Camp in the snow on the Cairngorm Plateau
with a little problem pitching the tent
Sitting at my desk writing to meet deadlines I tried not to look out of the window at the blue sky and distant shining white mountains. Being an outdoor writer means spending as much or more time on the second rather than the first.
Would this wonderful weather and the snow last until I could go out? It did. Just. The forecast suggested two more days of sunshine before the winds increased, clouds swept in, and temperatures rose. Time for a night on the Cairngorm Plateau.
Only thin patches of snow remained low down and I walked mostly on stones and gravel on the path below the Northern Corries. High above the cliffs of Cairn Lochan and Stob Coire an t-Sneachda were a brilliant white. A few climbers descended, helmets and ropes and ice climbing tools on their packs. A walker moving fast passed me and headed into Coire an Lochain then I was alone, seeing no-one as I crossed the western shoulder of Cairn Lochan onto the vast white expanse of the Cairngorm Plateau.
Across the hidden gash of the Lairig Ghru the great wedge of Cairn Toul rose into a sky turning pink and orange as the sun sank into distant clouds. The orange colour deepened and spread along the horizon before quickly fading.
With the light dying and the temperature dropping I left the beaten path I’d been following and headed into the shallow corrie of the Feith Buidhe. At once I was sinking ankle deep and sometimes more into the snow. Progress slowed abruptly and it wasn’t long before I decided to camp. I found a fairly flat spot to stamp out a platform for the tent and then level it with my snow shovel.
Then I started to pitch the tent. And failed. This was a tent I’d pitched hundreds of times before, probably more than any other tent. Not having used it for a few years I’d erected it in the garden the day before to check everything was okay. I’d found it difficult fitting the end of the single pole into the socket at one end but it had eventually gone in. Now it wouldn’t, no matter how hard I tried. In fact I eventually tried too hard and the pole snapped.
So here I was in the middle of the Cairngorm Plateau in the dark in freezing temperatures with a snapped tent pole. What to do? I considered packing up and walking out. But surely I could still manage to pitch the tent somehow? I had a short length of pole tubing for repairing breaks but this was useless here as the break was on a steep curve and the tube was straight and inflexible. I put some tape round the break to stop the rough edges tearing the tent. The pole still wouldn’t go in the socket and I wasn’t going to try and force it again. Instead I put a cup under the end of the pole to stop it sinking into the snow and used a snow peg to tension it. Once I’d pegged out the rest of the tent it looked much as usual except for a pointed top to the pole. With relief I climbed inside.
The rest of the evening was spent melting snow for dinner and hot drinks, reading, and writing my journal. I had hoped for a brilliant night sky but spreading clouds soon blocked most of the stars. There would be no photos of a torchlit tent under a huge starry sky. I stayed inside in my warm sleeping bag. A gusty wind rattled the tent occasionally.
Waking at dawn I looked out to see an orange glow on the horizon that soon grew and became intensely fiery. A spectacular dawn. The temperature was -9°C.
Despite the cold the sky soon had me outside taking photographs and revelling in the spectacular colours before melting more snow for breakfast.
Stuffing some gear into my pack I left the tent and followed my foot holes in the snow back to the packed path and headed for Ben Macdui. I noticed old ski tracks running to my camp site. Then in the distance I saw a skier speeding along. Skis would certainly have made the going easier here. However this deep snow didn’t lie everywhere. During the day I would meet three skiers carrying their skis in areas where rather too many rocks poked through the snow to make skiing comfortable and only see one more person actually skiing. I was glad not to have skis to carry. I did wish I’d brought snowshoes though. Much easier to carry and anyway you can walk over rocks wearing them.
I was soon on the summit of Ben Macdui. Across the Lairig Ghru Cairn Toul and Braeriach were their usual magnificent selves. More interesting though were the views to more distant mountains as the glens and lower hills were filled with a thin translucent mist while the sky was banded with clouds, giving an unusual light.
Lochnagar looked to be snow-covered, at least at the top. Beinn a’ Ghlo was surprisingly snow free with just a few splashes remaining.
I watched the view for a while, drinking some of my cold snowmelt water and eating flapjack bars. It was very peaceful. A runner arrived, carrying just a tiny pack, went up to the trig point, looked round, then sped off the way he’d come. A walker, looking more sensibly equipped for the conditions, appeared, and didn’t linger long either.
Retracing my steps I could see more people heading towards Macdui. The world was waking up. Back at camp for lunch I melted more snow then packed up and headed across the plateau. The sun was hot but the cloud cover was increasing. By the time I reached Stob Coire an t-Sneachda the sky was grey and the wind was picking up. I sheltered behind the big cairn at the top of the Fiacaill a’ Choire Chais.
I wasn’t far down the ridge before I was walking in slush. The lower snow was thawing. The weather had changed.
Glad you caught the snow :)