(C'mon down momma)   We jus' doin that ole Sneachda thing agen.



We have tickets for today's performance. Along the snowy path, we join the Procession of the Faithful, all carrying the symbolic axes and ropes. A steady trudge takes us into the great amphitheatre, and as we arrive a huge curtain of grey, shot through with the orange light of the morning, is slowly dissolved. First of all we can make out the horizon of the Cairngorm plateau and then more clearly there appear the cliffs of Coire an t'Sneachda, and I can pick out the features like the craggy face of an old acquaintance. The Mess of Pottage, the Trident, Fiacaill Ridge.



Phil and Virginie are new here, and so first of all we pick our way through the fairly deep snow (but still somewhat too soft) to carry out some self-arrest practice on a slope below the Aladdin Buttress. Unfortunately as the snow is pretty soft, it's not very realistic, so after making a gesture we thought it was time to set off up Aladdin's Couloir before the temperature rose any further. I recognised an old climbing mate (not seen for six years) who was going that way too. So with Phil and Virginie at the bottom of my rope, Howard and Brian moving together on the spare rope, we made a loose group of seven as we moved into the first pitch.



The weather stayed quite reasonable as we went in turn up the steep bit, round the elbow and up to the top traverse in happy succession of spectre, ice screw, peg, deadman, buried axe, nut, friend, warthog, spike and "pull you up on to the plateau". As it wasn't blowing the usual gale, or freezing fog, at the top, there was even time for a late lunch and a look round. With not enough time for a second route, we rounded the day off with the steep walk down the snowfield by the Mess of Pottage, and a visit to the little icefalls in the back of the Corrie, to play some games with crampon movement, and tugging hard on some ice screws. Finally it was time for tea - or more accurately, a hot chocolate with marshmallow and a couple of beers in Aviemore. So as the mists of the evening began to darken the Cairngorm ridges, we tramped back happily to the car-park.



Ritual and tradition. Defining and inspiring. It feels good to observe yet again, the habit of so many years. But the snow was fairly new, and already under threat.



Next day, it felt as though we'd moved from a traditional performance, into a war movie. High up on the mountain, from the near horizon Howard runs towards us. He falls, gets up, runs again, zigzags, collapses to his knees, rises and struggles on. You want to look for a machine gunner. The culprit was actually a wind speed,  which rose violently as we gained height, so that by 900 metres we were being knocked over at 75 mph, and to make it worse the wind carried stinging pellets of high-speed rain. (it was awful to think that after a beautiful day on Schiehallion on Friday, Brian was missing this).




With the freezing level on Sunday up to 1400 metres, high wind and low cloud, we had driven round to Glenshee for a normally straightforward Munro which Howard had not done before. Phil, Virginie and I lay on the ground whilst Howard made a try to reach the summit. However it was too far along the ridge, and conditions were an awful lot nicer down below, so that's where we decided we'd rather be.




We took the benefit of a comfy stop in the bivouac shelter, and then a stroll down the valley in windy sunshine, and briefly enlivened with a short river crossing. Rather a ruffty-tufty Sunday stroll, and a little sad to see the warm grey clouds and the snow pouring as meltwater from the hillsides. Still, "a grand day out Grommit" so we went back to the car, on with the music, and once again the Sunday teatime routine all the way to England.



Love from Andy, Howard, Phil, Virginie and Brian...xx