Winter skills in the Cairngorms.
In January 2023, I took a trip up to the Cairngorms National Park via the Caledonian Sleeper, for four days of exploration: two days low level walking and loch swimming, culminating in a two day epic winter skills course.
This post is all about the course taken with Alice Kerr. Read about the two days spent exploring the lochs and trails of Aviemore before or after.
Why winter skills?
The reason for this trip stemmed from applying to be one of the selected twenty people on a Fjällräven expedition up in the Arctic. I wasn’t selected — in what seemed to be a rigged process — but I had my heart set on spending some time in the snow. Being that I do take myself off alone up into mountains (albeit UK ones) I figured it would be useful to extend my abilities by participating in a winter skills course.
During my research for social posts for the Fjällräven challenges [which, by the way, you can read about in these three posts: challenge 1 motivations, challenge 2 preparations, challenge 3 sustainability] I came across mountain leader Alice Kerr. She was specifically leading women’s groups, and being female herself, figured I’d feel more comfortable. Not that I’ve had particularly bad experiences being guided by men, but I wanted to support women in these roles.
After we’d had a load of snow dumped in early December — the most I’ve experienced since a trip to the Lake District around 9 years prior — I was really set on having another magical experience, and a bit more involved than walking 3 miles home from Shoreditch at 11.30pm because the buses couldn’t deal with the sudden onslaught. Alice’s Instagram feed showed her rock climbing with control during blizzards into gullies and this confirmed for me that she was the one to learn from.
Images: 1. A gully in the northern corries; 2. Up towards Fiacaill a’ Choire Cas ridge with spindrift and 40+mph winds; 3. Heading up the hill, with Rothiemurchus Forest and more non-snowy hills in the distance; 4. Our winter skills group with guide Alice Kerr.
Cost.
I tend to spend £150 maximum on any trips of a few days away — generally £50 trains, £50 hostel if I’m not camping and then food. This was £110 alone for the Caledonian Sleeper train, but the hostel had a 3-nights-for-2 winter offer on making it £42, and a no-brainer to extend the trip, and this made it feel like a whole load more value. The course itself was £165.
I’m sat here in a local London coffee shop with the rain pouring outside, having spent a week watching people’s snowy adventures continue. I’d visited the Lake District in February in anticipation of exploring the snowy fells alone, but there was no snow. Now it’s back and I’ve got FOMO that I didn’t book Alice’s winter running course in Glen Coe for next week, still sat here now wondering if I can make it work — but it’s another £300 just for a couple days of (extraordinary) fun. After taking 6 trips away in just 10 weeks (one of which was to care for a broken-ankled mum), I do need to just stop for a little while.
Equipment.
However, on top of the trip cost, I also had to purchase mountaineering boots, a mountaineering waterproof, additional base layers and accessories, and snow goggles. All of which will now not be used until winter again. So it does really feel a waste, especially when for 5 days of the week I’m a freelancer. But that’s also part of the issue — London freelancers don’t usually have £300 to spare.
[On the topic of buying goods for an individual trip, here’s what I spent: the boots I found preloved but barely worn on ebay for £60, the jacket was new from Alpkit for £209.99 though they’re a great social business with PFC-free coatings, and I see this jacket as one for life, merino balaclava off ebay £20, merino leggings off Facebook marketplace £25, new merino gloves from Cotswold Outdoors £21.50, and snow goggles from Facebook marketplace with a lovely Alexandra Palace run thrown in for fun to get them]. Crampons, ice axe and helmet were included in the course cost — which for the running course wouldn’t be the case, requiring a £15 hire for the running specific ice axe. I additionally purchased a pair of micro crampons that fit onto trail shoes - for £67.50 - expecting I might have to deal with some snowy trails before the course; this didn’t happen, but they did come out for a peaty bog situation.
Day one.
Clothing and food.
Having spent two days at low level getting a feel for the weather, the trails, the town and the mountains looming around, I was reeling in anticipation — and a little intimidation — at what I was about to face. My bag was packed the night before with all the additional layers and safety stuff we were required to bring — spare base layer, spare warm jacket, emergency bivvi bag, compass, map, whistle, headtorch. Plus I had additional socks as I didn’t know what my boots would be like, spare waterproofs as I was unsure whether the thicker pair (heavier yet less easy to move in) or thinner pair (easier to move in but maybe not strong enough against ice) would be most suitable, and the multitude of layers I was planning on wearing anyway.
Food included a sandwich (unfortunately pre-made from Tesco as this was easier), various snacks of cookies, Lucho’s fruit energy blocks, nuts. And I was bringing my water bladder rather than a bottle as it could fit 2l rather than 750ml, plus a flask of hot coffee. As I was leaving the hostel in excitement to head to the Tiso Outdoor Shop up the road, I noticed a new egg and cress Tesco sandwich on the pavement, seemingly dropped by another winter skills course attendee heading to my hostel - full of guides, skiiers, and winter skills course attendees - for their morning meet. Win.
Morning meet.
Tiso Outdoor Shop was full of tables of guides and their weekend course participants. Alice arrived with dog and mountaineering equipment in tow. Our group of six, including Alice (7 including dog), sat down to learn what we’d be doing during the day, and have a check-in about why we were even there and what we hoped to achieve. My response was that I simply wanted to be in the snow, but practically I wanted to feel more comfortable navigating around in such weather. The rest of the group had some or had minimal winter experience, so we were a mixed bag, and that put me at ease a little. As a year-round gardener and as someone who runs long distance races, I know what it’s like to feel uncomfortable and push myself through that, but it’s different when you’re not just responsible for yourself or can’t easily take yourself out of the situation.
Alice showed us on a map where she hoped we would head for the day, and explained how she had made that decision, effectively so we were able to do this ourselves when planning a day out in the winter mountains. She took us through various weather reports, explaining how the BBC refer to the Met Office so we may as well just focus on the latter, along with specific mountain hilltop assessors (Moutain Weather Info Service), and an avalanche awareness site (Scottish Avalanche Info Service). Later that evening when prepping for day two, I was able to look at those sites to consider what the day may look like (and be pretty much correct in my deduction), and similarly when in the Lakes a month later (despite no snow) I was better placed in my knowledge to address what route to do.
We also discussed the equipment we might need so that Alice could give us the most appropriate kit, or hire from Tiso if necessary. It was for me the first time using an ice axe and crampons, and wearing a mountaineering helmet. I then had to pack these things into my bag, which is why a larger 35-40l rucksack is required, even if not full in the first instance. We then divvied up into vehicles and headed off up the road to the Cairngorm Ski Centre, excitement sizzling as the verges and hills around became more snowy.
Images: 1. The morning of day one with all my gear; 2. An egg and cress sandwich found on the floor; 3. View over the hills from the road to Cairngorms Ski Centre; 4. First steps on snow in my preloved B2 mountain boots.
Setting off.
Getting out of the van and settling into the required layers for the temperature drop, with the feeling of the boots being on snow for the first time, I could sense the anticipation inside myself. That I was uncertain and yet ready. It’s how I feel whenever I set out for anything, whether it’s a 5k run or a marathon; abating the thoughts, telling them that I have prepped as well as I can and that all there is to do now is just do the thing. I’m the type who will manage risk rather than spontaneously head out; I don’t have an apocalypse bag but I do photographically/memorially know where certain equipment is, and so all decisions I make are within this remit of “what if?” I’m intrigued as to how I would react should zombies — or war — hit us.
I was uneasy in the car park when moving towards our meet spot by the ski café, as the ground was icy. The morning’s drinks meant I needed to wee, and time doing that always eases some concerns - one less thing to think about. With some more faffing as to what equipment we may need to begin with, I gave Alice one of my trekking poles after seeing her with only one, though I hadn’t checked that either of them worked, and of course the cheap plastic had siezed and wouldn’t tighten the pole into place. The unease of not having a pole on incredibly compacted icy ground caused my body to tense as we stepped down death stairs and slight slopes down out of the ski resort, and I very quickly slipped. Great start.
Alice generously gave up her pole to me, which helped me along the heavily traversed slippy path out and up the hill, across little divets for brooks now frozen and as far as my eyes were concerned, a massive ravine to cross. Reaching a fresh patch of snow going uphill, Alice asked us to consider if we were too warm, and to take layers off now rather doing lots of faffing, which would be worse as we get higher into the wind — which was forecast for 50mph gusts. I took off just one layer, but was still very warm as we headed onwards; I totally hadn’t anticipated how tiring it would be walking in snow, because I’d never really experienced it before. [I was wearing merino leggings, compressive leggings, lightweight waterproof trousers, two pairs of wool socks, merino base layer, polyester t-shirt, fleece, down jacket, waterproof jacket — and I removed only the merino top, though was thankful for the layers as we hit the windy bit and stopped for lunch].
Images: 1. It really was quite sheltered in that area before we rounded the ridge; 2. Alice leading the way on a shaded hill; 3. Me, very happy and rosy; 4. B looking suitably prepared.
Walking.
On this snowy heathery patch, sheltered from wind and essentially any views, Alice took us through various ways of walking uphill through deep snow, inviting us to reflect on what the ground was doing. As it was heathery, there were areas of soft airyness, surprise rocky boulders, and then simply some snow. We were to navigate ourselves up the short hill — known on the map as White Lady Shieling — and at each new fresh patch, exploring the feeling and effectiveness of walking normally, walking sideways but vertical up, walking sideways but diagonally up, and walking by digging your toes in. This was to set the notion of intention, so as we traversed onwards we were able to read the ground and anticipate what technique we should employ. After the tricky ice path, I felt much more stable, and even quite giddy from walking across a hill without a trail.
Images: 1. Other B signalling, what’s that, hang tight? With Rothiemurchus, Loch Morlich and the Ski Centre down below; 2. R + D in the distance faces squinting from the gusts of wind, me trying to evidence it; 3. Me and D heading into the wind; 4. Group shot of us in a line battling the icy wind.
As we rounded the hill, that’s when the ski area with furnicular railway appeared to the left and a big expanse of hill appeared in front, and the wind picked up. Moving onwards we were encouraged into a discussion about the direction of the rime ice on a boulder, to evaluate what it tells us about the wind now, and how it may look tomorrow should the wind or the snow conditions change. Wind direction has always confused me, but with this example I was better able to envision what was going on. Chats continued as we stepped heavily into the deep snow, starting to brace ourselves against the wind gusts that were now making themselves known in the form of spindrifts, gathering off the hill and into the valley. We had stopped to regroup and I took that opportunity to get my phone out for a photo and video, which is when I dropped my glove. In slow motion I watched it blow away as both Alice and B darted across and down respectively to retrieve it. The karma for taking a photo.
We found a spot for lunch by a out-of-use ski tow and looked out across the valley where skiiers were slaloming down or slowly being taken up by another tow. My hot coffee was lukewarm, and I was already noticing that my water bladder tube was freezing so I kept having to blow into it to release the ice. Though it was nice to eat (egg & cress sandwich and a protein bar), it was cold on the bum; others in the group got out a dry bag to sit on, but I sat on my bag, aware of the helmet up at the top. We quickly got cold — I think it was around -15˚C remembering the forecast, but perhaps -25˚C with wind chill. This is why I was pleased about my layered legs, though my torso was doing alright with one less layer. I did decide to put on my merino gloves as well as the waterproof ones (and had a spare waterproof pair in my bag, fortunately for any future mishaps).
Images: 1. Looking up to the Fiacaill a’ Choire Cas ridge where the wind is causing spindrifts, but B stands strong; 2. Alice and B have some chat, with some other hikers in the distance heading up to the plateau; 3. Other B balaclava’ed up; 4. Another selfie of contentedness, but perhaps more windburnt that the hour previous.
Self-arresting.
Moving onwards again, Alice wanted us to feel what it was like being utterly uncomfortable, and how efficient we needed to be with our movements, when going uphill and bracing the wind gusts, which by now we were facing head-on. As we walked up and crested the ridge — Fiacaill a’ Choire Cas — it was impossible to look ahead due to ice splinters in the eyeballs, but periodically needing to assess your own direction and that of the group you had no choice. It was actually all quite invigorating. By this point we could see other groups around the valley, along with some heading further up to the Cairn Gorm plateau proper at 1141m, with Cairn Gorm summit itself at 1245m around to the left and ahead though out of view due to cloud cover. The lack of anything but snow and spindrifts when facing this way gave an air of Everest, to me. A group of six or so were heading in a line up to the plateau, feeling so close yet so far. They turned around and headed back down.
Images: 1. Great shot of Alice grimacing as the wind sweeps around; 2. Fast clouds covering the hikers heading up - then down - the plateau; 3. A pair of climbers running down the slope; 4. Heading up to the ridge itself.
We were now sheltered just a touch down in the valley, where Alice showed us how to dig a trench with our boots and with the adze of our axe so that we could stand upright, place our bag down (with axe handle through the strap) and sit down if required. I have to mention that at this point I was absolutely in discomfort, not from any cold, but from needing a wee, and I was constantly assessing the situation to see where I could go. The trenches I thought were great so I could squat down, but another couple of groups came into this area as Alice was showing us the next bits and that fudged my plan. I guess it’s more realistic that I may need to ice axe arrest when needing to urinate, especially considering I need to wee most hours.
Though the snow was pretty soft, Alice still wanted us to have a play with the technique of arresting — known as self belaying, or the self belay grip. It allowed us to have more of an experiment with the uphill and sideways walking too, because the gradient was steeper. We also recognised how to safely move with an axe too — with preferred hand or ideally uphill hand over the axe head and index/middle fingers down the length, and pick facing backwards — and then pretending to fall to catch ourselves. It really was slightly pointless though as we couldn’t dig the axe in, but I was grateful to have had chance to explore the movements in a fairly passive area. Finally we were going to head off again, and the other groups had dissipated, so my group kindly made a body wall for me so I could wee in my trench, I guess for wind shelter and for people shelter. Unbeknownst to them I did take the minute to get my phone out to video the fascinating and pleasing wee crevasse I’d made.
Images: 1. Starting to be a bit of a whiteout.; 2. Alice mid-explanation; 3. My pleasing wee crevasse; 4. The group’s wee wall; 5. Feeling better after having emptied my bladder, but now in a whiteout.
Sliding.
It had already been an exhilarating day, though come the afternoon, around 2pm, we were told we would start to head down. Alice briefed us through the session on what we were doing and why, bringing us into her decision making, for instance that while it would be epic to head up to Cairn Gorm, we wouldn’t be able te explore many skills and that’s slightly a waste of her expertise and our time with her. So upon leaving the hills, she explained the distance and how long it would usually take to get back. I hadn’t been making a note of the time, so frankly don’t know how much slower I had been walking through the snow than on dry land, and this would be something I’d have to take into consideration when planning trips of my own. They say it’s an additional hour of time for every vertical kilometre, so there must be a similar calculation for moving through snow.
For the premise of this session anyway, it felt like we had covered a lot, spent a lot of time out, and now we could sort of relax a bit. At least for me, my body was more comfortable with the surroundings and I didn’t overthink each step — plus not having a full bladder means you can concentrate on other things. This is when we got to slide! I’ve honestly always been too concerned with sliding down slopes that I’m unsure I’ve ever even sledded before; it’s certainly nothing I ventured forth with when we did have snow and the boys (my group of friends) would freeze icecream tubs of water to go “ice blocking” down the local golf course. This situation felt controllable, particularly because the snow was grippy rather than icy; we could slide, but not too far. It was also discovered that D’s waterproof trousers had a slippier finish than the rest of our’s and so she got some speed on — guess how fast you want to slide may be something you take into consideration when purchasing clothing!
The walk out.
It did feel like it took a while to walk back out and down to the ski centre; it may have been an hour and a half. We essentially walked across to where we’d had lunch and followed the “path” (hidden by snow) back down the White Lady Shieling, with views of Loch Morlich and the Rothiemurchus forest and clouds that had stayed dark blue-grey for the entire day. We avoided walking on the actual ski run in case it was able to be opened the following day, and stuck to the fence where the ski tow was. The snow was deep and on many occasions we were up to our knees, which caused real childish laughter. Some snow angels and snowballs were made too.
I knew what was coming though: the ice. Somehow I managed to get through it — maybe the confidence of the day’s skills had loosened me up — though I was still cautious. Back at the van, I quickly changed out of my boots and hungrily ate — including the cheese and onion Tesco sandwich — while Alice drove me down to the hostel. It was quiet and I was able to shower, hang stuff in the drying room, and head back out to Tesco for a top up of snacks for day two along with plenty of reduced items for dinner. Spinach ricotta cannelloni, green veg, garlic bread and clotted cream rice pudding for dessert. No shame, all the happiness.
Images: 1. Me and B looking happy on the walk out; 2. The rest of the group; 3. Me wanting to show I can hold an ice axe; 4. The bottom of the valley with the ski tows and Shieling station just visible; 5. Our winter skills group with guide Alice Kerr after a happy day one.
Segment of a digital OS map showing the topography of the Cairn Gorm summit region. We headed into and on the Fiacaill a’ Choire-Chais on day one.
Day two.
Packing.
My supplies were pretty much the same for day two, albeit no freebie sandwich. What I had learnt from day one is that I should put my flasks on the inside of my bag, and that bananas definitely should not stay on the outside. I still brought my water bladder so I had backup water, but kept the tube inside too. I’d also used boiled water in my cold water flask so that it would cool as the day went on, rather than freezing. I think a plastic water bottle is also more beneficial, but I only had metal. I also started the day wearing one less top layer, and didn’t bring my second pair of waterproofs.
Crampons.
We were to meet up at the ski centre so we could have a longer day out on the hills, and Rhi and Del picked me up, slightly concerned that the litle car wouldn’t get up the roads if they were too heavy with snow. Upon finding a BBC TV show The Mountain all about the Cairngorm Ski Centre, I learnt that there’s a metal fence that’s closed if the centre is closed, barring any vehicles, but if it’s going to be open, the snow plough will clear all of the road. But I wonder how that works for those wanting to head out to walk or climb — perhaps if the centre is closed then this shows the hills aren’t in a safe condition for anything? Looking at the OS map there are parking spots further down, so maybe it’s just a longer walk in.
Today’s route was to take us into Coire an t-Sneachda, following the river Allt Coire an t-Sneachda in the valley next to where we were yesterday. Though, as Alice explained, you wouldn’t necessarily put your crampons on so early as walking in boots would suffice for flatter stuff, we hadn’t gotten them out at all for day one. This meant we had some time in the car park learning what the different types were (I had B2), how to adjust them to our foot size (which you’d do everytime you hired rather than using your own), and how to safely tighten and tie them. Alice had also brought along micro crampons and explained her B3 crampons, so that we’d be more informed when purchasing our own.
Segment of a digital OS map showing the topography of the Cairn Gorm summit region. We headed into the Coire an t-Sneachda on day two.
I have to admit a disgruntling from myself when being suggested to that I should put the legs of my waterproof trousers around my boots, so keeping the crampon cords in place but also keeping snow out. I’d managed the previous day, and something about it felt more risky than having the legs tucked in — later in the day I nicked my trousers with my crampon so slitting them and needing Alice to duck tape them to my leg. [On the note of the trousers, I’d decided again to wear the lighter ones because they were simply easier to move in. Ben had gone without waterproofs until our slope activity as he was wearing gaiters over softshell pants].
The crampons went back in our bag so that we could try again “out in the field”, and we headed off back down the death stairs and the path of yesterday. With a ski pole generously donated from D for the day I was a bit more stable but still utterly not wanting to walk on that ice; that morning I’d wondered if I would’ve retained any muscle memory and confidence, and though I was wary, did feel more equipped starting day two. Establishing a trench each off the path, our crampons came back on and we started the long walk into the coire. It took around an hour, with Alice saying it was a good pace, but perhaps Ben shouldn’t be the leader so everyone else could keep up! It was actually knackering, and very warm. I was fascinated in observing how others moved in the snow, from Ben’s general ease, to Alice’s mountain goat style of jumping around — including on a hefty slope. This “path” was heavy with folk off out to hike or climb, which Alice noted was because it was good climbing without having such a long walk in because of the proximity of the ski centre’s car park.
Images: 1. On the path to Coire an t-Sneachda with another group behind; 2-3. Heading in to Coire an t-Sneachda and the back wall coming closer in to view; 4-5. Stopping for lunch at the base of a slope - cheese & pickle sandwich.
Walking uphill.
Reaching the back of the coire and looking up, it felt near vertical. We dug a trench each into the slope and sat down to eat lunch, or tried to, because the icy wind was hitting us directly in the face. Despite having gone through all the effort of sourcing snow goggles (which involved going to the Covent Garden stores and my eventual marketplace adventure) I didn’t want to put them on; I’d only been able to get ones with yellow lenses rather than clear, so leaving them off meant I could continue to experience the expansive whiteness of the landscape. Crampons off so that we could experience the slope without them (and in hindsight perhaps also to enable us to do correct ice axe arresting later), Alice took duct tape wrapped around her water bottle to wrap up my ripped trouser leg, and I put on my helmet. I was wearing a fleecey headband and merino balaclava with a hat on top; the day before I’d been concerned my head would be too cold without the hat once I put a helmet on, but with the balaclava and headband for my ears and forehead, then the mountaineering jacket over the helmet, it was surprisingly cosy — and that’s why they design them with wider hoods and elastic shockcords.
Images: 1. Standing on the slope with the gully above and a blue sky peeking through; 2. Alice explaining the technique of cutting different steps and using your axe to get uphill; 3. Excited but also terrified to be up there; 4. D practicing the down bit with her hand fisted to punch a hole in the snow for extra support.
Apart from the death stairs, I’d felt relatively comfortable with the landscape and activities. Until this. Looking at the map you can see how the contour lines are tightly packed together, up to the top of the coire at 1176m. Walking into the coire, this rocky headwall was in front of us the whole time. With every move forward we came closer to making out the banana-shaped gully Alice pointed out, and to the left was a section Alice had planned we’d head up before making our way down Fiacaill a’ Choire Cas. At our lunch spot — a wide triangular stretch with a vertical gully above — Alice had remarked we were about 950m, which in itself was surprising as the landscape seemed flat, with the forest and loch in the distance again. But standing and turning around to look upwards at the gully — and what I now know is called Aladdins Couloir — it felt impossible to walk up. Facing the snow slope, I simply didn’t want to turn around for fear of losing my step, even though there weren’t rocks about and the snow was soft here. It was the familiar lack of control I feel when there’s any sense of an edge, so as we stepped our way up the slope, I forced myself at each breather to turn around and gather perspective.
We’d already picked up some skills in kicking steps forwards and sideways, but with such a gradient to compete with, it took more conviction. Using the front of your boot, you kick downwards into the slope to create a trench that you could step on to. Somehow the compacted snow holds your weight. Alice suggested we try walking normally so the step would be at the same angle as the slope, but that was way too uncomfortable. At this point we were kicking our own steps so we could get a feel for the movement, but later were encouraged to use the person in front’s steps to retain energy, and taking it in turns to be up front, as with the walk in — being mindful that we have different feet sizes and strides, so B’s steps were too big for me, and Alice’s were more useful. We also had ice axe in hand so that we could use the pick as the gradient increased, yet being mindful of hunching as this alters your efficiency and affects fatigue. Despite feeling like I was standing upright, photos show otherwise. I found this good video from Glenmore Lodge about kicking steps in snow and ice.
Images: 1. Alice sat in a trench on the slope below Aladdin’s Couloir explaining our next higher intensity bit; 2. Me still trying to capture the gradient of the slope; 3. Looking down and out across the coire with cloud cover coming in; 4. Group on the slope go up and across; 5. View from below of us traversing across a rocky icy bit.
Traversing.
As we reached the base of the couloir, Alice started showing us the method to move up and across when it’s even steeper. Looking like a mountain goat again, she did this with ease and confidence. The technique was the same, but you also use a fist to punch a hole, ensuring you have three points of contact. It was a rocky section along with compacted ice, so it was nerve-wracking and I could feel my body tensing. We could simply traverse across rather than going up to the steeper section, though I wanted to use all of the opportunities given to learn within my own levels of risk, and with Alice there, I felt supported.
So I headed up before traversing to the left and wow did it take all of the energy types; there was nothing other than being present, just simply acknowledging how your body was moving, what the slope material felt like, and what your next step was. You had to flow. While being conscious of those around you, which was particularly necessary so you didn’t traverse too far across or too high or too below, or cut steps that weren’t the right size. I guess if on your own you would be following your instinct rather than others and so you’d have to stop more frequently to assess, rather than putting your head down and attending to yourself. It was absolutely dramatic.
Navigating the rocky and compacted icy sections to a ledge that B had gone on ahead to cut (this guy was so comfortable with it all), we then took a moment to breathe and take in the landscape outwards, along with glancing again at the gully climbers all around who never seemed to move, as if they were a still photograph, but occasionally reverberating “climbing!” across the coire. We cut steps sideways down a touch to another clean patch of snow, which had minimal boulders, and regrouped.
Images: 1. One of the buttresses that housed many climbers (another was just to the right and above us); 2. Having a rest and refuelling so the ice axe goes safely in the ground; 3. The group had a bit of playtime with some snowballs while we gathered up; 4. Taking the chance to walk tentatively down the slope standing upright.
Sliding and ice-axing take 2.
The drama continued as we ploughed into another activity, this time attempting both sliding and ice axe arrests again. While the snow was still a bit fluffy, we had the gradient to play with. Kicking steps back up the slope to create three staircases with a blank patch next to it, we had the opportunity to slide. I can’t express how fun this was! How joyous to have the moment to simply play. And I felt myself being very comfortable with almost running up the kicked steps to have another go, the freedom of traversing a landscape that in summer would ultimately be inaccessible as it would be scree
The point of creating the slides was to give us a clean run where we could practice ice axe arrests for real, with Alice demonstrating different positions we may find ourselves in. Feet first, feet and head both sideways, head first, and head first facing upwards. The slippiness of our waterproofs played a part again in how swiftly we went, but for me it was enough to understand the technique, allow myself the feeling of flailing and gathering speed, and halting myself.
It took a good few attempts to have my body remember that the base of the axe should be manouevered to be dug into my torso on the opposite side to where the axe head is — so I’m right-handed and I’d grip the axe head with my right hand pick facing behind, and then as I fall, I would bring my right elbow inwards so the adze is in the crook of my right shoulder with pick facing slightly out, I’d grab the base with my left hand and bring that into my left hip. By doing this you have control of the axe, shouldn’t poke your body, and it forces you to look along the length of the axe where your (in my case) right shoulder would press into the pick. And this is after you’ve already rolled yourself over on to the side where the axe head is.
Other techniques involved putting the axe out to the side. So it’s quite a lot to think of; looking back only 2 months later, I am having to play out the action in reminder of what the movements are. I also found a nice explanatory video on self arresting from Glenmore Lodge (who also do courses) that shows you the moves.
Images: 1. Still from a film of B sliding down the slope; 2. Still of B running down the slope; 3. Still of me having successfully slid; 4. Alice pointing out the layers of snow and ice in the snowpack trench she made.
Examining the snow pack.
While we refuelled after an energetic activity, Alice scurried away cutting a trench into the slope so that we could examine the snow pack. We essentially had a science or geology lesson out there. The snow depth was around a metre before the heathery rocky ground below was reached, which means for the most part on the slope, we were kicking steps into a metre deep. Looking at the snow pack helped us understand how the thawing and snowing would impact the coming days; we could distinguish clear lines and differences in blue or white hues, and Alice punched the layers so we could see the composition, whether actual snow or ice or somewhere in between. It’s not something you’d do before heading out for a day, but is useful if you’re planning additional trips, or just to check if you were right in your assumptions of the conditions.
It was a massive trench and I was quite looking forward to getting in it to have a wee, but before I could, it was rapidly filled in, on the off chance that someone came down the gully and fell in it? My wee had to wait until we’d headed back down and out on the path where I took pleasure in creating a crevasse again.
The walk out, again.
It was fairly disappointing walking away from that area. I kept stopping and turning around to remember it all. Because the coire was so good for all our skills, there was no need to traverse up to the Fiacall a’ Choire Cas to walk out, and because it would take too long, so we headed down on the path we had followed in. It was deep, like thigh deep, and we made a train with our steps so that we didn’t each have to lift our legs high to get through. But there was a small river flowing below us to be conscious of, which was visible in certain patches.
Upon reaching the area of the death stairs, I of course slipped. Ending the course as I began, in a way, but with way more confidence and knowledge. I was suitably content and in awe of what I’d just experienced and done. Cup of tea and a debrief in the café before it closed at 4pm saw us thawing back into the real world. Being dropped back in town, I said goodbye to part of the group that I’d had such a nice time with, and carefully walked onwards to Tesco for more reduced food for dinner and my train home, avoiding patches of black ice on the pavements, grin in tow.
Images: 1. Looking back at the coire; 2. And after the fact, pinpointing where it was we were, in disbelief and pride; 3. Group photo (one less than day one for injury reasons) 4. Still taking great pleasure in walking on completely untouched snow (this was my wee spot); 5. Back at the Ski Centre with an incredibly windburnt face and totally wiped out but still content.
Back to London.
The Aviemore Hostel is so chill and open (perhaps not in summer) that I was able to have a sneaky shower, make my dinner, do some yoga in the lounge, and sit by the fire packing my bag ready for home. The sleeper train leaves from Aviemore station around 9pm, and so I headed to the station via a quiet town, breathing in the crisp air for the last time. Snow was softly falling as I walked the length of the platform up and down to stay warm yet revelling in the delight of such an epic two days on the skills course, and a marvellous four days in the Cairngorms.
I managed to fall asleep around 12am on the train, underneath down jackets and eye mask on, waking up around 7am into a new world. The hustle and the bustle, the commuters. I had to get home to get to work, but for now I was gratified at the experience from which my slower pace came from.
The group is ready to go post-lunch as the clouds roll in and we put our back to it to face the slope we’ll now tackle. [Credit: Alice Kerr Mountaineeing]