MAKING RIGHT ROUTE CHOICES ON A WILD CAIRNGORMS WEEKEND

I HAD high hopes for our weekend in the Cairngorms: a wander under blue sky and sunshine in pristine, deep snow to the summit of Braeriach, or across the sparkling empty plateau between Cairn Gorm and Ben Macdui. Fanciful? Of course. But when you have been trapped under the dome of unrelenting grey for weeks on end you can be forgiven for dreaming.

The reality was near zero visibility from the mid slopes which cloaked the considerable hazard of unstable cornices and avalanche along with punishing, raging winds that would make progress on higher ground tortuous.

Still, it was good to finally have a change of scenery even it was simply a colour change from grey to white. And as is often the case in our winter mountains, the level of enjoyment came down to making informed and sensible choices of route.

It took an hour or so to finally burst out of the gloom on the drive up the A9, the mood improving with every mile and the reminder there was still a landscape out there. We were looking for an appetiser to break the journey north and suddenly there it was in full unblemished view: the ruggedly handsome Creag Dubh, a familiar landmark just south-west of Newtonmore. This is a hill that punches way above its 756-metre height, rocky and rugged from the get-go, a fine narrow walk above spectacular plunging faces.

We had expected sodden ground and difficult-to-cross streams but the contrast to the west of the A9 was stark. The water was a simple step-over, the terrain firm, and there were decent views all round. The distant Cairngorms were hooded but there was a twinkling light bouncing off the solid white of their lower slopes while the scoured and streaked Munros of the Monadh Liath were clear.

It was prudent to put on spikes around the 600m mark as the rocks were iced and the patches of snow on the path were becoming more solid and slipperier. The views also began to vanish as pale cloud rolled across the top like tumbleweed and the wind chill increased markedly, but it quickly flipped again on the descent. That gentle warm-up had given us a taste of what was to come.

The thought of walking blind in the high Cairngorms with such unstable snow conditions wasn't high on anyone's agenda the following day. A few of the groups chose to head further west in search of more walker friendly Munros while we stayed put, settling on a full circuit of Meall a' Bhuachaille and its tops.

There was a queue of stationary traffic on the road along Loch Morlich, the ski road opening having been delayed for further snow clearing. Fifteen minutes later we were moving again, most of the cars disappearing uphill into the white mist.

We passed the perpetually mesmerising green lochan and stopped in for lunch at Ryvoan bothy before setting off uphill on the stepped path. With full winter kit and packs we were soon overheating but as we moved through each contour the cold came creeping back in.

Around 500 metres there were some hard-packed snow remnants; at 600m the steps were becoming more and more iced; by 700m we were in the snowline and any long visibility had vanished. We fitted spikes and crampons while we still had some shelter then made the final push to the 810m summit. We were now in a different climate altogether, a world of freezing white; the massive cairn was ice-blasted, the wind was battering us along and the chill had transformed into a piercing sting. Any doubts we had chosen the poorer option were now firmly dispelled – if this was the difference between 700m and 800m, another near 500m higher on Braeriach didn't bear thinking about.

Another reason for this route choice was that it was an east to west march over the additional three summits so at least the wind would be behind us all the way. The wind direction meant the snow cover on the west slopes was much deeper than on the east.

There were a couple of knee-deep descents and little in the way of views on the rest of the way round but once we turned south we soon regained visibility and were taunted by the sight of the big mountains stretched in a line across the horizon.

From this perspective they looked enticing, seductive, stiletto black lines the only breaks in the all-encompassing white blanket, and there were tantalising hints of further delights hidden above, lures that some would find impossible to resist. There's no doubt there was something hypnotic and alluring about it all, but the mountains in winter can be unforgiving. We were happy with our day's work, happy that we had turned our backs on the siren song of the greater heights.