: ‘Adze’ is a fascinating word for an ancient cutting tool with a blade set at right angles to the handle. Although it sounds foreign, it is, in fact, derived from the Old English adesa.
The course finished off back in the café with a celebratory coffee. I’d learnt and experienced far more than I’d ever thought possible in a single weekend, and I’d thoroughly recommend something similar if, like me, you have little winter hiking experience. Not only did I learn new skills, but I enjoyed being part of a group. One member, in his thirties, had been a scout leader all his adult life and told me about his troup – yes, they still teach knots, and I greatly admired him for showing the children a world away from the internet. Another, from Estonia, told me how she grew up hating the mandatory cross-country skiing lessons at school, ‘too flat’, ironically something I have my sights set on. A third, had hiked the Camino de Santiago in Spain and had his sights set on the Pacific Crest Trail. As for Ella, she cut her teeth in the mountains where she grew up in Kenya and began her guiding career escorting groups up Mount Kenya. All inspiring stuff.
Ella closed the course by wishing us well and encouraging us to put into practice our new skills soon. And for me, that would be the very next day over Ben Macdui and camping at 3000 feet!
Continue to read Cairngorms Adventure Part 2: Cryosphere - click here.
I booked my course with Scottish Rock and Water