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Kids need Nature…

Today saw us returning to Pinkston for another session on the water. We had a different coach this week, but Phil carried on where Fraser had left off last week, delivering another another positive, fun experience for the young people.

Watersports isn’t my forte, so my role for this session is really just organiser, driver, photographer and general dogsbody. However, it gives me a great opportunity to observe the young people I’m usually more directly involved with, and it’s not hard to spot the development in the young people over the last few weeks, seeing confidence, resilience and self-belief grow alongside flourishing technical skills in the various  activities they’ve been involved in. Today, I was looking a young people who were nervous about getting on the water three weeks ago, now standing in their canoes laughing as Phil worked on their balance with a rendition of ‘hands, shoulders, knees and toes’. Other, perhaps more subtle, differences are emerging as well; at the start of the summer I challenged them about the tone of disparaging competitiveness in the group and today I noted how much support and encouragement was being offered to people who were struggling, or still a bit unsure. For sure, the ‘snark’ is still strong in the bus there and back, but there are clear signs of a different way of relating to other emerging that can be nurtured along in the coming weeks, months and years.

A professional acquaintance of many years observed recently that it had been a bold move for me to switch careers at fifty years of age. I was a bit taken aback by the suggestion that what I was doing now represented any kind of move away from the nurturing of young people through informal educational activities that’s been my consuming passion for the last thirty years. In my own thinking, there’s a clear and coherent journey that I’ve been on to explore that central question of “how best to live”, with my professional interest in education slowly converging with my personal love of the outdoors. The catalyst for their final merging was my reading of Richard Louv’s ‘The Last Child in the Woods’, which pushed me towards a more thorough exploration of why residentials in remote settings were always the most effective aspect of our work with young people from urban Glasgow. The widely held perception that getting into nature is good for us has a long history, but it’s been fascinating to discover that modern science is confirming the value of time spent in natural settings for both our physical and mental health. A Japanese university has even researched the optimum density of trees in a forest that gives the most benefit; unsurprisingly, naturally occurring woodland has a far more beneficial impact than densely packed plantation forestry. More recently, I’ve been reading about the Scandinavian concept of friluftsliv and reflecting on whether some aspects of this worldview might translate to Scotland in some meaningful way. I’ll write more on this as I dare, but for the moment, I’ll leave you with this inspiring short film I came across recently…


Wet and Wild!

I’ve had a busy summer so far, providing a range of outdoor activities and micro-adventures on behalf of SiMY Community Development. One component of the programme that I’ve been particularly looking forward to was the overnight trip to the Cairngorms with some of the young adults who participate in our regular hill walking group.

We’ve been pretty lucky with the weather so far this summer, with only one day at the start of the holidays where ‘rain stopped play’, but the last couple of days more than made up for that!  A comparison of the Met Office and MWIS offered us the option of somewhere between 30 and 50mph winds, in the latter case with gusts of up to 70mph on day one, followed by a drop in the windspeed as a band of rain moved across the region on day two.

After much deliberation with Graham, the other ML on the trip, we decided to stick with plan A; setting off from the Cairngorm ski centre and heading for Ben Macdui via the gradually ascending path on the ridge which forms the western side of Coire an Lochain. From there, the plan was to drop to the Hutchison Memorial Hut and camp there for the evening. From there we’d drop down to the Loch Avon basin to vist the Shelter Stone, before heading up Coire Raibert and the option of heading down past ‘1141’, or heading up and over the summit of Cairngorm and descending via Windy Ridge.

The wind was strong enough to rock the van around as we parked up, giving and early sign that were facing winds at the upper end of the forecast range. We were already considering a range of alternative options, but decided to take a walk out towards Coire an Lochain to see what conditions were like over that way. That plan lasted all of 200 metres from the car park before a particularly strong gust of wind skittled us off the path. We decided to alter the plan and reverse the route, limiting the amount of time we needed to be on the plateau by walking into Coire an t-Sneachda and heading up the Goat Track instead. When we arrived at the entrance to the coire, I could see the clouds being ripped over the rim of the coire above the Goat Track, and it was fairly obvious that heading up would be a high risk strategy. We took shelter behind a rocky outcrop and grabbed a snack, while we came up with an alternative; we’d head over to Glenmore past the Green Lochain, then give people the option to climb Meall a Buachaille before camping at Ryvoan bothy for the night.

The day worked out pretty well in the end; the young people had time to take in the tranquil beauty of  An Lochain Uaine, before a few of us dropped our bags at Ryvoan and enjoyed an unencumbered stroll up Meall a Buachaille. We then spent an interesting evening chatting with an eclectic mix of folks at Ryvoan, including a young German girl who’d been hiking round Scotland since she left school in April, and a group of French students who had hitchhiked and worked their way up to Scotland. There was also an older chap who was on an extended cycling holiday, and a young couple who returning south from a quick trip up to Skye, so all in all, an interesting range of experiences for our group to hear about.

Thursday offered another vague outlook, with the rain and low cloud forecast to clear sometime from lunchtime onwards. We decided to have another go at Ben Macdui, but walking up the path towards point 1141 in a mix of drizzly rain and low cloud wasn’t that inspiring, As we climbed, one of the young people began to struggle; she had landed badly on her ankle when we were skittled by the wind the previous day, and although it hadn’t caused her any discomfort on the relatively flat walking to and from Ryvoan, it was clearly causing her a fair bit of discomfort now. Time for another review of the plan, which resulted in me heading back down with our casualty for a treatment regime of ‘foot up, ice pack, ibruprofen and hot chocolate’, while Graham led the rest of the group towards the more modest objective of the summit of Cairngorm and a return via ‘Windy Ridge’.

I couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed that we couldn’t deliver the Cairngorms experience I’d hoped to give the young people, but that was tempered by their positive responses when we debriefed over a brew in the ski centre cafe. They were reassuringly unconcerned about being wet and tired and definitely up for a return trip to collect the views they’d earned this time round. Time for me to dry some kit and get going with the planning then…


Walking off the Turkey on the Ptarmigan

The combination of festive overindulgence and the murky weather we often get at Christmas don’t tend to offer much in the way of motivation to get out onto the hills, but thankfully, this year, I had the benefit of Laura, Catriona and Jeanne wanting to take advantage of a decent forecast for the 1st of January to stretch the legs and clear the head after a week of festive overindulgence.

None of us were that keen on a long drive, so we opted to head for Ben Lomond and a trip up the Ptarmigan Ridge. It’s my favourite route up the hill, particularly when there’s a bit of snow, as the upper slopes take on a much more rugged appearance, and with a decent build up, there’s quite a bit of fun to be had on the final summit cone. Sadly, on this occasion, we arrived on the wrong side of the freeze/thaw cycle, with all the snow that had been present a few days previously now washed off the hill and back down to Loch Lomond. On the upside however, the sun was shining and, aside from a fairly bracing wind at the summit, it was a perfect day for being out and about.

We opted for the Ptarmigan ridge route up; nearly always my preference, as it’s usually far quieter than the main path and there’s a bit more of a rugged feel to it. Turns out it wasn’t quite so quiet this time round; a large group of around 20 people had set off just ahead of us, making for some interesting overtaking manoeuvres on the narrow steep path!

I’d been up here about the same time last year with the same group of folks and the difference in conditions was dramatic; last year the final section of the ridge had been covered in hard snow, giving it a lovely ‘alpine’ feel, whereas this year, it was a straightforward plod up the bare stone path.

Despite the lack of winter conditions, the view from Ben Lomond’s summit on a clear day like this is always rewarding; looking north, your eye is caught by the dramatic shape of the Cobbler, then on towards the wide sweep of hills around Crianlarich, from Ben Lui over towards Ben More and Stob Binnean, and beyond them, distant peaks in the haze stirring memories and awakening half-formed plans for days to come.

Heading back down the main path brings another set of visual treats, particularly at sunset on a clear day like this, with just enough cloud on the western horizon to catch the fading light and contrast it with the deepening shadows on the still waters of Loch Lomond below. Soaking in the view to the south over the ground which the John Muir trail now traverses, it was easy to see what keeps drawing generations of Glaswegians out here to escape the city and take his advice to “break clear away, once in awhile, and climb a mountain or spend a week in the woods. Wash your spirit clean.” Arriving back at the car with distant lights twinkling in the darkness, I’m pretty sure we felt more ‘spruced up’ than most in the aftermath of Hogmanay.

North Glen Shiel Ridge

We spent this weekend up in Glen Shiel, getting back to work on slowly paring away at the list of Munros I haven’t visited yet. I’m still a bit ambivalent about the whole ‘bagging’ thing, but there’s no doubt that the discipline of working through a list of hilltops pushes to you visit corners of Scotland that might otherwise be overlooked in the rush to the obvious honeypots. I’ve been over the 5 Sisters a couple of times now, but for some reason, have never turned right at the top of the ridge to cross the 3 Munros at the ‘Brothers’ end of the ridge. We’d discussed various options in the preceding week, including the Mullardoch 12, but with three dodgy knees between us at the moment, we eventually settled on an option that gave us more options for cutting things short if anyone’s joints started giving cause for concern.

The weekend didn’t quite go according to plan from the outset; we were 10 minutes out of the house and heading for Strathblane when my phone rang. Cat answered it, and relayed the message that we had a call out for someone who’d got themselves into a fankle over by Loch Lomond. As we were going to be driving past anyway, it seemed rude not to go and help out, but by the time we got free from that, we were running a bit late to make the Co-op in Balloch and had to rely on the local supermarket in Drymen for some supplies for the weekend.

We’d opted to take the van for the weekend, but Cat can’t drive that yet, so I had a long wearisome shift behind the wheel before we arrived at Loch Cluanie and found ourselves somewhere to park up for the night. Despite Cat giving the dogs a bonus walk while I was off doing my MRT thing earlier, they were still pretty frisky as we tried to get off to sleep, and we’d had a short, intermittent sleep when my alarm went off at 6.30am the following morning.

IMG_0799 - Version 2We dropped off ‘Rat Bike’ at the Cluanie Inn carpark; the drawback to this route was that I’d be cycling 7km along Glen Shiel to collect the car at the end of the day. ‘Rat Bike’ is a scabby looking old singlespeed made up from my parts bin that is perfect for getting left in situations like this, as the initial appearance of its rusty pink frame with a variety of touch ups in different shades is grim enough to make it unappealing to the passing bike thief, and it was cheap enough to throw together that it wouldn’t be a disaster if it did get stolen. More importantly, I can lock it up somewhere and not spend the day worrying about whether it’s safe.

IMG_0751We parked up below the Bealach an Lapan and, inspired by the gathering cloud of midges, got kitted up and moving up the hill as quickly as we could. The climb up to the ridge is unrelentingly steep, but has the advantage of letting you cover the 500metres of height pretty quickly and, after a quick pause to stick on another layer and try out the chocolate orange Digestives we’d found in the shop, we carried on up the easier angled slopes to the summit of Saileag, our first Munro of the day, arriving there about 90mins after we’d set off.

IMG_0750I was pretty pleased with the pace we were setting and, more importantly, that after just a couple of weeks of stretching and strengthening at the physio, my knees felt much more stable and stronger than they had for a while. We carried on along the ridge towards the next summit of Sgurr a Bhealaich Dheirg, making quick progress along the slightly narrowing ridge and sizing it up for potential winter fun factor. The summit cairn involves a slight detour off the main ridge over some very easy bouldery terrain, and we paused at the top for some food, noting that there was a distinct autumnal quality to the temperature that encouraged us both to stick on another layer and some gloves while we sat.


The most easterly ‘Brother’ is Aonach Mheadhoin, about a kilometre and a half further on, with around 200m of height to lose and regain. Cat was beginning to feel a little discomfort in her knee on the descent, but it eased as we climbed up to the windswept summit cairn and carried on to the final top of Sgurr an Fhuarail which offered more prospect of a bit of shelter from the chilly breeze. We arrived there just before 1.00pm which came as a pleasant surprise to both of us given neither of us felt that we’d been pushing particularly hard.

Given how early it was, it seemed a reasonable decision to carry on an head for Ciste Dhubh, even though it means dropping to Bealach a Choinich at 600m, then climbing 400m again up the long draggy 2km ridge to the top. In the event, it turned out to be a bit over-ambitious on Cat’s knee in particular, and by the time we made our way back down to the bealach from the summit, she was in a fair bit of pain and facing the prospect of a 4km walk back to the Cluanie Inn along a fairly rough, wet path.

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The midges were waiting for us back at the road, making the most of the time it took me to unlock the bike, stick the front wheel back in and set off back to the car while Cat took refuge with the dogs in the pub. The first three kilometres are just sufficiently uphill to let you feel it in the quads at the end of a long day, before the road mercifully turns downhill and lets you freewheel the rest of the way to the van and the return journey up the glen to join Cat in the pub for some food, a review of how broken our respective knees were, and some ‘joined up’ thinking about aspiration v’s ability for Sunday – the tourist thing at Glenfinnan it is then!

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Client’s Eye View: Sam’s Story…

After a rather nasty leg break while backcountry skiing in 2015 that left me with a cutlery drawer’s worth of metal work around my right shin and ankle bones, I’d resolved to find a way to enjoy the mountains that didn’t involve chucking myself down them at high speed. So, in January 2016, following a recommendation from the interweb, I dropped a line to Neil at 360 Degrees Outdoors, enquiring about a winter mountaineering skills day in the Arrochar Alps. Close to Glasgow, and not expensive, this fitted the bill perfectly. A plan was made.
I met Neil at his base in Glasgow city centre, and after talking through the plan for the day, the weather forecast and, crucially, the avalanche forecast, we were off. Even on the car journey to Arrochar I was learning how to build a mental picture of the mountain in advance, drawing from clues in previous weather reports, forecasted wind direction, temperature, and understanding how all this would interact with the shape of the hill itself. These were important considerations that would inform safe route selection throughout the day.
Once up at the bealach between Ben Narnain and the Cobbler, the weather and visibility turned against us, highlighting the unpredictability of Scotland’s mountains in winter, and punishing those less well prepared. Neil demonstrated how to read the snowpack, and I was quickly tuning in to “sastrugi” in the snow, the sound of “windslab” under foot, and other subtle signs that informed our decisions and allowed for safe navigation on our route, round pockets of avalanche danger.
IMG_6459 - Version 2Crampons on, ice axes out, and correct usage of both honed under Neil’s watchful eye, we summited Ben Narnain, despite the poor weather. After greedily scoffing some calories, and a hot drink, more ice axe and crampon practice followed on the descent. Safely back at the car, despite aching legs I was in good spirits, with new skills acquired, and confidence built. I couldn’t wait for round 2.
A couple of weeks later I was out with 360 Degrees Outdoors again. This time I’d brought two friends along; Chris and Wim, persuaded by the heroic Facebook photos from my previous adventure, and the assurance that Neil’s craic was “quite good” too. Neil sorted kit hire for them, and as with my first day at Arrochar, they began their immersion in his well of knowledge, forging the skills of safe route planning and selection.
Our mountain of choice was Ben Vorlich, selected over Ben Lawers based on Avalanche forecasts, but even this ‘safer’ route still required careful reading of the snowpack, and proper use of crampons and axe. Hard work through tricky conditions was rewarded with some atmospheric summit views as the clouds parted.
An excellent day had by all. Wim and Chris were fairly experienced in the outdoors, but the day illuminated and subsequently filled many gaps in their knowledge, building significant confidence to do more.
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By this stage I had really caught the winter mountaineering bug. A superb day was had in late February when I joined a guided group with Neil on the famed Ptarmigan ridge route up Ben Lomond. Blue skies, and a spectacular alpine feel to the ridge made it highly memorable. By this stage in my winter mountaineering journey, ice axe and crampon techniques were becoming closer to second nature, and I was building the confidence for something a little more ambitious.
A plan was put together for the 19th March, and just a little over a year after my horror leg break I found myself with Neil at the foot of Ben Nevis, about to tackle the highest summit in the UK, via the Carn Mor Dearg arête route – a narrow spine of rock and ice, sweeping round a dramatic alpine bowl, and reaching skyward to the looming cornices and buttresses of The Ben’s northerly aspects.
This day had it all – crampons and ice axes tested while threading a route up the vast slopes of Carn Mor Dearg, scrambling along a precipitous  jagged ridge, stunning 360 views from the summit, blue skies above us, and a cloud inversion below us that evoked the lonely peaks of the Himalayas. Incredibly atmospheric, and utterly involving. The type of day you feel truly humbled to experience in the Scottish mountains.
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I’d certainly come along way since the first day in Arrochar with Neil and 360 Degrees Outdoors, with a wealth of newly cemented knowledge and skills, and my comfort zone significantly expanded. A number of epic photos for the Facebook and Instagram accounts were an additional bonus – looking is cool is of course an important aspect of mountain pursuits.

As winter turns to spring, I’m looking to my next adventure. Undoubtedly Neil will be asked to help if he’s not yet tired of my distinctly average banter. Building experience and skills in the outdoors is a never ending journey, but if the stages to come are as rewarding and memorable as those so far, then long may this journey continue.”IMG_8024 - Version 2

A Veritable Ice Palace

The last few days have been pretty busy, with the highlight being a few days spent snow holing up in the Cairngorms. The snow holing trip had originally been my mate Chris’ idea. He runs his own photography studio, and wanted a chance to get some sunrise and sunset pictures over the Cairngorms. Disappointingly, he had to call off at the very last minute thanks to some plumbing problems; house, not personal, which meant he was understandably reluctant to disappear off and leave his wife looking after a toddler and a bathroom in need of repair.

I met up with Wendy, who was also coming along, at Glenmore Lodge on Wednesday night for some food and a final check of the weather forecast and the SAIS reports. My original suggestion to Chris had been to make our way towards Ben Macdui, giving the opportunity for some sunrise photography over Garbh Coire. However, I noticed that there was a WML assessment group out from the Lodge and, as they often use the Ben Macdui area for snow holing, I suggested an alternate plan; we’d walk down Glen Feshie to the bothy at Ruigh Aiteachain, stay the night there, then head onto the Moine Mhor and have a look at some of the potential snow hole sites up there. If time and snow conditions permitted, we thought we might head as far as Monadh Mor and Beinn Bhrotain, the two Munros out on the eastern edge of the area.

Walking down Glen Feshie towards the bothy was an atmospheric experience; it was a cold, clear night with an awe-inspiring panorama of stars in the night sky above us. The path is well-maintained by the estate, but it’s suffered badly in this winter’s storms, with a couple of sections almost completely obliterated by the erosion of the river bank, and we had to tread carefully as we made our way across the damaged areas with heavy packs on.

Right Aiteachain is often referred to as ‘Landseer’s Bothy’; an allusion to the famous painter’s association with the area during the period when he was having an affair with the Duchess of Bedford. His time in Glen Feshie also provided him with the inspiration for several of his most iconic paintings, including The Monarch of the Glen; a painting which I hate with a passion, as a copy of it hung in the hallway of the little council house I grew up in for years. Landseer had a long-term struggle with depression, and it’s apparently possible to detect a much darker turn in Landseer’s work when his affair with the Duchess came to an end, and he was no longer able to spend time in the Highlands. As someone who has an ongoing ‘professional’ interest in the therapeutic benefits of being outdoors, I find the theory an intriguing one, although I’m not familiar enough with Landseer’s work to verify it’s accuracy.

Turning up at a bothy is always a bit of a lottery, as there’s no telling who you’ll find there, but on this occasion, the place was in darkness when we arrived, and we set about getting the fire going with the wood which the local estate helpfully supplies. After a quick brew up, we got our mats and sleeping bags sorted out and got our heads down, ready for an early start in the morning.

The temperature dropped well below freezing during the night, making it a real effort to drag myself out of my cosy down bag in the morning and get the stove going for breakfast. We packed up and got on our way a little before eight. If Wednesday evening had been atmospheric, Thursday morning was breathtaking; we were greeted by bright sunlight in a cloudless blue sky, surrounded by white mountains as we walked through the mature pine forest towards the track up to the Moine Mhor.

An hour’s steady plod took us up onto the plateau, where we were greeted by the sight of a ‘white desert’; rolling, snow covered hills stretching out for miles in all directions, with no tracks or trails to be seen anywhere. Conditions underfoot weren’t ideal, with a soft covering of snow that made breaking a trail fairly hard work. We were making slower progress than I’d hoped, and I began to recalculate objectives for the day, as it became obvious that travelling as far as Beinn Bhrotain had been overly optimistic.

As we stopped for a bite to eat we noticed movement over towards the western slopes of Braeriach, where two groups of 5 people were moving around. I guessed that they were the Winter ML course from the Lodge, which meant they were snow holing somewhere in the area; an additional little complicating factor in the decision making process. After some careful scrutiny of the map, I opted to head over to the east side of Tom Dubh, in the hope that the little reentrant there would be holding enough snow for our purposes. The cloud was beginning to come down around us, and I was relieved to arrive at our destination and find a nice chunky bank of snow all the way down the gully. My avalanche probe went to it’s full three metre depth horizontally and vertically, confirming that we had enough snow to work with, and I got to work digging out our home for the night.

With just two of us, it was always going to be a long process, and it took nearly two hours to get the initial tunnel dug to give enough room to start work with the snow saw. Once we could get the snow out in large blocks, everything began to move much more quickly, and we were finished within another hour. As it was Wendy’s first experience of snow holing, I’d opted to make the hole a bit bigger than necessary, to avoid it feeling too claustrophobic, so we now had a fairly spacious shelter. We got some extra layers on,  mats and sleeping bags sorted and then started up the stove to melt snow and get some food going. I love my MSR Reactor for winter; with the 1.5l pot, it melts snow and heats water for simple cooking really quickly, and is completely unaffected by draughts, making it a fantastic no-nonsense tool for getting hot food and drink into your system.

Wendy was still struggling with cold feet, so I warmed up some more water, popped it in her Nalgene bottle and, after popping it in a dry bag for additional security, she was able to pop it into her sleeping bag as a makeshift hot water bottle. After a bit of chat, fuelled by some extra-dark chocolate and Talisker Storm (for me at least – Wendy is off the booze for Lent), we settled down for the night. The weather forecast indicated the wind might pick up from about 3am onwards, and just to be on the safe side, I set my alarm so that I could check that the entrance to our shelter wasn’t filling up with drifting snow.

After a fairly restful night, we were awake and getting organised at 6.30am. By the time we were packed and ready to move, the cloud had dropped down across the plateau, and I was required to do some micro-navigation from the door of the snow hole, pacing a bearing back onto the summit of Tom Dubh, then setting off towards Carn Ban Mor. It was Wendy’s first time ‘in the white room’, and we chatted about navigational strategies in white out conditions as we went.

Thankfully, the cloud lifted enough to let us get our bearings, and we were able to pick up the pace. As we arrived at the base of Carn Ban Mor, we came across 5 or 6 snow holes, neatly dug into the side of the reentrant that runs down from the summit, and stopped to have a wee peek in at what we guessed were the Winter ML trainees’ handiwork.

Carrying on, we made good time over the top of Carn Ban Mor and dropped down towards the path on the western side that would take us down into Glen Feshie and back to the car. The temperature had risen significantly since the previous evening, and it began to rain as we made our way off the hill, through soft snow that made for frustrating travel, continually allowing us to sink to our knees in the deeper patches of snow and slipping and sliding away beneath our feet. It was a huge relief to finally drop below the snow line and reach the reassuringly firm surface of the estate path down through the woods and back to the main road.

All in all, a great trip, with the chance to experience the full range of Scottish winter conditions, from clear skies and bright sunshine to a windy whiteout and dreich sleety rain. It was a pity that Chris had been unable to join us, as Thursday in particular was a landscape photographer’s dream, but on the bright side, at least it means I have an excuse for another trip if the snow hangs around for a bit longer!