Moonwalker - Adventures of a Midnight Mountaineer

WE had seen nothing since setting off on a benign autumn morning, hardly a breath of wind to shift the stubborn cloud which shrouded the high mountains. It was dry and warm but we were wet, our gear coated with condensation.

The summit cairn of Cairn Gorm was soon reached and passed, just a tidy pile of rocks in the grey, no point in hanging around in the hope of a view. Now we were on the long crossing of the invisible landscape to Ben Macdui.

We hadn't seen another soul for ages though there could easily have been hundreds out there in the mist. The only sounds we could make out were those of our own effort. Until we neared the top of Macdui, that is. Crunching across the gravel, we started hearing matching steps behind us. We knew the legends of Am Fear Liath Mor – the big grey man – the giant presence which is said to haunt these high parts. We also knew the theories of how in perfectly still conditions footsteps can be affected by a delayed echo. 

It's an eerie feeling but we were more intrigued than spooked. Then the dog turned to face the source of the sound, hackles up and growling. We stopped and so did the crunching. No one appeared from the mist and after a minute or two we continued on our way to the summit without any further incident, though the dog never quite settled down until we were on our way down the mountain.

That was more than 30 years ago and although I have been on Ben Macdui many times since, it has always involved coming in from the ridges and passes to the south. Nothing to do with my big grey man encounter, I hasten to add. It just so happens these routes are handier for access. Honest.

The general view tends to be that these southern approaches are more aesthetically pleasing than the long plod over mainly featureless terrain after a soulless start among the detritus and noisy throng of the ski centre car park. It's a whole different picture walking in the white of winter when this terrain is transformed into one of savage beauty, a vast emptiness of snow and ice. In the fiercest weather this can be a seriously challenging route, where distance becomes an illusion and there are few discernible points of reference.

Our hopes for a trouble-free crossing were high. Although temperatures at our Aviemore base were sitting at -6C, we were at the centre of a blue-sky February calm, the snow cover from the previous week gently receding day by day yet still offering up the promise of some winter mountaineering. Despite the slight rise in temperature at the car park, it felt raw in the early wind and the grey was firmly in control over the high tops. The forecast was for this scenario to be replaced gradually by lighter winds and clearer skies as the day progressed.

In the hope of having the best viewing options, we decided the best course of action was an anti-clockwise route, making the longer trek out to Ben Macdui then coming back via the March Burn path to the rim of the Northern Corries and then continuing over Cairn Gorm. Eight of us set off, passing through a brief flurry created by snow-making machines. Within 20 minutes, we stopped to put on crampons, the cobbles on the path becoming increasingly icy and unpredictable. It was the right move – another ten minutes and we were walking on sheet ice, a spread of waterlogged ground that had frozen solid. 

There has been a big conversation recently about the suitability of micro spikes in these conditions sparked by a series of mountain rescue call-outs and warnings. We had already been passed by a couple of walkers, some wearing micros and, more incredulously, others with neither. After crossing a burn on ice-coated rocks, we watched a man walking with his dog slip on the rocks and take a whack to the knee as well as a soaking. His rushed recovery and departure suggested an embarrassment of his folly.

Our crampons remained on all day although there were times when we could have done without, especially when ploughing through deeper, softer snow on the way back from Macdui. Having them on that length of time takes a toll on the feet, but the continual back and forth of fitting and removal is simply not practical in freezing or windswept conditions.

Micros have their place and they are a handy addition to the winter gear. I use them regularly, mainly in the lower reaches, but also higher on the hill on occasion when the angles are not too steep. But they have also become an added factor in folk often pushing on further than they should. An increasingly heard phrase these days when it comes to crampon use is: “I think I can get away without them.” When you talk about getting away with something, it suggests you know it's wrong and should instead go for safety first.

As our ascent continued up Miadan Creag an Leth-choin, we started to get glimpses into the corries on our left as the cloud swirled and began to break up. By the time we had neared the high point of the shoulder there were patches of blue high above and the dark blocks of the Fiacaill Ridge were visible, a snapshot of magnificent menace.

The conditions split on the continuation across the side of Cairn Lochan, on one side, the sun straining to burst out of the now more diaphanous veil of grey, while on the other mighty Braeriach suddenly appeared in all its scalloped glory. The wind had also dropped to little more than a whisper, and it immediately felt warmer while on the move.

The sun lit our way ahead without ever escaping its confines as we steadily made progress towards the meeting point of paths on the plateau. Our hopes of a complete breakthrough were dashed here. The curtain had come down again, the light extinguished. Macdui was now buried in cloud, the route towards its twin summits more intimidating, unpredictable. Four of our party decided to press on, the others turned back towards Cairn Gorm. We said our goodbyes and headed on our different paths into the vast white open.

The cloud sheet was never complete though, more a patchwork effort that couldn't make up its mind where it wanted to be. Although Macdui was offering little assistance with visibility, we could make out tiny figures scattered along the route. On closer inspection, some turned out to be cairns marking safe passage.

As we finally approached the summit, we were rewarded for our perseverance. Here was the great reveal, bang on time. From seeing nothing, suddenly we had an almost perfect 360-degree vision. Cairn Toul and The Devil's Point were wearing the skimpiest of wreaths, while Beinn Bhrotain and Monadh Mor had gone au naturale. Meanwhile, our next target, Cairn Gorm, was a radiant white dome peeking up away to the north.

The one blemish strangely enough, was Braeriach, our only companion for so long but now mostly hidden. Later we would discover that friends who had been on the top of Braeriach were feeling sorry for us being in the cloud of Macdui while they had clarity. Neither of us realised the others actually had the better deal. Standing in the calm amongst the boulders gave a false sense of the true temperature. A few seconds without a glove for photo purposes was all it took to leave my hand numb with the biting cold.

The walk back was a completely different experience, the iced landscape now sparkling under a brilliant glare which defied the freezing conditions and revealed a constant procession of figures heading our way, the scale similar to ants on a sugar spillage. We passed Lochan Buidhe, the scene of that terrible 1971 tragedy that claimed six lives when a school party failed to find the shelter that used to sit on its shore. On a day like this, it was hard to equate this tranquil body of frozen water with such an awful event, but the weather in this bowl can be brutal and unforgiving.

Our luck held as we emerged from another white room to reach the rim of the corries where it was busy, busy, busy with climbers and onlookers. As we continued around the edges, we watched the cloud filling in behind creating a series of steaming cauldrons, albeit at a much lower temperature.

The summit plateau of Cairn Gorm turned out to be most solid ground of all, an icy stillness gripping the surroundings with the temperature drop dramatic. By now, the effect of the heavy pack and boots combined with wearing crampons for such a long period was taking a toll. My heels were shredded, every step upwards a winceful moment. 

It had been a superb day of so many shifting moods and dramatic winter light, the Cairngorms at their finest, but now I just wanted it to end. Even another promised visit from the big grey man wouldn't have convinced me to carry on. It just goes to prove you can have too much of a good thing.