We arrived at the summit of Braeriach a little later than planned. Eerie light and around minus 10 degrees. The camera batteries weren’t happy so needed warming. David and I had always planned to part at this point (he had to get to Raasay the next day) so he took his bearing and headed off into the nothingness. A strange sight as I watched him disappear over the ridge. I would later receive a message from him saying he had to point and dagger off a steep ice field with only one axe and wouldn’t make it back to his car until 9pm that night. Watched his head bob over the horizon then felt predictably lonely. Then: focus.
Because of the time I decided to camp up on the plateau, warm the batteries during the night and film more of the wells in the morning. Plus I didn’t fancy make the steep descent into Garbh in the dark in uncertain conditions. So - camp, warmth, food, bed. Cold night but got some kip. I only realised yesterday that I must have been the highest person asleep in Britain, assuming there were no nutters on Macdui or Nevis.
Woke to a cloud line only three meters above my head and a misty sunlight scattering across the flat-top of the mountain. It changed every second and never seemed to have a proper horizon. Stunning and weird but difficult filming conditions. The camera hated it: frost, mist, cold. Erratic flying. At one point it appeared stuck in the air, about 50 metres away - unresponsive to any instruction whatsoever. Up, down, left, right - nothing. Just four blinking red and green lights and the whirring of motors in mid-air. What do I do? I walked closer to it and felt the ground rise, then realised I’d ploughed it straight into the side of the mountain. Even standing next to it I couldn’t tell where the sky started and the mountain finished.
Filmed what I could (with little idea of what I’d got) but had to get moving so advanced onto Braeriach summit to asses from there. But by then the cloud thickened and the wind picked up so I made the painfully difficult decision to forego the day’s filming in the corrie and take the safer, but much longer, route back into the Lairig by walking north and then round, back in via the Pools of Dee, and then sharp right into Garbh Coire.
I took my bearing and headed off, keeping the cliffs as close to my right as I dared; beautiful snow-wave cornice shapes plunging into the misty void. The ridge narrowed and it became difficult to tell when I was walking on solid mountain, or when I had strayed onto the overhang. The occasional deep rumbling creak of the snowpack was the only warning system - step back, slow down, watch the edge.
I’m not really sure what happened next, and I’ve since tried to work it out from the map but I guess only the mountain knows...
I’d picked up (what I assumed must have been) Chris and Dom’s tracks from the day before (I was lucky it hadn’t snowed in the night). Having discussed their route at length I felt reassured following the tracks in tandem with corroborating bearings. But after an hour or so their tracks diverged from my bearing and I had a decision to make. Visibility was down to ten metres now and I still hadn’t started my decent. I decided to follow my compass, assuming it had no ‘opinion’ and that their plans must have changed. But after twenty minutes of lonely striding I began descending way more rapidly than expected and realised I must have been wrong.
I re-took my bearing and suddenly North showed as ten degrees off of the direction I’d come. Strange. So I split the difference and headed between the two bearings, doubt creeping in. After some more lonely striding I then picked up the tracks again with some relief. But after walking around a hundred yards I noticed that there were only one set of footprints… and realised, with blood running cold, that tracks these were my own.
In a matter of seconds I had gone from feeling about 80% certain of my position to within a few hundred metres to now not even knowing which way I was facing, or where on the mountain I was. With no visibility all I could do was take a bearing off the sound of a distant waterfall, knowing full well how sound plays tricks in the fog. I eventually settled on what seemed like a sensible direction, and with held breath, set off into the snow and the mist again, in search of home.