The forecast has lied to me today. It was meant to be clear, sunny, one of those rare Scottish bluebird days when anything is possible. Not that id planned on being very ambitious, but id hoped at least for the chance of a winter tan! Instead I find myself being chased down, and inevitably caught by endless snow showers. The gusting wind, at least is pushing me in the right direction. The loch is dark, broody water frozen along the edge, waves preventing ice coating the entire surface.

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Id planned on a couple of nights out, two days biking in one of my favorite places to access a fairly remote munro. As it was, packing the bike in a heavy snow shower, i decided to remove my hill kit as it seemed less likely id make it that far with all the extra white stuff.

I follow a snowy track, driven a day ago the estate. The compact snow feels amazing under my big tires, smooth and almost silent. The white surface is marred here and there by spots of red. It was obviously a successful stalk, although with the huge number of deer tracks around, its no surprise.

Given the conditions, im unsure of how far I will make it. Im a bit apprehensive of heading too far into the hills in the deteriorating conditions. Im all too aware of the limitations of my bike, and also my body, currently full of cold and not entirely recovered from the Strathpuffer two weeks ago. Its a worry, with all the dry powder being blown around that the tracks fill in and become un rideable. It would be an embarrassing call to work, to say im snowed in up a remote glen..

The desire to reach the Hills, the stark beauty i crave drives me on. There is a spot by the loch that Ive always wanted to camp at, just removed from the hills, but with the looming peaks as an incredible back drop. Eventually the track runs out as I leave one estate and cross the no mans land to the next. The snow, deeper here, hides thick bog and wheel swallowing ruts. My progress slows and I pause at an old bridge, admiring the last blast of sun, before it is swallowed for the day by the snow.

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As I approach my longed for camp site, the weather really turns. Snow blasts horizontally, exfoliating my exposed cheeks and flying across the frozen loch surface. This is no place to camp tonight. I cross the narrow bridge, its missing a few more slats since the last time i was here. It hangs from chains, just a foot wide, and swings and creaks ominously as i cross. The river here, ice covered, is over waist deep, not a spot to fall in, alone, in a blizzard. It with relief i leave the icy slats behind and pick up the track again.

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Up ahead, nestled between the hills is an old bothy. It was one of my favorites, unfortunately it has been shut since asbestos was discovered in the roof. It remains unlocked however and although id rather camp, its a comfort knowing it there as darkness curls around me.

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Its a lonely and bleak sight, the hills obscured by snow and the fading light casting everything in a blueness, i could be under water. The wind has strengthened and the temperature is plummeting. I make the decision to stay in the bothy. Its not recommended and not what i had planned, but then, the weather wasn’t what i had planned either. As the wind gusts harder through the night im glad of my choice, spin drift is flung hard at the windows and the wind whooshes down the old chimney. I go out for a final wee before bed, and gaze upwards. The sky has cleared to reveal an infinite expanse of stars, dark, free of any pollution. In the lee of the hut I gaze for what feels like an eternity, shooting stars plummet silently and satellites rush on their endless journey. The power of the night, it humbles us, strips us of any pretense of greatness, or human arrogance. We are laid bare under it, vulnerable. A pile of spin drift is flung over the bothy and down my neck, raising me, and i head inside for sleep.

Suddenly im awake. Im convinced there is someone here with me, in this small room. Panicking i sit up and peer round. Nothing. In the cold light drifting through the window, everything is as it was, just the empty wooden platforms, the candlesticks still line the mantle piece and my bags still hanging out of reach of the mice. I was dreaming of an old man, sat on the bench at my feet, offering to share a sandwich. But neither he, nor any demons are with me. I lie back and listen to the sounds, the chap of the door latch in the wind, the woomph as it rushes down the fireplace, the creak of the old roof. Nothing out of place. And yet im convinced there are shadows outside the frosted window and i still feel a strong presence.

In the morning I find deer tracks all around the hut, they must have sought shelter from the storm, and it was likely their presence i felt in the night. The good weather seems to have arrived, and the mountains, hidden the night before stand in all their glory. The sunrises slowly over the horizon, catching the peaks and ridges of the mountains. I stay out and watch and wait, not wanting to miss a second of the changing light. Finally once the sun has hit the bothy, i head inside for breakfast.

The ride out, tracing my route of the day before reveals how tired I am. The drifted snow makes for hard work and i have to stop often to catch my breath. Surrounded by so much beauty though my tiredness does not matter. Everything glistens, sparkles, like a sequin spangled dress.

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Theres always a sadness when leaving the hills behind, a kind of grieving, like parting with a loved one. Every moment of freedom I have in them is precious, it never feels like enough time. Never long enough to sit and absorb.