writing | Push On

Abandoning plans to finish a winter traverse of the Cairngorms because of the weather and reflecting on giving up on my LEJOG attempt in 2016.

It was a typical Scottish winter morning. A chill in the air fills your lungs and makes you cough. The light was still trying to break through the thick grey cloud. The snow on the ground was crisp underfoot from last night’s cold, and it crunched with every step.

The dirty white landscape was peppered with tops of heather and rocks sprouting through. It was snowing lightly and, as we faced the wind, it blew flecks of snow at us. We had our hoods up and heads down, walking in a single file to break trail.

We’d spent the night in Hutchinson Memorial Hut located in Coire Etchachan, and this morning the corrie was shrouded in a low cloud. Forging on, the wind blowing more snow down on us, we struggled on.

We had over 200 metres of ascent to get to the saddle, so it was head down, one foot after the other, and keeping pace with the person in front. I found myself asking why I was there while closed off in my own world. I could be somewhere warmer with a cold beer and a book.

For the past three days, we’d hopped from bothy to bothy, in and out of bad weather, while traversing the Cairngorms from Blair Atholl to Aviemore.

We’d left the bothy an hour earlier, handrailing a gully up to the saddle between Creagan a Choire Etchachan and Stob Coire Etchachan. Careful not to drop through the build-up of snow into the stream bed and end up with wet boots.

The plan at the saddle was to head west for Ben Macdui, and over the Cairngorm plateau, before coming down into Glenmore and hitching a ride into Aviemore.

It had been slow progress with the cloud and snow not helping. We pressed on and arrived at the saddle, but soon we were in a whiteout.

I had a vague idea of where we were but my partner was navigating so was more on the ball. We stopped and got the bothy shelter out to regroup and get out of the snow for a bit.

We’d been monitoring avalanche forecasts but had had no signal for a few days, so didn’t have any updated information. Doubt was setting in. Not a doubt in ability but concern for each other’s safety. Without really knowing what was forecast we would be relying on observations. And given we were in a whiteout that was pretty slim.

After checking our phones for a signal, and getting none, we considered the risks. Being over-cautious we decided to retreat back to Hutchinson.

Packing away the shelter and putting our packs back on, we retraced our steps, descending back down out of the gloom to the bothy. Over a quick bite, we made a new plan. We’d head back down the valley and hitch a ride to Pitlochry, where we could get a train back to Blair Atholl.

From there it was a 4-hour drive to Newcastle and relatives, where a warm shower, good food, and beer would be. Yep, that was a plan.

As we made our way down the valley we reflected on the end of our trip. We were filled with excitement to be moving on and seeing family, but also disappointment in not pushing ourselves further into the white.

I was no stranger to giving up. I think it originates from a long-distance walk I attempted a few years ago. I’d walked over 800 miles in 7 weeks and pushed myself to the point of exhaustion. I was managing, but my body eventually said no and I had to stop for a few days.

I’d been filled with doubt about carrying on with the walk for about a week prior to stopping, and psychologically it was eating away at me. I was happy enough to walk but I was sick of being on my own and missed my partner. Resting only gave me more time to think about all of that.

I had two legs left; Fort William to Cape Wrath which would take 3 weeks and then 7 days along the north coast to John O’Groats. I decided to crack on and get the walk done.

I set off on a wet morning, walking along the Caledonian Canal to the start of the trailhead, forcing myself back into walk mode. After a few hours, I found myself crying by the side of a road, beaten. The pack was probably at its heaviest and the pissing rain showed no signs of relenting. Good times.

I’ve no doubt my legs would have carried me but my head and heart were now in return-home mode. I slung my pack on and headed back to Fort William. Stopping every now and again to turn around and look back at the ghost I was leaving behind.