Winter Sun - Lynda Fenton

A year in London makes you appreciate the finer points of Glasgow, one of which is that it is easy to escape. I spent winter weekends down south looking out at the rain, wishing that I could get out to the mountains and experience all they have to throw at you; the wind, snow and rain, and the hope of an occasional view opening up. The weather even taunted me with snow fall, but a couple of inches of powder on Hampstead Heath didn't quite give me the wilderness fix I was looking for. So whilst languishing in the deep south I made a promise to myself to get out and about as much as possible once I got back to Glasgow.
Once back here though, old habits were quickly re-instated. Saturday nights proved a major impediment to Sunday activity, and that coupled with five weeks in Ireland meant I didn't get out in the Scottish hills as much as I'd intended. Reflecting on this winter though, not only did I realise that I had failed to keep my promise to myself, but it seemed that the winter hills that I had been dreaming of in London had been transformed. When I did get out gone was the buffeting wind, low cloud and drifting snow; replaced by blue skies, clear views, crisp neve and hot rock.
The high pressure that dominated February became too much to bear in the city. The sun drove me from lectures, and into a mid-week dash for the Ben. Three of us set off early one Wednesday, with Alasdair in particular feeling the effects of Tuesday night. The sun rose over Rannoch moor, turning the wisps of cloud hanging over it a beautiful orange-red. Slogging up the path and into Coire na Ciste wasn't exactly a wilderness experience; English half-term and the fine weather ensured that it felt like a staff training day at a Sheffield comprehensive. After considering a route few options we decided on Comb Gully (IV, 4), with the lads leading up a couple of pitches of great snow-ice, and me following on getting a first taste of proper steep winter climbing. Topping out we emerged into the sun and views all round, to Torridon, Skye and the Cairngorms. The beating sun meant that the walk to the summit was done in short-sleeves, and the number of people wandering about the plateau in the sun made it feel a little like Kelvingrove Park on the summers afternoon. At the same time as feeling slightly ashamed that I hadn't climbed Ben Nevis in four years of living in Glasgow, I was glad that I'd saved it for a quality day and a quality route - I guess the company was ok too.
A week or so later Sunday morning saw another early Glasgow start, with a fine forecast and our sights set on the Ben. The start wasn't quite as early as intended, so as we crossed Rannoch Moor the sun was fully up, and rounding the corner towards Glencoe revealed the Buchaille glowing golden in the morning light. The thought of a rushed day on the Ben after a late start wasn't that tempting, and the Buchaille car-park drew us in. Although February, there was barely a drop of snow to be seen, and the rock was so tempting that we opted for the scramble up the North Buttress. This day there was solitude; we didn't meet a soul until the summit. Solitude, sun, views and hot rock - save for the odd bit of verglas in the shade to keep things exciting.
So this Scottish winter didn't bring quite what I had expected; more sun-burn than hot-aches. Not that I'm complaining, I'll happily replace my woolly mitts with a bottle of sun-tan lotion. I do fear, however, that it may have turned me even more soft-core. The thought of going out in anything more than a 10mph wind, with anything less than coast-to-coast views, or facing any sort of precipitation, just doesn't cut it. And I'm confident that having written this article I doomed never to have such a fine a day again; the hills surely have plenty more weather.