Winter solstice isn’t a particularly significant date for me, but i feel its worth heading out into the dark, if only to remind myself that its not that bad, and that the worst of it has passed. The 21st came and went this year with me unable to make it out. Fortunately both circumstance and weather linked up for a wild night out on the 23rd instead.

Pushing my bike up the mountain in fine drizzle, no sign of the freezing level and i questioned my motives. Why was i pushing up into the clag and impending dark on my own? Was there really some fun to be found up there among the puddles of thawing snow and wet brown moor? An older couple emerged out of the clouds on their way back down too a hot meal, bright lights and warm bed. They clearly questioned my motives too, subtly suggesting they thought i was better off turning back, i might get lost in the mist, that there was no snow pack to pitch a tent on and that my bike would be a cumbersome lump. Its a good thing im used to ignoring advice from strangers.

You see, its a rare event to get a forecast of low winds and the promise of a clear dawn and sunrise, so this was too good an opportunity to turn down. Although with the continuing rain and map and compass nav, i was wondering if it was in fact going to clear and be worth it. Cresting the brow, surrounded by greyness, only clumps of brown grass poking through the damp snow i started searching for a possible camp. The much depleted snow offered little base to pitch on, but after searching out a re entrant, a change in shape on the hillside that had trapped the windblown snow, i found a good patch. Pitching the tent in the gloaming, the temperature dropped and my wet waterproofs started to freeze into a crisp shell. To get the pegs to hold required stamping the snow, and waiting for it to consolidate hard before tensioning the guylines. The next job was filling in all the gaps around the base of the tent to prevent drafts and spin drift blowing through in the night. Eventually i was able to fling in all my kit and get about the serious business of trying to get warm and dry.

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The freezing rain continued into the night, coating everything in an icy tomb. The night was wild, long, dark. A few times i stuck my head out to see if it had cleared, but until shortly before dawn, the murk lurked, the full moon peering down through frosted glass.

The following morning as i lay in the still dark tent, the overwhelming pressure of silence. Absolute stillness.

This is the reason to endure a cold night, to open the tent and find yourself alone with the mountain in all its beauty. To welcome in the new day with such a deep peace and happiness, to watch the light grow and slowly, gently illuminate the world.

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There is no glamour up here, none is needed as the setting moon is slowly devoured by the light. Shivering to get the stove on for a much needed brew, the only thing to do is sit and watch, absorbing every shape revealed by the changing light. Watch the colours change, the deep purples warming into streaks of gold, too bright to look into as the sun emerges above the horizon. The first ray of sun hitting your frozen cheeks is the biggest joy and its the best tasting tea that warms your insides. For me there is no greater happiness than the freedom of a calm, sunlight mountain, and when its all yours to enjoy..

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In the light it becomes clear the extent of the freezing rain, and it takes a long time to shatter the cold clear frosting to get packed up.

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A bit of defrosting later and Madame Beargrease was ready to roll over the crunchy snow. We made it to the munro summit for a mince pie breakfast and admire the view, looking straight down into a deep, mist filled glen, before bouncing and swooshing our way back into the glen far below and home in time for Christmas eve.

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