Tag: loch morlich

Scotland, Feb ’23: Climbing Aladdin’s Couloir

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Friday 3 February

Waking up amongst the great, wild hills of the western Cairngorms never gets any less special, particularly with the view we had over the vast, dark forests of Rothiemurcus and Glenmore. Our plan for the day was to park at the nearby Cairn Gorm ski centre, hike into Coire an t-Sneachda and climb Aladdins Couloir, a Grade I winter route. We’d ticked off our first winter climb at Sneachda last year (Jacobs Ladder) and had really enjoyed it, so we were keen to develop our experience on snow and ice.

Walk in to Coire an t-Sneachda

We packed our bags, drove a couple of minutes up the hill and set off from the ski centre car park. I was slightly ratty at the fact it was approaching 10am as I’d have liked to start earlier, partly because I was worried about getting stuck behind another group on Aladdins Couloir (as we had on Jacobs Ladder) and partly because I’d quietly considered attempting to climb two routes in the corrie that day, or “nip up” a nearby mountain (Braeriach, 1296m) “on our way back” to the van. It wasn’t long before Ryan expressed concern that he might develop a blister, but – perhaps a little sensitive to my delay-induced mild irritability – he refused my offer of compeed. Unfortunately that is not the end of the story.

The hike into Coire an t-Sneachda is, as approaches to winter climbing routes go, short and easy, being only a couple of straight-ish miles. We followed the clear path south to the corrie, which climbed gradually up a sweeping, heathery valley. Behind us, the Cairngorm plateau dropped away to reveal the misty swathes of forest, loch and valley around Aviemore, backed by faint rolling hills that were now shrouded in cloud. We rounded a corner and Sneachda appeared ahead, a dead-end, three-sided bowl, its dark, jagged face streaked with the bright white seams of icy gullies and irregular snow patches.

From a distance we eyed up Aladdins Couloir, which follows a wide, kinked gully wrapped around the left side of Aladdin’s Buttress, a distinctive, triangular mass of rock. Along with Jacobs Ladder it’s one of the most obvious lines up the corrie face, and probably the most central. The path ended and we scrambled across a large, awkward boulderfield at the base of the wall, stopped on the last bit of flat ground and prepared to climb. This involved pulling on harnesses, crampons and helmets, selecting an arsenal of climbing nuts and slings to use as rock protection, attaching ourselves together by a short length of rope, extracting our ice axes and – on Ryan’s part – finally affixing a blister plaster.

Aladdin’s Couloir

We’d passed several groups on the hike in, so I wasn’t surprised that we found ourselves behind four other people heading up this popular, low grade route. From the boulderfield, the approach to the gully is a snow slope which, although steep and unprotected, was firm and reliable underfoot, and we caught up with the group quite quickly. Three of them had stopped on reaching the first proper belay position, which was on the left wall at the base of the gully about 100 metres up the snow slope. With that belay spot unavailable, we checked they were happy for us to climb past and continued on, moving across the wide gully to the right wall to avoid sending any loose rocks or ice chunks down onto them.

Two factors contributed to our spontaneous decision to solo the route: firstly there were no obvious placements in the rock to set up a belay, and secondly (and more importantly) we immediately felt so comfortable moving on the firm snow that we simply didn’t feel it necessary to use the rope we’d brought. The gully looks intimidating face-on, but it’s actually far from sheer – much more of a steep slide than a vertical wall, and the gradient was consistent. Decision made, we traversed from the right wall into the middle, carefully climbed over the other group’s rope (which was draped across the width of the gully), passed the fourth climber and headed upwards.

I settled into a steady rhythm of foot-foot-hand-hand, kicking the front points of each crampon into the ground, burying the tip of my single axe with a flick of my right wrist, planting my left fist for stability and repeating. If I wasn’t happy with a foot or axe placement I’d pause and reposition, although it felt so solid that this was probably unnecessary – two constant points of contact would have been plenty. Although it was steep – an unarrested fall would have sent me and perhaps Ryan, who was below me, careening down towards the rocks below – the movement felt natural and the position stable, so we were quite happy working our way up the firm but yielding snow, occasionally resting by angling our knees into the slope and leaning in.

When we were halfway up, the gully veered right and steepened slightly. We passed what looked like a small, frozen waterfall and continued all the way up to the lip at the top, which we pulled over at 12:15, 40 minutes after setting off up the snow slope. On our right the towering, rocky spire of Aladdin’s Seat teetered over the sheer wall of Aladdin’s Buttress, as if threatening to fall all the way down into the corrie, and two friendly climbers rested below it.

Hike back

On emerging from the gully, the Cairngorm plateau appeared in its usual character: a barren, wide, foggy wilderness strewn with small, grey boulders and a strange, soil-like covering of fine, reddish stones. I pulled off my crampons and put away my unused climbing gear, feeling a little victorious. However, although we were thrilled with the Couloir, Ryan’s heel blisters had become quite established during the climb, which dampened both our moods as we moved through the Mars-like landscape – Ryan’s because he was in pain, and mine because my secret scheme (to climb Braeriach or another route in the corrie) had been thwarted.

Fortunately the dramatic, dark face of Sneachda dropped away steeply to our right and made for easy navigation – we followed the edge for a mile or so up a gentle gradient to Cairn Lochan (1215m) , then around  and down the long, sweeping ridge that forms the corrie’s west side. Interestingly Ryan and I had picked different battles: mine, without crampons, was ice, and his, with crampons, was rock. I’m still not sure who was right – there was a lot more rock, but the icy patches were so slippery that at one point I held my arms out and the strong southwesterly  wind caught me like a sail, sending me sliding slowly backwards. I had a couple of minor slips coming down the ridge, one necessitating a fairly casual ice axe arrest, and I quietly wondered if I should have left the crampons on, although with hindsight I still think they would have been more hassle on rock than my boots were on ice – and I didn’t want to blunt them.

The combination of blisters, fog, wind and frustrating terrain rendered the four miles back from Aladdin’s Couloir bleak and relatively miserable, save for Ryan’s sighting of a couple of ptarmigans. Nevertheless we made it down from the plateau in fairly good time and returned to the van along the easy Ben Macdui path. Unfortunately I don’t have many photos of the way back because I managed to lock myself out of my phone for an hour, having left it in a damp pocket.

Loch Morlich

From Cairngorm ski centre we drove for 20 minutes into Aviemore for a few supplies, then back to Loch Morlich for a scenic late lunch. The loch is about a kilometre square, conveniently located on the Glenmore road and nestled between the immense, merging forests of Glenmore and Rothiemurcus. We pulled off the road and parked on the north bank, where a few camera-wielding birdwatchers were keenly eyeing something through large telescopes. The little car park afforded lovely views across the water and above the trees to the edge of the Cairngorm plateau, and our moods were lifted further at the prospect of some hot soup and bread.

I scrambled into the back of the van, assembled the dubious kitchen setup, heated some tinned Scotch broth for Ryan and made myself a much-anticipated peanut butter sandwich. Hunger and associated irritability dissipated, and I grabbed my binoculars and approached the water in search of whatever the birdwatchers had spotted. I returned shortly with a humble report on a few lethargic mallard ducks.

Evening

The blister-gate scandal meant that further physical activity was off the cards for the rest of the afternoon, so after a brief excursion back to Aviemore to post a house key to Ryan’s brother – who, in the process of feeding Ryan’s fish, had locked his key inside the house – we drove back up to our favourite overnight spot below the ski centre and did some planning. I cooked gnocchi in a tomato sauce with miscellaneous leftovers for dinner and we spent the evening in the usual way, scattering the van with an assortment of maps and books and checking the weather forecast at far-too-regular intervals. Contentment manifest.

Scotland, Feb ’22: Mountain biking around Aviemore

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Tuesday 8 February

We opted for a lie in and a chilled morning following our ice climbing foray up Jacob’s Ladder. Our roadside car park overlooking the immense Rothiemurchus forest and stunning, long Spey Valley was large and quiet enough for us to stay in bed until mid-morning, so while Ryan slept I did some research into what adventures we could embark upon next.

Ry cooked eggs in purgatory for breakfast (the BEST van brekkie going) and I pitched my proposal of an easy “rest day” bike ride. Ryan acquiesced and we drove down the hill along the now familiar Glenmore/Loch Morlich road into Aviemore, where we found a central, free parking spot opposite a bike shop. I’d researched a couple of mountain bike routes and had narrowed it down to the Burma Road loop or a route I found on Komoot called “Loch an Eilein – An Lochain Loop”. Ryan decreed that Burma Road looked like it involved too much uphill after the previous day’s excursion and in anticipation of an imminent big mountain day, so we decided on the latter.

We set off from Aviemore at 1pm, headed south through the town and joined the Old Logging Way, an off-road gravel cycle trail that goes back towards Loch Morlich and snakes around Rothiemurchus forest. We branched off right onto a singletrack path through thriving mixed woodland at Inverdruie and cycled at a leisurely pace to tiny Lochan Mor, a beautiful little lake set in a forest clearing. We’d already deviated from the route to see this lake and we were glad we did, as it was incredibly tranquil nestled in the tall green pines and bare broadleaves, whose leafless branches and twigs seemed to glow a strange lilac colour.

We continued through the trees to the quiet Loch an Eilean road and pedalled on to Loch an Eilean, a beautiful, larger loch with stony beaches, tree-lined banks and a small, overgrown castle set on an island. A couple of pretty whitewashed, mossy-rooved cottages overlooked the water, set back from the shore against a steep, wooded bank, and across the lake loomed the high, barren ridges of the Cairngorm plateau. The flat gravel track took us all the way around the loch, which was just as wild and beautiful from each side, and at its northeasternmost point we bore right onto a purple-brown heathland flanked by dark green firs.

The sun made an occasional appearance from behind the yellow-grey clouds and we enjoyed the thriving wilderness immensely. We crossed the narrow Cairngorm Club Footbridge over the wide, shallow, rocky Am Beanaidh river, then continued past purplish heather, golden grass and mixed woodland, which thickened as we climbed uphill towards Loch Morlich. Logging operations cleared the trees as we approached the loch, affording far-reaching views of the surrounding rolling peaks – the whole ride was set deep in the belly of the Spey Valley – and a lovely, rich pine smell.

We headed east along the southern bank of Loch Morlich. Forestry work necessitated a detour away from the bank which caused Ryan a significant amount of aggravation as it added a long, steady climb, which was just about made up for by the long, gravelly descent. Throughout this section red squirrel watch yielded no results, to my great disappointment. After a short ride along the Glenmore road we branched off into some trees and navigated the twisty way past Glenmore Lodge to the undulating gravel track up to An Lochan Uaine, the “Green Loch”, passing several family groups out for a walk.

Travelling up to the Green Loch would require us to double back on ourselves to return to Aviemore, but despite some protestation from Ryan I absolutely insisted on doing the route properly and not cutting the last bit out, partly because I’d wanted to see the lake ever since finding it in our Wild Guide. I’m glad we did because it was a stunning place. We pulled up on the western bank and marvelled at the incredibly bright blue-green water, which rippled gently below the high, steep scree bank of Greag nan Gall, dotted with hardy evergreens. I could see why it has its place in folklore as the colour, which (apparently) comes from fairies washing their clothes in the water, is remarkable.

It was magical but we didn’t hang about for long as I’d become acutely conscious of the soon to be dwindling daylight and the fact we still had about 9 miles back to Aviemore. We pedalled back the way we came and joined the other end of the Old Logging Road, which took us behind Glenmore Lodge and past the Reindeer Centre (sadly closed for the winter season). This track took us in a long, straight, thankfully fairly flat line parallel to the main Glenmore road and the north side of Loch Morlich, then all the way through the forest to Coylumbridge, Inverdruie and finally Aviemore. The ride was quick and a couple of these gravelly sections were particularly fun, with some sweeping corners and flowing descents.

We got back to the van shortly before 5pm in just enough daylight. It was a really lovely, non-technical, not-too-muddy gravel bike ride, Ryan’s occasional whinging aside (usually “I’m sick of hills”, “slow down you’re going too fast”, “I need a wee” or “25 miles is not a rest day”), and we decided that it’d be appropriate – almost necessary – to celebrate our cycling success and our last day around Aviemore with a trip to the pub. By some happy coincidence we’d parked right near the Balavoulin, by the Winking Owl where we’d watched rugby a few nights ago. It was extremely cosy and I learnt all about the skiing/shooting biathlon winter olympics event, which provided great entertainment on a big TV, over a Baileys coffee. For once we were reluctant to return to the van.

Warmed and watered, we drove back along the Glenmore road one last time and parked in a corner of the tree-lined Sugarbowl car park, just down the road from our previous overnight spot. We cooked up some very tasty fajitas and once again spent the evening revelling in the day’s success and plotting our next movements.

Ben Macdui, Cairn Gorm & Loch Morlich: Scotland day 6, Sep ’20

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We had heard from Ryan’s dad how difficult Ben Macdui could be to navigate in poor conditions, so we set off around 8:30am from the Cairngorm Mountain upper car park. It was clear and dry but the clouds hung like a heavy, grey blanket just above the tips of the distant peaks behind us. To our left was a short valley headed by a ridge of bare rock towering over a small loch, Coire an Lochain, and in front was a vast expanse of brown heather and rock-strewn, yellow-gold grass, ascending gradually towards the high horizon that hid the great plateau of Ben Macdui.

The mountain lay directly south of the car park and the walk-in was long and gentle. Because the Cairngorm peaks perch on a plateau that already rises way above sea level, they don’t have the jagged drama of the western mountains and they’re generally more walkable. The gravel path was easy to follow for the first 3 or 4 miles (obviously a different story in snow), until the ground turned from grassy moorland to boulderfields. We hopped from rock to rock, reassured by the occasional cairn. The last mile was steeper and as we climbed the fog thickened, so we were glad for the many cairns that led up to the summit.

There were lots of little rock shelters at the top and after a quick trig point photo (10:30am), we huddled into one and made a brew. As is often the case with high, beautiful places, the fog ruined all our chances of appreciating the landscape and allowed us a view only of the barren, flat, rock-strewn top of the mountain. It felt like we had walked onto another planet.

We headed back down the way we came and when the steep bit levelled out, we took a right fork along a new path towards Cairn Gorm. The fog cleared as we walked past the high, glassy Lochan Buidhe, and we enjoyed a leisurely stroll for the next 2 miles along relatively flat ground. We looked back at Ben Macdui and saw that the cloud had lifted, revealing its dark, hulking peak peering over the vast expanse of yellow-brown, open land, backed by similar dark summits and veined with rivers reflecting the white cloud above.

Looking towards Cairn Gorm (over the hill on the left)

We walked along the rocky ridge that towers above Coire an Sneachda with the grassy plain on our right and a sheer drop down bare rock to our left. The last 500m up Cairn Gorm were very steep and rocky, and we summited about 1pm. At the top sits a big cairn and a weather station, which consists of a small scaffold tower with some metal contraptions sticking out of it and a big black cylinder on a raised platform. It was quite busy as a lot of people walked to the top and back from the car park, so we didn’t hang around, although the view was lovely – panoramic, the horizon formed on all sides by rolling blue mountains.

  • Looking back towards Ben Macdui from Cairn Gorm

We descended the steep-ish path north past the Ptarmigan centre and the ski lift, keeping a hopeful eye out as Ryan wanted to see a ptarmigan. Sadly the rocky, heathery ground was birdless. We finished our circular route back at the van around 2pm, had a quick nose in the visitor centre (which was largely closed due to covid) and decided to head down to Loch Morlich in the Glenmore valley for a swim.

We had set aside the whole day for our hike as we’d expected navigation to be a lot more difficult than it was, so I was happy to fit a quick swim in. There were signs at Loch Morlich warning of blue-green algae, but having been exposed without any effects before I decided to swim anyway. I wasn’t in the water for long as I was hungry and still a little wary of the algae (and the duck poo – I found myself in the middle of a flock), but the cold was exhilarating. The worst bit was peeling off my wetsuit in the car park as I shivered myself dry.

  • The way down from Cairn Gorm

Ryan wanted to camp in the same place as we had the previous night, but that was on a dead-end road and as we’d ticked Ben Macdui off I wanted to explore somewhere else. After a brief “negotiation” we decided to grab some supplies from Aviemore and take the A939 road that runs south down the east side of the Cairngorms so we could see the town of Braemar and perhaps climb Lochnagar. The drive was lovely, and after an hour or so we found a good overnight spot at a quarry just outside the village of Tomintoul.

On our customary poke around we found a sculpture on a hill above the quarry, which was like a 3D mirrored picture frame a couple of metres deep that framed the pretty hills behind it. We had tinned chicken in white wine sauce (surprisingly good), rice and veg for dinner, and my highlight of the evening was Ryan returning from a toilet trip with reports of swooping owls and screeching rabbits, and one soggy foot from the only boggy ground in the vicinity.