Some days in Aviemore.
I wanted to be in the snow. So I went for a mid-January weekend winter skills course in the Cairngorms, Scottish Highlands.
This post highlights the couple of days I spent exploring around Aviemore before the course started, because as I started writing realised there was so much to relive and share. So you’ll find a follow up blog for the winter skills, however, Aviemore is no less wonderful without snow and this post should prove that.
Images: 1. lying down in my double set on the Caledonian Sleeper train from Euston to Aviemore, with branded eye mask, and covered in a down jacket as my duvet; 2. my Suunto watch telling me I’d had 56 minutes of sleep over the 11 hour journey; 3. arriving in Aviemore just before 8am in mid-January, with snowy hills in the distance and a red sky creeping in.
The Caledonian Sleeper.
Considering that it’s usually about the same, if not more, cost-wise to get to the North East of England where my family lives, then £110 for a return sleeper train isn’t bad.
Top tip: ask immediately out of Euston station if the empty double seaters are taken - if you book as a single then you do get a solo seat, which is helpful, but a double means you have more sleeping options.
Pros: You’re presented with a little packet that has an eye mask and earplugs in it. Everything is clean. The toilet narrator is a pleasant Scottish Highland accent. The seats lay back a touch, but there’s plenty of leg room too. There’s a coded lock box overhead for valuables (remember sleeping with your purse in your bra on continental sleeper trains?) There’s a waft of coffee in the morning coming from the restaurant carriage, and though I only decided to use this when the train had been delayed (to do with power lines, I think) and so came upon staff when having a fag break outside at 6am, they were super friendly and jumped into action to get me my coffee (though the wifi wasn’t working, so I got the coffee, and an additional Scottish-branded flapjack for free and with a flair of further friendliness). And regarding the delay of 40 minutes, I got an email immediately after my journey saying they would compensate me - and so the following week I received £27.50 back (half off!)
Cons: It is a bit nippy, and there is a gap in between the double seats. So another tip is to take blankets or down jackets for comfort. Fortunately I’d taken two - being unable to decide when doing preloved shopping for gear which was best - so had one underneath, one on me, and then my massive fleece-lined mountain jacket as a pillow. The lighting also doesn’t go off until midnight, and even then it’s not fully off; once on a sleeper train out of Berlin onwards to Sweden it had lounge-vibe coloured seat lights but otherwise dark, which was stylish. And the wifi didn’t work for pretty much the whole 11 hour journey from Euston to Aviemore.
Consequently I didn’t have a successful sleep, yet still woke refreshed in the crisp mountain air into Aviemore. Snow-full peaks in the distance as the sun rose, with some pink hues abounding.
Aviemore.
I was staying at the Aviemore youth hostel, a member of the Hostelling Association, just 10 minutes walk from the station. They’d had a sale on too, so managed to bag 3 nights for 2. Immediately helpful, I’d been able to hang in the lounge post-train to sort out what I needed for the day until 4pm check-in, and use some wifi. All stained pine and patterned carpets, there was a cosy feel, with folk moving around getting ready for climbing or skiing.
I’d decided to take a walk to Loch Morlich where I could swim. It looked like an easy public access footpath all the way, with some of it on a traffic-free biking route. First stop was some coffee and lunch from the town; Aviemore doesn’t have much other than outdoor shops, though does have a good-sized Tesco, a bakery and café just by the station. There are other cafés maybe 10 minutes walk (such as Tiso, also an outdoor shop) and hotels, along with a chippy and Indian close to the hostel (but these are not what I needed).
To Loch Morlich.
The route dips under the railway line, over a bridge forged in Middlesbrough (where I’m from), and onto the B970 that takes folk to the Cairn Gorm Mountain Railway area. For me, I could take it towards Loch Morlich. It was fairly quiet, passing just a handful of houses and then the Rothiemurchus Centre where you can do activities such as archery, but it was still a road. Fortunately the footpath trails off into a young-ish undulating Caledonian pine forest with metalled surface making for easy walking. It would make for a great run route - enough winding for it not to be dull, but quiet, great smells, and crisp air. It drizzled a little as I walked, so ensuing the cursing of myself for not thinking about the practicality of carrying my favourite “I love Hackney” cotton tote bag instead of another dry bag for my food, and hanging my spare down jacket off the non-waterproof backpack. But the forest offered some cover, and it was actually feeling humid.
Images: 1. the bridge over the River Spey just outside Aviemore was constructed by the Tees-Side Iron & Engine Works Co. Ltd. engineers in Middlesbro-on-Tees, now simply just Middlesbrough; 2. lichens already adorned the way; 3. reaching Loch Morlich as the rain came with a misty view over the Cairn Gorn Mountains; 4. being followed by around 40 ducks.
Though you initially pass through settlements of Inverdruie, Rothiemurchus and Coylumbridge, unless you’re in a hotel or fishing (in season) then there isn’t anywhere to pick up supplies, so if you’re walking this way, ensure that you take enough. After 5 miles or so, Loch Morlich glistens between the trees and you’re able to head down onto the beach. Never have I ever been followed by something like 40 ducks.
By this point it had started raining more heavily, which put paid to my idea to comfortably swim here. Plus the ducks were still following. I put on my waterproof trousers and spare jacket, ate a ready-prepared sandwich, and continued walking on via the forest trail to where in the distance I could see a bigger beach. By the time I reached here almost 2km later, the rain had stopped. Checking out the situation I found that there were wooden changing facilities for those doing watersports (behind the seasonal café). With no one about, except the cars in the designated car park and a couple dog walkers, I started changing. The weather was feeling brisk - snow-capped peaks adorned the loch. I’d overheard some guys heading briefly to the loch down the beach, and as I was walking out of the changing bit in my full gear (swimsuit, booties, gloves, swim cap and tow float) past one of the guys, I heard in an Irish accent: “You’re a hard woman”.
Ordinarily I’d have someone telling me the water temperature (I usually swim in a North London reservoir owned by Better Gyms who post on their social stories each day with a photo of the thermometer). All I knew is that it would be cold enough, because the air was crisp at about 2˚C. The beach is sandy with very few pebbles and has a shallow gradient so is a nice loch to walk into. The first thing I noticed - over the temperature - was the amber colour of the water. My watch had been started so I could at least monitor how long I was spending, and back in London over the winter I was spending 3 or so minutes, and that was my aim, if not lower, for today. Cold open water swimming is a bit of a faff - you can spend 20 minutes undressing and redressing for only a few minutes in the water, but oh is it refreshing. Coming out after 2 minutes, the tingles start, but I feel ok (not shivering) and was able to take a photo, so I wasn’t in there longer than I should’ve been.
Images: 1. another beach to enter Loch Morlich from, with snowy-peaks closer in view; 2. after a two-minute dip in Loch Morlich; 3. clouds rush over the snow-capped Cairn Gorm hills where I believed I was heading in two days time.
Clothes back on, food shoved in my mouth, I head back to the track where it leads towards the Glenmore Forest Park tourist information centre, café and Reindeer Centre (also seasonal, by which I mean, winter is not a season these places are open). Needing a tea refill, and not really sure what to do with my time now, I head to the café where I’m promptly astounded by being charged £1 for a dash of oat milk. I got a refund after profusely iterating how unfair it was - which it was - especially as this wasn’t stated anywhere. Tea, more expensive than London?! With nothing else really to do, and having already read the internal information boards about the Glenmore Forest and taken a postcard of the nearby Lairig Ghru pass (to wish I’d like to return one day) and deciding that I was too shattered to walk the 7 miles back (running, as mentioned, would be a delight), I awaited the bus. Also waiting there was a couple of young women who had taken a similar walk as me. This bus would take me to a turn off at Inverdruie where I’d pick up the path towards Loch an Eilein, the lake with the picturesque castle in the middle. The young women continued talking about their evening visit to the brewery in town.
To Loch an Eilein.
Everytime I say or read this, I can’t help but sing “Come on Eileen”. But what I was to find was much more serene and lovely than that rowdy tune. The light was dwindling, so I did get a shifty on, as they say. Even though I’d packed my headtorch, had layers, had food and believe even had a paper map with me, there is still a worry that builds inside me in places that will become so deeply dark.
What I have yet to mention, is how the day was encased in lichen. From the get-go the pine and birch trees were covered in all sorts of lichens, indicating that the crispness and clarity of the air wasn’t just me feeling the coolness of the morning or being outside of London city. It felt really clean.
Again, it was another route that would’ve made for a lovely run, with metalled undulating paths. However, with the cold weather I’d decided to wear two pairs of wool socks, which had caused friction and so I was suffering with the onset of blistering. And I still had the tote bag of food hanging about on my backpack. A sprint-walk towards the loch got me there as the day’s light was fading, with a myriad of blue tones. As I was concerned about the time and my tired feet, I didn’t walk around the loch shore, but had I done, I would’ve seen the castle from the angle from which everyone takes photos. As it was, I could barely see it, and wondered if I was in the place I had envisioned I would be - later that evening I checked online photos to match up with my reality. It would’ve made for a grand swim, though I wasn’t keen on putting wet swim clothes back on, especially as it would soon be dark.
Heading away from the loch, I came across a person seemingly heading down for a camp, and maybe a swim, big rucksack full. FYI, there is a car park here - there were a number of empty cars, which also worried me - and a little café for warmer months, so would be a cute place for a day trip. Aware that my walk back would mostly be on roads and I wasn’t yet ready to give up on the pine forests, I cut to where there would be a couple of lochans. Passing some builders restructuring a super old croft-type building I figured if anything were to happen to me in this quiet place, it would be them, or they’d at least hear me whistling.
Images: various lichens on pine and birch trees along the forested paths to Loch Morlich and Loch an Eilein.
The feet kept moving swiftly on though, on trails that again would’ve made for a beautiful run, soft and winding. The lochans - known as Lochan Mor and simply, The Lochans - were frozen over and eerie in a pearlescent sheen that I initially couldn’t figure out if it was chemical in origin. I knew there was a track as the OS map showed the black dashed line that means there is one, but not named, so was aware I’d have to keep my eyes peeled in the peaty hummocked landscape. Even in this small kilometre radius the cautions ran through my head: I can retrace my steps, I have my headtorch, it’s not that wet underfoot, I have spare clothes.
I quickly came upon a farmhouse and the road, leading to what I had intended to cut out with my lochan sojourn, and was pleased I had. The drizzle was coming now so it was both miserable and yet epic. Following the number 7 cycle route back to Inverdruie and then town to pick up Tesco dinner, I had had a grand day out on very little sleep.
Images: 1. Loch an Eilein with the castle shadowed just off centre; 2-3. Lochan Mor as the drizzle came; 4. one of The Lochans with icy edges.
Craigellachie National Nature Reserve.
Right out the back of the hostel is a nature reserve. I would’ve known about it from the map, but the array of images in the hostel explaining the biodiversity there encouraged me to visit. Up at 7am, running bag on unsure what to expect, I headed into the nearly-dawn light under the A95 bypass into a quiet world. The metalled trail immediately winds and heads up; it was to be a 5km circular route, but was aware I wouldn’t get any running in until the downhill because of the steep ascent up to the 493m summit.
Up on the summit it was “blowing a hoolie”, with views down into Aviemore as the sky stayed a dark blue-grey, moody and imposing across the misty snow-capped peaks of the Cairn Gorm Mountains and the Monadhliath Mountains. Twinkling of house lights across the way, and me alone with my headtorch signalling that I was there.
I was wrong to not trust the many OS routes offering an out-and-back to Craigellachie summit. Thinking it would be ok to do a circular because Suunto had a trail - despite OS not having any marked trails - once on the summit I decided to continue. Immediately seeing that it was all peaty bog I knew I’d made a bad choice, and yet figured because it was only another 2.5km down and I could see the town - and that there was a faint trail - I’d manage. But there’s a difference in managing and in enjoying. I had wanted an easy up and down, dry feet, quick refreshing start to the day, and yet here I was muttering to myself about how I don’t have a spare pair of trail shoes for the rest of the day’s antics and would my mountain boots work.
On getting to a near vertical downhill segment, that was just running water on peat, I decided enough was enough and I would in fact put on the micro crampons that I’d brought with me when foolishly anticipating snow up on the summit. As there were rocks amidst the peat (as some sort of pathway?) the crampons weren’t particularly helpful - plus I was concerned I’d knacker a piece of £60 equipment straight away, and anyway I was having to clutch onto birch trees as I swung past to avoid actually slipping all the way down. The crampons came off when I finally met up with the metalled signposted track, content that I’d only slipped on my bum once, and grateful to be able to run (to be alive?) I sprinted back to the hostel.
B2 mountain boots are not useful when not up a mountain in the snow, making your lower legs stiff as a board - only experienced when traversing the hostel corridors - so after a quick visit to the drying room while I showered and made breakfast, the muddy trail shoes went back on ready for a bus and walk to Loch Garten.
Images: 1. up on Craigellachie summit at 8.30am; 2. me on Craigellachie summit with Aviemore and Cairn Gorm in the windy backdrop; 3. Hoka trail shoes in micro crampons on wet peaty ground; 4. the wet peat bog “trail” down from Craigellachie; 5. looking disgruntled at the bottom of the hill.
Loch Garten.
I’d read about Loch Garten in The Common Ground by Richard Mabey, a book from the 1970s regarding conservation on the British Isles. Managed by the RSPB, Loch Garten is where the osprey population was brought back to life. I also knew that the loch itself was worth a swim. The bus from Aviemore goes up the A95, and potentially onwards to the coast of the Moray Firth, or around the outskirts of the Cairngorm National Park, I’m unsure. But anyway, it stops off at Boat of Garten village before Nethy Bridge and Grantown-on-Spey. It was here I had anticipated a coffee and pastry from a place I can’t now remember the name of, nor find the link from the campsite that had a wonderful list of local spots, but nevermind because Google said it was closed. This saved me a walk along a road that the bus was going along anyway, and was grateful I’d purchased enough food for the day.
Walking away from the main road you follow the Speyside Way national trail into Abernethy Forest until you swiftly hit upon a lochan. With RSPB signs you understand that this a bog woodland. The peaty water is frozen over with that pearlescent sheen again, remarking that the ice is thick, and holds in place stumps of mossy trees, patches of grass, and hacked-back rushes. It is eerie. The information plaque states that this is the largest remaining area of the 1% of ancient Caledonian pine forest left. Scotland was covered with 70% of this ancient woodland, and this patch is now made up of Scots pine, birch, alder, aspen, holly, willow and rowan. There is a woman with a dog behind me, that I’ve already startled (the dog, not the woman) so I move on.
Images: 1-3. the bog woodland in Abernethy Forest managed by RSPB, with information plaque about the landscape; 4. Scots pine with clear lichen line a quarter of the way up them, and hummocky mossy grass.
Following a forested path along the very quiet B road the loch glints in view up ahead. There’s lots of tracks in the managed forest, heading to Loch Mallachie too, but I have my sights set on a swim. As I arrive at the beach, which looks like the usual swim spot being that there’s a notice board and a small layby opposite, the sun starts to shine through. It’s crisp out, and I’ve been delighted with lichens and mosses again, but the sun makes it seem like spring. A robin perches on the tree next to me and peers as I undress. Kitted out again with swim cap and tow float, even though I won’t be in long, this feels like a more intimate loch. More hemmed in by trees, though snow-capped mountains appear in the background.
Images: 1. looking up to the top of the Scots pine trees; 2. Loch Garten just after 12pm with the sun trying to rise behind; 3. me looking pleased following a two-minute swim, with sun shining behind and glistening on the beads of water on my skin; 4. a robin peers at me from a tree.
Another 2 minutes in the amber-hued water, the stillness washing over and the majesty of the place sinking in, and I’m out. By this point it was 12.30pm and more folk were driving past, including an elderly couple and dog who parked up opposite yet didn’t get out. I wondered if they were waiting for me, but I was taking my time to ensure I’m dry, and allowing my kit to dry a bit in the sun. The robin comes back to watch.
I in fact had a call with my business coach, and so flask of coffee hastily drank and sandwich packed into my pocket, I headed off to follow the forested trail again. This leads to the RSPB centre, which had I felt I had more time and energy I would’ve explored a bit more, though with the OS map not giving much away - that seemingly there were no trails - I feel like having some insight from the RSPB folk would give you a wider experience of the place, especially without binoculars. My fingers and toes were a touch cold though, so I sprint-walked along the B road around the centre and down towards Nethy Bridge where I could get a bus. Speaking to my business coach about building a business on the interconnectedness of the food-fibre-fashion industries felt a little juxtaposed when I should be present in the present, and he agreed after our 15 minute chat. And then I was alone in the Caledonia pine forest again, clean air hitting my skin, endorphins rushing through my body.
My plan had been to catch the bus to Grantown-on-Spey, just to see what was there, and because the nice website I found told me there was a good eatery there. But already after 3pm decided it was too much of a risk, especially given I didn’t need any sweet goods. The bus back to Aviemore was due, and so I headed back into Aviemore for more Tesco reduced price dinner items to scoff and another hostel lounge yoga session.
Images: 1-4. Abernethy Forest, with similar views of lichen-encrusted pine trees and close-ups of various types of lichen varieties.
I imagine that in summer Aviemore feels busy and laden with people doing all of the possible sports. The hostel for sure would have a frantic kitchen, and the drying room more packed and smelling. But for winter, it was cosy. Black ice returned to the paths, the sky stayed a deep dark array of blue hues, the hostel woodburner made you sweat, people chatted about the various courses and days out, and hefty plates of pasta were gobbled.
My Friday night was spent packing my rucksack ready for a two-day winter skills course. Eager to be in the snow, yet after seeing some photos of guide Alice Kerr’s recent antics, there was a subtle bubbling of intimidation arising. I was pleased that I’d had the chance to immerse myself in the low-level landscape, seeing up the hills from below in anticipation. I had hoped to visit a wild animal sanctuary with hide down towards the Inshriach Forest, and though the possibility of pine martens and badgers up close seemed cute, it would be a dark walk along the number 7 cycle route or finding a taxi. Shattered by 7pm post-food, yoga and packing, I remembered that I didn’t need to do everything: I’d already had an epic two days, and two more were to come, but in a way I’d never experienced.
What an absolute privilege this life is.