The old observatory on Ben Nevis' summit, an island in the sky
Hillwalking in Britain is a game of luck. A dance with fortune. For every bluebird day where the horizon is rapier edged and the views stretch for an eternity, there is a day’s suffer-fest through horizontal, freezing rain to gain a summit that should be majestic but instead is a damp squib, a sorry dripping cairn in a cold world of grey. They say it is the bad days make those great days all the more special. So, when a day seems to be heading towards the mediocre and it suddenly turns into hillwalking paradise, it’s a special day indeed...
It's new year. And with a new year comes misguided optimism. What are the odds on favourable weather for a visit Scotland? I am visiting one of the most dramatic regions of the Highlands, home to the glorious ridges of the Mamores and the legendary peaks of Glen Coe. I am visiting Lochaber. My aim? The Ben. Ben Nevis. The highest mountain in Britain. My hope? A gloriously snow-covered Càrn Mòr Dearg Arête on a blue sky day with show stopping views of The North Face of The Ben. Of course, hopes and reality are quite different entities. However, little did I know that I was actually to get much more than I bargained for.
Chris on a snow-dusted CMD Arête
"Every mundane preparatory task is done with a tingle of anticipation for the adventure to come."
It's early in the morning. Pre-dawn. We are in the wonderfully refurbished Glen Nevis youth hostel, which is placed conveniently at the start of the tourist route up Ben Nevis. My friend Chris heats some porridge, whilst I fill my thermos with freshly brewed coffee. Few words are exchanged at this hour. Every mundane preparatory task is done with a tingle of anticipation for the adventure to come. Our packs are heavy with all the paraphernalia associated with winter walking.
Stepping out into the darkness, we get our heads down and get on with the walk in. With nothing to look at but our head torches bouncing on the path ahead, the sounds around us are amplified. The whisper of the wind in the trees and the tumbling of a nearby burn are music to my ears. In winter, the crisp cold that mists our illuminated breath and the stillness of the surroundings are so vivid. Senses heightened, we find a steady rhythm.
As we progress, Chris and I talk about our recent mountain adventurers. I had met him the previous winter at a London Mountaineering Club meet in the Cairngorms. Joining a mountaineering or hillwalking club is something I would strongly recommend for anyone who wants to expand their horizons and meet like minded people. Chris has done things I had previously only dreamed of: such as recently summiting Mera Peak and Island Peak in the Himalayas. As I regale him with tales of Scottish adventures in magical places like Torridon and Glen Coe, we arrive at the Halfway Lochan.
This is where our route deviates from the tourist route and makes for the Allt a’ Mhuilinn, the stream that flows below the majestic splendour of The Ben’s famous North Face. We reach the stream as the first hints of dawn arrive. The sky slowly reveals itself. Oppressively low above our heads, it morphs from a dull black to a ceiling of metallic grey. Clag, as mountain folk might term it. We fashion a passable crossing by redistributing some large boulders to bridge a narrow section of the stream and gingerly make our way to the opposite bank. Ahead now is the most tedious part of what is otherwise a superb route: the clamber up the steep grassy hillside onto the Càrn Mòr Dearg ridge.
Here’s my advice on how to nullify the tedium. Gain the ridge as far north - as close to where the path from the Halfway Lochan and the path from the North Face car park meet - as you can manage. Yes, it adds some distance to what is already a sizeable mountain day, but it's totally worth it. Many guidebooks recommend venturing much further south-east along the Allt’ a Mhuilinn towards the CIC Hut at the foot of the North Face but this makes the clamber up to the summit of Càrn Mòr Dearg an absolute slog. No, no, no. Best gain the ridge earlier. Better still, start at the North Face car park and take the natural rising line up onto the ridge.
The CMD Arête is a beautiful ridge, especially in winter
"The CMD Arête is arguably the best way to the summit of Ben Nevis for the adventurous hillwalker."
Even then our carefully chosen ascent is a little bit monotonous. It’s a rough, steep ascent with plenty of pauses to catch our breath. Above us, the ceiling of grey slowly gets closer and closer and then we pass through it. Visibility is wiped out. This transition is made all the more stark by the snow that now dusts the ground like icing sugar. We’ve gone from hill to mountain. It's not long before we join the path that will take us all the way to the Càrn Mòr Dearg Arête.
The CMD Arête is arguably the best way to the summit of Ben Nevis for the adventurous hillwalker. I say arguably because a scramble up Ledge Route may be even better, though I've only done this as an mountaineering outing in full winter conditions. Nevertheless, I implore you, if you value your free time at all, shun the tourist route. It simply does not compare to the spectacular mountain experience you could have on the arête. Firstly, there’s the stunning vista of the North Face that dominates everything to your right as you make your way along the ridge. Secondly, the arête itself is terrific fun. An airy scramble across heaps of shattered boulders, it arcs, dives and rises between Càrn Mòr Dearg and The Ben like a great bend in a giant roller coaster. The scrambling is never particularly technical, making it achievable for any reasonably fit hillwalker.
As we reach the summit of Càrn Mòr Dearg, it becomes clear that views of the North Face are not going to reveal themselves today. The grey will simply not budge. The rock underfoot is specked with white hoarfrost. Our axes and crampons are useless on this. However, up to this point our boots are finding good purchase and the ground does not seem slippery. I hope that this will continue to be the rule once we are on the arête proper. After a short descent, the ground drops away on either side. Ahead, the narrowing crest of iced rocky boulders stretches away into the mist. Ethereal. Exciting. Daunting. We begin our traverse of one of the best Grade 1 scrambles in Britain.
Chris towards the end of the arête
The arete is lengthy, this is one advantage it holds over the likes of Striding Edge in the Lake District, where the enjoyment is over all too soon. A bypass path is usually present to one side, so the difficulties (fun bits) are optional. Gradually, we learn to trust the rock, despite its sugared appearance. Today, it’s seems, the ridge is a sheep in a wolf’s clothing.
It's sheer, unbridled mountain joy as we traverse the arete. Towards the end is the only moment of real exposure. A narrow walkway presents itself, the most memorable part of the arete from my previous ascent. Its iced appearance gives pause for thought. If this section was slippery, it would take a brave individual to set out across it. But nothing before had been as slippery as its appearance had suggested and this was no different. Still, once across I was glad to be on the broader ground beyond it.
And this is when the magic begins.
Emerging from the clouds on the final pull up to Ben Nevis' summit
"You are on an island in the sky. The clouds are an ocean beneath your feet."
There is definite sunlight trying to burn through the clouds. For a moment, to my right, a massive mountain face suddenly appears and then disappears as quickly as all that.
Observatory ridge leading up to the summit of the Ben.
“Cloud inversion?” I ask more to myself than Chris. Do I dare believe that we have been so fortunate?
A cloud inversion can occur during periods of high pressure. When the air near the ground is cooler than the air above it, and the lower air contains enough moisture to form fog, a sea of cloud is created. Above this the temperature can be much higher. Not only is it warmer, the visibility above can often be stunning in the crystal clear air. It’s like that moment when the airplane breaks above the cloud and all becomes blue. Only now, you are not hurtling along in an aluminium tube, but standing above it all on your own two feet. Nothing quite compares to the sudden feeling of awe. You are on an island in the sky. The clouds are an ocean beneath your feet.
Breaking above the clouds is like a dream. Ben Nevis is alone above the majestic white waves. Alone save for the sun, which is so brilliant now, after hours spent in the grey. In the distance, to the east, are other islands. The very highest peaks of the Cairngorms. As I look out across this new, unnamed sea of white, I realise that the entirety of the Highlands, save for perhaps its very loftiest perches, is buried beneath. Never before have I considered that we, as humans, are in many ways like crabs scuttling around in the seabed. I feel utterly grateful to have been given this perspective. It is horizon huge. In every direction. I feel utterly tiny.
This is why we seek out the high places.
Chris silhouetted by the dazzling sun
I am stood on the highest mountain in Britain, in January, surrounded by ice and cloud, and it's now warm enough that I am dressed in but one layer. I pull on my sunglasses. There are half a dozen other people sharing this nirvana. Some look as though they’ve come up the climbers’ classic of Tower Ridge. What a day for it! I try to soak in every aspect, take in every view, saunter over to every vantage point. I doubt I have ever spent as long on a mountain summit. Tower Ridge looks like some monstrous leviathan, breaking above the waves that surround it. Have I ever seen anything as beautiful?
What are the odds? To choose to climb Britain’s highest mountain on this day, it is miraculous. Nearby Aonach Beag and Aonach Mor, two of the highest mountains in all of Scotland, remain submerged. Only the Ben, in all of the West Highlands, is enjoying this phenomenon.
The upper reaches of Tower Ridge rising through the clouds
"Tower Ridge looks like some monstrous leviathan, breaking above the waves that surround it."
Eventually, our senses tear themselves away from the panorama and we consider that it's the start of January, that we are on the summit of Ben Nevis and that soon it will be dark. Reluctantly, we join the tourist path and begin our descent. To begin with, the feeling of striding out towards that sea of white is thrilling, as the perspective shifts the closer we get. However, as it draws nearer, I realise that one of the most golden moments of all my days in the hills is about to come to an end. Before we drop through the sea of white, below that ceiling of grey, I take one last long moment to imbibe as much as I can. And then that’s it. Back to normality.
It’s only January. How does the rest of the year stand a chance to top what just happened?
Yours truly taking in the sea of cloud