theiaincameron

[theiaincameron]

Beinn Bhrotain - An autumn walk into last winter

I had long lost count of the trips I’d made into the hills that year. Twenty? Thirty? Who knows.

Spring 2015’s obdurate refusal to pass on the seasonal baton had left the high peaks and passes of the Cairngorms looking unusually snowy in early summer. The dreadful cliffs that rise vertiginously from many of Braeriach’s seemingly innumerable corries had a full winter jacket on, yet it was now June. At the same time, the pregnant-like summit bump of Ben Macdui rose white and unblemished above everything else within sight.

Summer passed, though. Much of the snow melted, of course, but, still, relics of winter and spring remained across Am Monadh Ruadh into September and even October. It was no exaggeration to say that the scene was a facsimile of one from many summers past. John Taylor, the king’s self-styled Water Poet, who journeyed to Braemar in 1610, would have recognised it:

There I saw Mount Ben Avon, with a furred mist upon his snowy head instead of a nightcap: (for you must understand, that the oldest man alive never saw but the snow was on the top of divers of those hills, both in summer, as well as in winter.)

In a normal year – so far as any year in these parishes can be thus described – counting the number of patches of snow that endure to the 10th month of the year would be an exercise able to be conducted over the course of a weekend. Not that year. For some time leading up to the start of October my Saturdays and Sundays, as well as a good chunk of my annual leave entitlement from work, was given over to what sometimes felt like a never-ending circle of repeat visits to the inaccessible nooks and crannies of Scotland’s highest tops, gathering data for the annual snow patch paper I co-authored for the Royal Meteorological Society.

The 24th of October saw one such visit. That day’s target was the immense bulk of Beinn Bhrotain – the hill of the mastiff. Like so many of its Cairngorms’ brethren this hill has a whale-like appearance from distance. Traverse around its northern flank, however, and the rolling countenance is brutally sliced open by the shattered and splintered granite cliffs above Glen Geusachan. Fortunately for me, no lover of heights or steep cliffs, my path was to be more benign.

Cycling from the spate-engorged Linn o’ Dee at daybreak I made for White Bridge. Though progress on two wheels would have been easier on the east side of the infant River Dee, its fording would have been impossible, given the quantity of rain that was now trying earnestly to get back to the sea whence it emanated. Wiser counsel suggested the western approach, crossing the bridge over the Geldie – which swells the Dee to double its size – and on towards the foot of the hill.

Arriving at White Bridge I paused briefly and marked the clouds that were lifting. The mature orange and browns of the now-dormant autumn vegetation were in stark contrast to the gleaming white of Ben Macdui and Braeriach, whose top 500 ft were resplendent in a castor sugar-covering of fresh snow. It was then, also, that I caught my first glimpse of the mastiff’s white spot. It was exactly where reported: sitting in the upper reaches of Coire an-t Sneachda – the corrie of the snow. The Gaels were, apparently, noting long-lasting snow locations hundreds of years ago.

Onwards.

But, alas, not for long. The normally placid Allt Iarnaidh, which drains but a small area of the southern slopes of Beinn Bhrotain, was a seething, foaming torrent of angry water. Luckily, just upstream, its course was constricted by a narrowing of the gully, and a simple hop over with the bike was sufficient to overcome what would have otherwise been an insuperable barrier.

Ten minutes or so later I was at the barely-discernible start of the path which led up the course of the Allt Garbh – the rough burn. This handsome brook reached upwards right into the heart of the hill, emanating directly from the snowy corrie that I was aiming at. For the next three miles or so it would be my noisy but unwavering companion.

The terrain was in no hurry to lend me height. A slow and steady upwards march through thick, tussocky grass and heather necessitated close proximity to the chatty Allt Garbh, which cascaded over virgin granite outcrops, stripping anything unlucky enough to grow within its cold reach.

Eventually, some two hours after parking the bike, I reached the corrie. Last year’s patch of snow sat in a large hollow just below the horizon’s edge. On easier terrain I made for it, noticing a large inverted ‘V’ carved in its southern edge. I knew immediately what this meant: a tunnel.

But this was surely no ordinary tunnel. It was one that had been months in the making. Water and wind had carved it out, with summer and winter failing to defeat the patch it ran the length of. Excitedly, I made for it.

I approached the opening and peered in. Seldom had I seen anything like it in Scotland. I crouched, motionless, scarcely able to take in what was in front of me. A cold wind, far cooler than the ambient air temperature, passed across my face. Coldness that was laid down some 11 months previously was being liberated even now.

Mighty pillars of white snow supported this edifice on either side of the rivulet that issued from the tunnel mouth. Above these columns sat an arch of translucent blues and whites, caused by thinning snow being pierced by the daylight. The mosses of luminous green and the pink granite blocks added to the kaleidoscope of colours.

I drank it all in, unsure if I would ever come to this location again and witness such a spectacle. Four years on, with Scotland’s semi-perennial snow patches in retreat, my doubts were seemingly well founded.

[theiaincameron]

#6 - August snow. How unusual is it nowadays?

On the 19th August (today), at the top of Ben Nevis, snow fell and settled. It had been coming, and though the forecast said that some wet snow could fall, I - for one - was dubious about it settling. After all, August is one of the warmest months of the year, and cold weather is not normally something we have to worry about; even in Scotland. Apart from that, the ground can be too warm for snow to accumulate at this time of the year.

But... just how unusual is snow in August*? 

My friend and colleague, Dr Adam Watson, has been keeping records of this sort of thing for many years now. It is from this treasure-trove of information that I draw these figures.

Since 1945, when Adam started recording this, the total number of days when he has seen no snow in July is 12, and 19 in August. The longest run of dates in either of these months without snow ever being known is 7-13th August and 21-27th August. In other words, August is the least snowy month of the year. And between the 21-27th the least snowy period of the year.

What is very interesting, though, is that we have now had August snow every year since 2009. Admittedly not as early as 2014, but this is very unusual indeed, and coincides with a return to snowier winters from 2007 onwards. Since that year, snow has lain in greater quantities during the summers and autumns than it did during the lean years of 1996-2006**. The climate is doing odd things.

Of course, from an historical point of view, August snow wasn't something people of the 18th and 19th centuries would have been surprised at. An account from the 20th August 1822 (or 1823) by McCulloch (MacCulloch, J. (1824). The Highlands and Western Isles of Scotland. Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, Brown & Green, London) recalls reaching the top of Ben Nevis at one o’ clock. 'In half an hour, it snowed as if it had been January.' He wrote of walking on the summit plateau, 'I had not time, however, to walk round the whole plain before there came on as dense and bitter a storm of snow as I ever experienced....a whirlwind of fog and snow, so thick we could scarcely see each other.'

This was during the so-called Little Ice Age, when temperatures were colder than they are now. Unimaginable by today's standards. And yet, the lesson our current weather points to is that climate will continue to fluctuate and be unpredictable. People who've written the winter off are mistaken, and know little of the vicissitudes of the British climate.

2014's summer snowbeds are their largest since 1994, and to have fresh stuff falling, however ephemeral, is something I find fascinating, exciting and perplexing.

* Refers to the highest ground in the Cairngorms and Nevis range of hills. Snow is unknown at lower levels in August.

** All snow in Scotland vanished in 1996, 2003 & 2006. The last two times it melted previously, we believe, since the 1700s was 1959 and 1933.

[theiaincameron]

#5 - Snow survey, 22nd August 2014

For the last six years I’ve organised a late-August survey on the hills of Scotland, where we try and count up every last snow patch dotted throughout the country. I say ‘we’, as this is very much a collective effort, rather than an heroic attempt by one individual. 

The reason for doing this survey is to try and build up a long-term picture of whether lots of patches earlier in the season equates to survivals when lasting snow arrives. Also it’s a good reason to get out on the hill, dressed up in the name of science.

Since the survey was started in 2008 we’ve had (2008-2013) 34, 35, 34, 36, 72 and 81 patches. The number of surviving (that is, surviving until winter snows bury them) patches in the corresponding years is: 12, 6, 6, 2, 6 and 6. At the moment there doesn’t appear to be any correlation, but it’s too early to draw any conclusions, but as each year passes then this data becomes more useful.

Snow survey on Ben Nevis in August 2009.

So to this end, we need help! August 2014 is going to be a big year for patches. In my view easily exceeding the 81 we had in 2013, and probably running into 3 figures. That means we’re going to need foot-soldiers to get out onto the hill and get counting. THAT MEANS YOU!

The date is 22nd August (Friday), although in truth the 23rd would do, too. We try to make the date as close to the 21st each year as is possible. However, work commitments etc mean that not everyone is able to do days that aren’t at the weekend.

So, if you’re going out walking anyway that weekend, why not stroll around one of the locations mentioned below? If you can assist, then please get in touch with @theiaincameron on Twitter, who would be delighted to point you in the right direction. 

All these mountains listed are the ones that I either know, expect or hope to have snow on them. The hills highlighted in bold below are the ones that are currently looking for volunteers. 

1. Nevis range (any of the four 4000 footers)

2. Grey Corries

3. Glen Coe (specifically, Bidean nam Bian)

4. West Drumochter - In my view, Geal-charn (Alder), Ben Alder and Beinn Udlamain will all have snow. Maybe others. 

5. Creag Meagaidh

6. Ardverikie (Beinn a’ Chlachair, Geal Charn)

7. Ben Macdui/Cairn Gorm plateau

8. Braeriach/Cairn Toul

10. Lochnagar

11. Beinn Bhrotain/Monadh Mòr (Cairngorms)

12. East Cairngorms (Ben Avon, Beinn a’ Bhuird)

13. Glen Affric/Strathfarrar/Mullardoch

14. White Mounth, including Glenshee ski area hills

I can provide locations on these hills as to where the snow will be, and where it’s best to look for it if it’s not immediately obvious.

Thanks!