There's more than you think to S M
Ski Mountaineering, Glenmore Lodge, 1980s.
Sunday. The introduction to the gear takes so long that we have coffee in Glenmore Lodge, an event to be recalled with longing later in the week. Then it's into the Transit and up the hill to the great carpark in the sky.
Up at the Ptarmigan restaurant there is that horrible dusty light you get in the "blin'drift" - the lying snow driven by strong winds. We put the skins on, free our heel bindings, and start ski mountaineering on the 10-minute walk to Cairngorm summit. Rocks come; first in the snow, then in the ice, then covered by ice. We carry the skis over the boulderfield and flounder. The wind is gusting at 80. It takes half an hour to the weather station.
Monday. Up to Coire Cas in sun and strong winds to practise steep walking on the headwall. It got too steep for skins. We teetered to a patch of boulders, ice-glazed humps. Fitting crampons took a quarter hour of fumbling. At the top of Coire an Lochain, its Stob a dome of rippled ice, we took skins off for the last time and set about losing 3000 feet of height as pleasantly as possible. Infinite varieties of ice crunched and roared under the skis as we edged down to a boulderfield. Even picking through boulders, it felt safer on skis than on foot. There was a long, easy swoop down to the head of Lurcher's Gully, where we got to stop for lunch. Everyone was shattered.
Wednesday. A bigger trip to Loch Avon, Lochan Buidhe and Lurcher's crag. Round the back of Cairngorm, in Coire Raibert, we stood at the head of the burn that drains it - a real gully, that you need hands to get up in the summer, now full of deep, unmarked snow. One or two turns at a time, kick turns if you must. Half way down you could leave the gully bed and run the 500 foot slope down to the perfect whiteness of the loch. It took perhaps 30 seconds.
The next 1 1/2 hours were back to work skinning up to the plateau, a spell in a limbo of glaring whiteness, the creak of boots, swish of skis, clatter of bindings. Around here a Lodge party had been engulfed, but spared, by a big avalanche the week before. Adrian shot up to the 20 foot deep, meringue-like cornice looking for traces of their snowholes and gear, but found none. He made sure his transceiver was sending.
Heading past Lochan Buidhe it's hard going against the wind. I look over to Macdui: there is not a rock to break the whiteness, and through the slight, glittering haze Braeriach, Cairn Toul, the Devil's Point and Ben-y-Gloe beyond are ranged like a line of battleships.
Thursday. Strains are showing.I've thrown away two pairs of gloves and my goggles; the rivets inside my boots are winning the battle with my feet. Today we traverse Bynack More…
From the top of A'Choinneach we skin up to the col with Bynack Beag. The sun bursts through ragged clouds, the wind stokes up and a herd of reindeer nose alongside. In the cold bright sun they are beings of light - creamy-white sturdy creatures calmly grazing where the moss has been blasted clear of snow. We leave our skis and packs here and scramble up the Munro.
More on request.