A warm winters Cairngorm bikepack

Ive been here before, riding up this long glen into a mighty headwind. That day was almost exactly a year ago, but that is where the similarity’s end. Today the wind is coming from the south, its venturing from hot, exotic countries, the track is dry, fast. The rivers however are high, as the last of the snow in the hills melts before the hairdryer winds and rushes away, on a long journey to the sea. Last year i peddled slowly over two foot of neve and crust, the snow deep and refrozen, wheel ruts from the estate vehicle proving hard work. I crossed big chunks of ice, avalanche debris from a few days before and was glad of deep footsteps to follow over the steep hillside, comforted that some else had been here. The wind although also southerly, was spinning round from the cold north, and brought with it frozen noses and hot aches. The land felt bleak, inhospitable and lifeless.

Today it feels like a warm April spring, looking around there is life crawling out from where its hidden all winter. Caterpillars cross the trail, and i have to make drunken wiggles to avoid them. A few bugs drift in the yellow grass, the light glinting off their wings. The birds swoop about and call to each other, sounding delighted as the low sun warms their feathers. A large solitary frog hops slowly along on his own journey. Riding past the hazel, catkins appearing, and the birch, twigs turning deep purple as they start to bud it feels like everything is on the brink of bursting into life. Summer could be just days away. Yet it is only mid February.

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I head through the Gaicks pass in the afternoon light, a bit of ice still clinging to the edge of Loch an Duin. The singletrack is a delight to ride, dry, challenging, cut into the steep hillside, it is beautiful. The remaining ice falls on the far side crash down every so often, emitting a loud booming that reverberates off the steep scree sides. As i head past the old, crumbing lodge over the watershed, the sun is starting to sink and my thoughts turn to camp.

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I find a small flat spot, perched high above the river, just below the track. The hills stretch endlessly, brown moor, rolling and falling away like a gentle ocean swell. I sit and drink tea as the light fades, enjoying every colour change as the shadows deepen and gradually immerse the detail in gloom. At around 450m the temperature drops with the light and soon I take to my sleeping bag, to read away the time until bed. A thick, heavy mist encompasses the tent, and soon everything is damp. The moon, about three quarters full, occasionally shines brightly through, casting everything in a beautiful silvery light. Its not so cold that i shiver, but too cold for sleep. I lie, listen and watch the moon track its gentle arch over the tent.

By morning this has turned to solid ice, coating both sides of the outer and to my dismay and amusement, both shoes and socks are firmly frozen, having been saturated during the river crossings of the day before. Ive camped on the wrong side of the glen for the early sun, and so i sit and wait as it creeps slowly closer, rising up towards me, until it eventually hits the tent and brings some much desired warmth to help defrost. I’m only a couple hours ride from where i will meet a friend in Blair Athol early afternoon, so there’s plenty of time for my foot wear to warm, drink many cups of tea and snooze in the now warm sunny tent.

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After meeting Iona, we ride up glen tilt, the sun coating everything with its warmth. We can almost smell those mid summer bbqs and sweat in our thin fleeces. With a light tail wind we make good time up the double track, passing endless good camp spots. The single track, sometimes flowing, sometimes awkward, but always enjoyable speeds by. As we start it we cross the beautiful bridge over the falls of tarf, the sign, saying donated by the Rights of Way society, reminds us that we are lucky to have passage through this land. In fact Glen Tilt was involved in one of the first and most historic battles for land access way back in 1847. John Balfour, a botanist from Edinburgh and his students, were denied access to the glen by the Lord Athol and his ghillies. the following skirmish resulted in a court case and eventual recognition of the glen as a right of way. I always give thanks as i pass this spot, access to the land is one of things i value most highly and one of the best things about living in Scotland is our access code.

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We reach the headwaters and drop out of the narrow section of the glen as dusk starts to descend. Deciding to push on with the rising winds we eventually pitch up in the lee of one of the remaining walls of Bynack Lodge. Iona has brought along some top class reading material, Geographer magazine, and we go to bed much better educated. The night is wild, even in the shelter of the ruin, wind crashes into the tent, and roars through the old larch trees. Rain pelts the tent with big heavy drops. Another sleepless night, with a midnight trip to tighten the guy lines, at least much warmer than the last.

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Up early, we are relieved to find the big ford over the Geldie is passable with only a few face pulls and screaming hot aches. Then we set out for the long journey over the moor. We pass through the new deer fences that Mar estate have put up to protect the new plantings and then out onto the single track. Usually passing along this bog pitted trail late in the day and tired, its a nice surprise to find how ride able and flowy it can be. Iona spots a lone golden eagle about half way along, and we stop to admire its graceful circles high above. In the browns and yellows up here, it is clear that true spring is still a long way off, despite the balmy temperature. The Eidart is running high and plumes of spray rise up and sprinkle us as we cross the narrow bridge, its an impressive sight with the snow melt. Riding the narrow trail down to the broken shelter, i spot an adder in the way, somehow avoiding it by inches, i stop and shout for Iona to slow down. This is only the second of these beautiful snakes Ive ever seen. This one is sluggish, they don’t usually emerge till March, and we were able to have a close look before leaving it in peace.

I love descending off the moor into Glen Feshie, this beautiful glen is one of the few places in Scotland that feels like the glaciers left it recently. The river is turbulent, always changing course and cutting new lines, the result is a big gravel out wash that can make you feel like you are in Canada or Patagonia. This feeling is compounded by the lush vegetation, even in February, every shade of green is here, the deep underwater hue of the Gnarled Scots pine grannies, the bright Junipers and the rich greens of the blaeberry. Every fallen tree is covered in a vibrant array of lichens, moss and tiny new saplings. This, due to a lot of hard work by the estate, is an ecosystem in recovery. Those who don’t see the value and joy in forests, and who believe Scotland is more beautiful for the barren moors, should visit. I cant imagine they would remain unmoved by their time here.

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From here it is a short spin, via a few favorite places, back to Aviemore. This was not the weekend id expected, having been hoping for some good winter to play on the hills, but as ever, there’s never anything to be lost by being out, there will always be joy to be found, and unexpected sights to take inspiration into the next week of work.