What makes winter special? Is it the change of a landscape, from its familliar curves and creases? Or is it the challenge, staying comfortable, warm and orientated in a world of white? Or simply the fun of fresh tracks in a newly surfaced playground?

Whatever the reason, I look forward to the first dusting of snow over the mountains, and of heading up into that new world to explore. Scottish winter is a fleeting beast. We may get snow, but it’s often combined with such bad weather that accessing it is hard. Then it can all melt in a day or so. This can repeat from late October all the way till the end of April, and any slight lull, of good snow and calm is a priceless day, to be cherished and utilised fully.

Imagine then, my delight and excitement when some early season snow combined with a slight lull and some free time. Plans were swiftly made, as usual here, with A,B and C options. None of the forecasts agreed on what was actually going to happen, some suggesting bluebird conditions and minus 3, others spke of misty murk, wind and rising temperatures. In the end the murk won, so I ended up on a much shortened version of plan A.

It was a sweaty pedal up the road to the ski station and start of the trail. A temperature inversion meant I had overdressed and had to strip to my baselayer as I ground up past some misty reindeer. Finally, on hitting the trail the fun began, as climbing steadily, mist blowing around in huge veils, I made my way closer to the looming mountains.

Being October break, the trail i had chosen was busier than anticipated. I often try to avoid other hill users, as there seems to be something about the combination of Girl+bike+Solo that outrages a certain type of person so much, that the normal social boundaries of keeping thoughts to themselves get switched off. Over the years I have had numerous tellings off, from the common “thats impossible, you wont be able to do that”, to “Where’s your boyfriend, why isn’t he looking after you?”, and one particualy offended gentleman who told me he was going to call mountain rescue, as I was so clearly incompetent that I was going to need them, and that I should think about what a waste of taxpayer’s money I was. Fortunatly he never made the call, and I did not come close to needing assistance. Whilst it is easy to laugh about these encounters later, at the time they can chip away at your self confidence and suck all the fun out of the day.

However, on this Tuesday only reasonable humans seemed to be around. Maybe it was due to unexpected snowy conditions, or finding their nav skills tested in the clag, but the people I met were really friendly and keen to ask me advice ( Not even my bright pink jacket put them off 😉 ) on snow conditions, crampons and navigation. I’m no expert, but I’m always happy to help and it was nice to be able to chat without being accused of idiocy.

The riding was great as soon as I hit the snow line. Crunchy crisp snow provided a great surface for the huge tires to grip and trundle though. There is an amazing bit of traversing trail, which banks out with snow later in the season but today was just under 5 or 6 inches deep. I followed it along the edge of the mountain with the steep side of the Lairig Grhu just off to my right. My favourite view is from along here, looking across into Lochan Uaine, the dark, turquoise pool that sits under Angel’s Peak. The mists parted for just long enough to give me a glimpse of the cold water and craggy cliffs before closing back up.

All the way to Beinn MacDhui the sun threatened to break through, but every time the clouds fought back, and swallowed up the light. The wind had dropped by now, and the hill was as peacefull as I’ve ever seen it. Voices drifted, but everyone remained hidden from sight in the clouds. At the top I lingered, hoping that the Met Office forecast might have it right, and that the veil might lift. Of course, it only got worse and I headed off on a bearing to take me to my campsite for the night, 400m further down the mountain.

After a bit of faff having to stop and recheck my navigation bearing (it’s pretty hard riding over snow covered boulders while following one) The line of the trail down became clear. The snow had filled in many of the cracks and holes between the big granite rocks, so brakes off and flying into the snowdrifts.

Loch Etchachan was mirror-like, the crags surrounding it reflected perfectly. The sun appeared for a moment and the whole world sparkled. I felt like the luckiest person alive to be able to call this spot my home for the night. A busy place in summer, now in the winter chill, it was mine alone.

I love camping, getting to sit with a cup of hot tea and absorb the land around me. The silence of being alone allows me to tune into the small sounds from every direction. The waterfall on the opposite side of the corrie, or the tiny stream trickling to my right; the stag away up the hill, that ptarmigan grumbling over there. I Watch the light fade from the sky and the change shadow brings. These are things you only get from camping out, that whole immersion in the mountain.

The night passed in stillness. Cold condensation crstallised in the tent and snow gently pattered on the outside. I’d set my alarm for pre-dawn in case of good weather and a big day ahead. Instead, I poked my head out into the swirling snow and settled back for an extra hour’s sleep. A lazy morning of tea drinking and photo-taking followed, enjoying the last solitude before heading down into the busier glen below.