When people ask how I got into winter mountaineering, the honest answer isn’t about climbing harder routes or collecting impressive grades. It was about repeated exposure, poor weather, failed objectives, and slowly learning to make decisions that kept people safe. This is the story of how that happened, traced through the Scottish mountains between 1998 and 2009.
Easter 1998, Knoydart: The Foundation
I already had some winter experience by the time I went to Knoydart. There had been snowy mountain days with my father, winter camping, and a formal Basic Winter Mountaineering course in the Cairngorms from 14 to 17 February 1996, run by David and Cathy Mordaunt. As part of that course we climbed Ben Macdui, and I learned the fundamentals of travelling over snow and ice, using crampons and an ice axe, moving safely in winter conditions and winter rope work.
But Knoydart was different. It was my first substantial Scottish expedition in snowy mountains, and it taught me what repeated days in winter mountain country actually felt like.
One of the biggest days was the full Ladhar Bheinn horseshoe. We scrambled onto An Diollaid and continued around Ladhar Bheinn, Stob a’ Chearceill, Aonach Sgoilte, Stob an Liut Fhearna and Sgurr Coire Choinnichean. The conditions were genuinely wintry: wind, cold, snow, hail and spindrift, with the weather changing repeatedly throughout the day. This wasn’t simply a snowy hill walk. It was sustained movement through Scottish winter conditions, just without technical winter climbing.
Later came the expedition to Sourlies Bothy. I bivvied outside the bothy on a clear, cold night and woke to frost covering the landscape. That morning three of us made an early ascent of Sgurr na Ciche in cold, snowy and changeable weather, descending quickly enough to rejoin the wider expedition on the journey back.
Nothing about these days was technically remarkable by climbing standards. What mattered was discovering that I loved this kind of travel: remote mountains, sleeping out, linking objectives over several days and moving through whatever conditions the mountains happened to provide. Knoydart wasn’t really about difficulty. It was about discovering what kind of mountaineer I wanted to become.
Knoydart planted the seed. What I had not yet experienced was technical Scottish winter climbing. That came in March 2000.
March 2000: The Technical Turning Point
I went north with Mark Beecher and his friend Martin. We started at the Red Squirrel campsite in Glencoe, but conditions were poor for climbing, so eventually we moved to Fort William and carried enormous loads up towards the CIC Hut beneath the north face of Ben Nevis. We had climbing hardware, axes and crampons, ropes, winter camping equipment, food, heavy waterproofs and all the other equipment that went with Scottish winter climbing at the time. I also carried my Macpac Minuet because I didn’t fancy trying to squeeze three adults into a tent that was only a little larger than a two man.
I found the carry brutal. Mark and Martin were considerably fitter and more experienced than me, and I was very conscious of struggling to keep up.
Then we climbed.
On 23 March we climbed Tower Scoop, Grade III, alternate leading. The following day I remember climbing a route or variant to the left of Number Five Gully, also somewhere around Grade III.
That trip was the point at which snowy mountain experience became technical Scottish winter climbing. Crucially, I didn’t feel naturally accomplished at it. I was learning by trying to operate alongside people considerably stronger and more experienced than myself.
That would become a recurring pattern over the next few years.
New Year 2000/01: Making Winter Normal
Nine months later I was back in Scotland.
On 27 December 2000 we drove north in my blue Vauxhall Astra and climbed Cruach Ardrain. The snow was so deep that we left the cars by the youth hostel and began by walking along the A82. It became a long day in heavy snow and poor visibility, with difficult navigation and plenty of work simply moving through the conditions. There was nothing technically difficult about the route, but it was exactly the sort of winter mileage that slowly builds experience.
From there we continued to Fort William, staying at Calluna, associated with local mountaineer Alan Kimber. Much of the wider group was involved in winter training. I also remember heading out to Creag Meagaidh, although I haven’t yet recovered a contemporary record telling me exactly what we did there.
What matters is that the CIC trip hadn’t been a one off experiment. I had gone back. Scottish winter was beginning to change from “that winter climbing thing I did once” into simply something I did during winter.
The big trips weren’t the whole story either. Between them were shorter winter weekends and individual climbing days that quietly accumulated into experience.
On 21 January 2001, for example, Alex and I were in the Lake District on another Hill and Mountain Walking Club trip. We drove around from Coniston and climbed One Pitch Gully on Great End, Winter II, alternate leading. It was my first winter climbing in the Lakes. Different mountains, different rock and a different setting, but another day spent placing gear, making decisions and becoming more comfortable in winter terrain.
Development didn’t happen in a series of dramatic breakthroughs. Much of it came from days like these, interspersed between the bigger holidays, steadily turning unfamiliar skills into ordinary ones.
New Year 2001/02: Responsibility Arrives Remarkably Quickly
By the following New Year, another change was already becoming visible.
On another trip to Fort William and then on to Breamar. On 29 and 30 December we headed into the Cairngorms as a group of fifteen adults with three leaders.
Deep snow, poor visibility and gale-force winds prevented us from reaching the intended summits. We made our way towards Corrour Bothy instead. Some of the group stayed inside while most camped outside in the difficult conditions. I remember being particularly glad that I had good equipment.
Less than two years after struggling behind Mark and Martin on the walk towards the CIC Hut, I was now one of the people carrying responsibility for a group of fifteen adults in serious Scottish winter weather.
That doesn’t mean I suddenly considered myself an expert. I almost certainly didn’t. But the role had started to change. I was no longer only absorbing decisions made by more experienced people. I was beginning to share responsibility for them.
New Year 2002/03: The Formative Warwick Trip
If there was one Warwick New Year trip that contained almost everything I was learning about winter mountaineering, this was probably it staying at Glencoe YHA
On 28 December I climbed two straightforward Grade I routes on Lost Valley Buttress, the Right-hand and Left-hand Gullies, alternate leading. There was a novice with me, and the easier routes were appropriate terrain for introducing someone to winter climbing.
The most memorable climb of the trip was Crowberry Ridge, Grade III.
We set out genuinely intending to climb it and arrived around first light. Route finding proved difficult and progress was much slower than we had hoped. As the day went on it became increasingly obvious that there wasn’t enough daylight left to complete the route sensibly.
So our objective changed. It was no longer about getting to the top. It was about getting the three of us safely back down.
The resulting retreat involved repeated abseils down the route. Gradually we established a rhythm and eventually reached the bottom around the end of dusk. I remember returning feeling somewhat defeated. At the time it felt like an unsuccessful climb.
Looking back, it may have been one of the most valuable days of the whole period.
Mountaineering isn’t only about knowing how to continue upwards. It is also about recognising when continuing has stopped being the sensible objective, then having the skills and composure to get yourself and the people with you safely out of the situation.
The holiday continued with substantial winter mountain days, including Creise and Meall a’ Bhuiridh (30th Dec), and further days around Buachaille Etive Mòr (3rd Jan Stob Dearg Stob na Doire) as well as the iconic Aonach Eagach in winter, Grade II. This was much closer to the kind of terrain I increasingly enjoyed. It wasn’t simply a climb. It was an exposed mountain journey containing technical ground. Grade II would become something of a natural level for me: difficult enough to provide genuine climbing and problem-solving, but still fundamentally part of a journey through the mountains rather than climbing being the entire purpose of the day.
There was easier ground with a novice, an exposed Grade II ridge, an unsuccessful Grade III route, a complicated retreat and long snowy mountain days.
That mixture probably taught me considerably more than simply climbing progressively harder routes would have done.
Easter 2003 and 2004: Building Independence
Running alongside the Warwick New Year trips was another strand of my development: Easter journeys in Scotland with my then girlfriend.
These weren’t necessarily winter trips, and it would be misleading to describe them as such simply because they took place in the Highlands. What they did give me was an increasing amount of independent expedition and route planning experience.
At Easter 2003 we climbed Ben Hope, then walked into the country behind Ben Klibreck (with Oscar) and bivvied overnight before climbing the mountain the following day. I remember that trip as snow free. Its significance wasn’t winter technique but the journey itself: travelling through remote country, carrying what we needed and putting together our own small expedition.
At Easter 2004 we moved further into substantial Highland days, including Beinn Dearg and Meall nan Ceapraichean, followed by a long outing in the Fannaichs.
This was a different learning environment from the Warwick trips. At New Year I had learned by operating within groups, first following stronger people and eventually helping to lead. At Easter I was increasingly planning my own routes with a partner and taking responsibility for what we did.
The two strands reinforced each other. One was teaching me how to operate within a mountain group. The other was teaching me how to become independent of one.
New Year 2004/05: Newtonmore, a Turning Point
By New Year 2004/05, the Warwick winter trips had become a familiar part of my life. We were based in Newtonmore, giving us access to both the Cairngorms and the Monadhliath. The surviving logbook entries show just how much my role had changed since those first winter climbing days on Ben Nevis.
On New Year’s Eve we headed into the Cairngorms for an eight hour day over Cairn Lochan, Ben Macdui and Derry Cairngorm. Conditions were poor, with light snow, heavy cloud and moderate winds. The logbook records me as Leader/Supervisor. There were also icy river crossings, which I rather casually described as “fun”, although they would have required considerably more care than that word suggests.
What matters more is that I was now the person responsible for route choices and for helping a group move safely through high Cairngorm terrain when visibility was poor.
There was a pleasing symmetry to being back on Ben Macdui. In February 1996 I had climbed it during my Basic Winter Mountaineering course with David and Cathy Mordaunt, learning the fundamentals of moving safely in snow and ice. Eight years later I was back on the same mountain, but this time my log recorded me as the leader.
New Year’s Day itself was much quieter. Rather than heading immediately back into the mountains, I did a self guided tourist walk around Newtonmore village with friends after the lantern festival the night before. Looking back, that feels entirely in keeping with these holidays. They were mountain trips, but they were social holidays too. Not every day needed to be an eight hour battle with Scottish winter.
On 2 January we went into the Monadhliath for Carn Dearg, Carn Sgulain and A’ Chailleach. The weather was considerably rougher than on New Year’s Eve: wild, wet and windy, with poor visibility and strong to gale force westerlies. Rather than simply following our original route, we changed direction and travelled clockwise so that the wind worked better with us. When visibility disappeared across the tops we used the fence line as a navigational handrail.
Again, the log identifies me as Leader/Supervisor.
That probably says more about my development than any climbing grade could. Four years earlier I had been struggling to keep up with Mark and Martin on the approach to the CIC Hut, painfully conscious that they were fitter and more experienced. Now I was thinking about wind direction, navigation, route choice and how to move a group safely through difficult winter conditions.
I don’t remember consciously noticing that transformation at the time. It had happened gradually through New Year trips, climbing days, winter camps, failed objectives, poor visibility, difficult navigation and the steady accumulation of judgement.
But looking back at the records, this trip feels like a natural turning point.
I was no longer learning how to be a winter mountaineer simply by following more experienced people.
I was becoming one of the experienced people.
Christmas and New Year 2006/07: A Life Milestone
By 2006 the old pattern was beginning to change.
Just before Christmas I spent a long weekend with Gail camping in Snowdonia. On 23 December we ran the Snowdon Horseshoe in freezing conditions, with compacted snow on the tops and ice on the descent. New Year itself was then spent on North Uist for milestone birthday party with Charlotte and friends, rather than on one of the old Warwick mountain holidays.
A few weeks later I left Britain for roughly ten months of travelling.
Gail mattered because her drive to simply go and do things had an influence considerably greater than the length of our relationship might suggest and this was a pivotal point in my life and looking back a change in direction to the person I have become two decades later.
The mountains were no longer something primarily organised through university friends or a club. They had become part of a much wider outdoor life.
Easter 2008: The Roles Reverse
By March 2008 I was back in Scotland for what became one of the most sustained winter trips of this whole period.
We began in Assynt, wild camping as part of a two-day outing to Conival and Ben More Assynt. The mountain day brought poor visibility, hail, strong winds and whiteout conditions. From there we moved south to Badrallach, pitching my brother’s borrowed Vango tunnel tent beside Little Loch Broom.
The following day we climbed An Teallach, again encountering deep snow and whiteout conditions. Following a day from Badrallach, giving us a very different sort of day, walking along the coast towards the isolated, roadless settlement of Scoraig. It was typical of these trips that a serious winter mountain day could be intertwined by something quieter and exploratory.
Eventually the persistent rain and mud made camping miserable enough that we admitted defeat and moved into a vegetarian bed and breakfast. The contrast was wonderful: somewhere warm and dry, with a sitting area, a microwave for dinner and a cooked breakfast before heading back into the mountains.
Two substantial days in the Fannaichs followed, with snow virtually down to sea level.
Then on the journey towards the Cairngorms an attempt on Ben Wyvis was abandoned when poor visibility and gale-force winds made continuing unreasonable. We adapted again with over night stop to do some cross-country skiing at Slochd, before eventually moving east for a walk into Glas-allt-Shiel, a wild camp, and Broad Cairn and Cairn Bannoch in deep snow and ice under much clearer skies.
This trip shows the reversal most clearly.
In 2000 I had been trying to keep up with two substantially more experienced mountaineers.
In 2008 I was the substantially more experienced person, generally making the mountain decisions.
Somewhere in those intervening years, I had become the person I used to follow.
New Year 2008/09: Competence Becomes Ordinary
We spent New Year based in a hostel in Fort William, with the usual crowd of the Warwick group of friends. Looking back, the trip seems almost like a summary of everything that had developed over the previous decade: winter climbing, long mountain traverses, exposed ridges, cold weather, navigation and a two-day journey involving a winter camp.
On 28 December I was back on the north side of Ben Nevis, this time climbing Number Five Gully, Grade I. There was something quietly circular about that. Eight years earlier I had carried an overwhelming load towards the CIC Hut as the inexperienced member of the party and climbed a remembered Grade III variant to the left of Number Five Gully. Now I was back on the same mountain, on Number Five Gully and it was simply the first day of the holiday.
The following day came the Ring of Steall, including the memorable three wire bridge. On 30 and 31 December we climbed Stob a’ Choire Mheadhoin and Stob Coire Easain, then descended and camped beside the small Lairig Leacach bothy rather than sleeping inside it.
On New Year’s Day we were back out again for Sròn a’ Choire Ghairbh and Meall na Teanga, followed a few days later by Mullach nan Coirean and Stob Bàn.
There were big winter days, a wild camp, basic hostel accommodation, cooking in the little kitchen, drying kit and then setting off to do it again.
What strikes me now is how ordinary it had become.
This wasn’t a trip on which I was trying to prove that I could winter climb. Nor was I following somebody else into an unfamiliar world.
Winter climbing and winter camping had simply become tools I could use to make bigger journeys through the mountains.
Easter 2009: The Mature Expedition Style
The three day Mullardoch trip feels like an appropriate final chapter to this period.
We set out intending to complete a substantial round.
On the first day we crossed Carn nan Gobhar, Sgurr na Lapaich, An Riabhachan and An Socach, before camping at the far end of Loch Mullardoch.
On day two we climbed Beinn Fhionnlaidh, but deteriorating weather forced us to abandon the intended continuation and return to the same campsite.
The final day became a journey out along the north side of the loch. A difficult river crossing forced us to make a significant detour upstream before finding somewhere we considered safe enough to cross.
Again, what mattered wasn’t whether we completed the original plan.
The trip contained almost every theme that had accumulated since Knoydart: remote travel, camping, summits, poor weather, navigation, changing objectives and accepting that completing the route you had imagined at home was not the measure of a successful expedition.
The Real Lesson
By Easter 2009, the development story was essentially complete. Not because I stopped mountaineering, far from it, but because somewhere along the way I had stopped thinking of myself as somebody learning to become a winter mountaineer.
I simply was one.
It hadn’t happened by steadily climbing harder and harder routes. In fact, the grades are probably one of the least interesting parts of the story.
It came through years of repeated exposure: travelling with people who were more experienced than me, trying to keep up, camping in winter, navigating in poor visibility, getting things wrong, abandoning objectives, retreating from climbs, introducing less experienced people to easier terrain and gradually taking more responsibility for the decisions we made.
It came through the smaller experiences too: winter weekends, individual climbing days, poor forecasts, conversations with other mountaineers and ordinary decisions that never seemed important enough to write about at the time.
Perhaps the biggest change was learning that a successful mountain day doesn’t necessarily end on the summit.
Sometimes the important decision is to turn around. Sometimes it is to change the objective before you’ve even started. Sometimes it is simply recognising that the mountain will still be there another day.
Looking back, that is the thread running through all those New Year and Easter trips. The individual mountains and climbs mattered, but the real education was the accumulation of judgement.
That, more than anything else, is how I became a winter mountaineer.