A Cairngorm Blizzard

The forecast was not too bad but it wasn't great either, 40mph winds and snow showers moving in after a pleasant morning. The weather was beautiful; blue skies, the odd, wispy cloud, warm, spring sunshine and light winds as we set off. With 8-10 inches of fresh snow on the ground we were able to get our skis on at the roadside. We climbed a kilometre or so before the track steepened and we needed to put skins on our skis to stop them sliding back downhill. We skinned ever upwards, watching the grey clouds enveloping the summits to the west of us; before we reached the crest of the ridge we were also in the cloud with building winds. Arriving on the crest we saw the old, metal boundary posts, I vaguely remembered that the route to the summit of A'Bhuidheanach Bheag followed this line of fence posts south.

Lovely conditions as we left the road and started our ascent

We navigated carefully as the cloud thickened but we were soon in a complete whiteout, however, the terrain was perfect for Nordic skiing with gentle ups and downs. It was just a shame that we couldn’t tell if we were going up, down or even moving at all. The wind strengthened, the cloud thickened and many of the fence posts were buried in the snow. However, with the use of the GPS, to occasionally check where we were, we continued to ski on a bearing towards the summit trig point. The whiteout got so bad that I would take a bearing and Andy would ski on ahead, after 10 paces he would check that he was on course, if not I would signal for him to move either left or right and he would do another 10 paces. I would then join him and we would repeat this process; a painfully slow method but the only safe and accurate way to navigate. Any more than 20 paces and we would almost lose sight of each other.

In a whiteout at the summit

We were pleased to reach the trig point at the summit and paused only briefly for a quick drink and a chocolate bar. The SMC book 'The Cairngorms' is right; there is nowhere to shelter on the plateau in bad weather, no ridges to duck behind, no rocky outcrops and certainly no trees. The wind is ferocious, I can believe it when they record hurricane force winds up here. It must have been gusting well over 100mph. And lastly the whiteout conditions were far worse than I have experienced anywhere else. The only distinction I could make out around me was the pattern of the wind blown snow at my feet. It lay in tiny, little, ice hard ripples but the shadows created were enough to be able to distinguish the white ground from the other whiteness that we were surrounded by, but only when looking directly down at my feet.

To return to our descent route back to the car we had to turn and head into the wind. We toyed with the idea of descending with the wind on our backs, straight down into the valley. Once we reached the A9 we would have a fairly long walk back to the car. We decided to return back the way we had come, with the leapfrog navigation, mistakenly believing that we might be able to retrace our tracks.

Covered in ice at the end of the day

With the increase in wind speed, thicker clouds and the subsequent drop in temperature the ground had become icier and the skis were struggling to grip. When the wind really blew we could make no headway, we were getting blown over and blown backwards downhill. The skis had to come off. The wind was so strong we struggled to keep a grip of our skis and poles, let alone remain upright. We checked our position and realised we needed to head right to get back on the original crest of the hill. We had a head of a valley to get around before we could start our descent. Andy suddenly called out. He could make out definition in the whiteout due to clumps of heather and could see the ground rising ahead of him. I heard another shout and spun round, Andy had fallen into the gulley that we should be skirting around. The clumps of heather were not on gently sloping ground but in a near vertical river bank.  He climbed out and we continued, making a real effort to turn right, back onto our safe track. Next thing I am falling, watching a smooth, sheer, icy face slide upwards past me. I wish I had my ice axe to arrest my slide. Whilst thinking about how I could save myself, I stopped. I still had my skis and poles and managed to climb out onto solid ground. We stomped on; Andy testing the ground on his left with his pole to ensure it was solid and I followed right behind him.

The plateau in better conditions

The fence posts appeared again; we were safely back on the crest. We were so relieved, however, the snow had built up and with every step we sunk up to the top of our thighs. We had less than 200 metres to go before we could start our descent but this plodding would sap our energy and take forever. We dug ourselves a little hole, placed our packs in it and proceeded to put our skis, and skins on. I realised I no longer had the map. I must have lost it when I slipped into the gulley. Thankfully the GPS had plenty of battery power left and we didn't have far to go before we could descend. We progressed well on our skis and I soon recognised the particular fence post from where we could start our descent. Hurray! We carried on leap-frogging on our new bearing of 300 degrees, the ground becoming familiar. The white-out lessened as we descended and we could make out the gradient of the terrain, thankfully it was gentle and as we expected. With a break in the clouds we could see across the valley. We were so excited! With skins on we could control our speed and ski comfortably down the track, arriving at the car soon after 7pm, not bad by our standards but we had done just 15km in 10.5 hours.

We survived; at no point did we think we wouldn't. We were warm, with spare clothes, a shelter and food and drink. The conditions were difficult, really difficult. However with map, compass, GPS and the skills to use them in all conditions we could navigate safely. It was only when our concentration lapsed slightly that we both slipped into the gulley. We knew we were in the wrong place, we knew we had to round the head of the valley and we were fairly confident that the slopes were not steep enough to worry about. However, with zero visibility and steep, icy slopes, combined with being in the wrong place, we slipped. A silly mistake but thankfully no harm was done. The safest option would have been to descend of the summit with the wind on our backs. We would soon have left the worst conditions behind and made it safely into the valley with nothing but a long slog along cycle route 7, parallel to the A9, back to the car.

It was only a few days later that we discovered others had not been so lucky. A man has gone missing in the Cairngorms; a gamekeeper survived the night out in that hideous storm after his snowmobile broke down and two women had to be rescued after getting into difficulties whilst descending a climb down from the plateau after realising how harsh the conditions were at the top. The conditions made the outing into something that we all had to battle to survive. It is exciting to fight the elements but I don't like to think about what might have happened if one of any number of factors had been different. What if.... we didn't have enough food / energy, or we were too cold, or we lost the compass, or GPS? We would probably have spent a cold and uncomfortable night in our emergency shelter, high on the plateau and descended in the more favourable conditions the next morning. But as I said, I don't really like to think about it.