The Great British winter. Moderated by the influence of the Gulf Stream, it’s damp, dark and perhaps a little chilly. You might want to flee to the Mediterranean if you suffer from SAD (seasonal affective disorder), but otherwise you’re not in any serious danger. Or so I thought, until I visited the Cairngorms in January.
Thanks to global warming, true winter conditions are in decline even up in the Scottish Highlands. But, with a bit of luck, you can still get a taste of the Arctic without leaving these shores. After the hottest New Year on record, the isobars shifted to bring freezing winds howling down from the north. And, from my home in Hampshire, I drove north to meet them.
If you’re reasonably fit and intelligent enough to check the weather forecast, you don’t really need a guide to go hillwalking in UK summer conditions. But Scottish winter is a different proposition. To venture onto steep mountains, you want an ice axe, crampons, and an inkling of how to use them. You want to know how to read an avalanche forecast, and be able to translate it into good decision making on the hill.
So it was, I found myself on an advanced winter skills course with Scottish Rock and Water. We covered a lot of ground during the week, but here are the five lessons I remember the most:
1) Not all ice axes are created equal
To the novice, one ice axe may seem as good as another. But, as with any sport, once you embark upon it, a limitless variety of kit emerges from the woodwork. As far as axes go, the main distinction is between a mountaineering axe and a climbing axe. The former is straight and always carried singly in the uphill hand. It’s used as a walking stick, for cutting steps, and, in the worst-case scenario, to arrest a fall. Meanwhile, the latter is curved (so you don’t smash your knuckles into the ice) and carried one in each hand for when the going gets vertical.
2) Minus 23 is cold
Ok, so this was the wind-adjusted temperature rather than the pure air temperature, but in many ways the wind is the real killer when it comes to cold. Coupled with the high moisture content of UK air, it conspires to snatch away any hint of warmth. You really can’t mess around with exposed skin at these temperatures, as I discovered when I took off my gloves and coat to put an extra layer on. Within seconds, my hands were screaming, and after a couple of minutes, they were barely functioning. Watch out also for the rime ice that forms on every surface as tiny droplets of airborne moisture freeze on impact.
3) You can abseil off snow
In summer conditions, when you want to abseil off a cliff, there’s usually a handy boulder nearby to wrap the rope around. But what to do in winter, when all the rocks are buried under snow? The answer is simple, yet ingenious. By using the adze (jutting metal triangle at the back of an ice axe) to dig out a horseshoe in hard-packed snow, you create a lip over which the rope can be hooked. Then it’s plain sailing as you loop the rope through your legs in a makeshift harness and shimmy on down. Just make sure you dig the horseshoe deep enough.
4) It’s hard to navigate in a whiteout
True whiteout conditions are genuinely disorientating and can be pretty unnerving the first time you encounter them. Blizzards, dense fog and thick, lying snow combine to create a uniform white backdrop. It’s hard even to tell where the air ends and the ground begins. I remember thinking I was looking out over a sweeping expanse of flat snow, only for my guide to reach out and jab his ice axe into a cliff bank just a couple of metres away. Compass bearings and step counting are the only real way to navigate this featureless sea. Keep your strength up with a snack, but be warned: whiteouts have been known to trigger motion sickness.
5) The cheat’s guide to igloo construction
If you want to knock up a quick emergency shelter, then there’s a way to shortcut the old Inuit method of cutting blocks. Take the bags from everyone in the group, and pack them tightly together. Then start shovelling a huge dome of snow over the top, pausing every now and again to squash it down and force the air out. Once the apex reaches about shoulder height, start tunnelling in at the base on one side. Widen the access corridor until it’s large enough to haul out the bags, and you have a snug little chamber to wait out the storm.
Want to read about Scottish life in warmer seasons? Check out my articles on life as an activity instructor in the Cairngorms and climbing the Inaccessible Pinnacle.