I could feel winter’s grasp of the mountains loosening; heat ebbing back into sunny days, birds cheeping in the trees, a buzzing fly aloft. March had come in like a lamb, and I doubted it would leave like a lion. A blue sky weekend approached; I should do something up amongst winter’s cap of snow while it remained. A hastily assembled plan to repeat the previous snowhole rushed on to the night bus to Braemar. I took a tent doubting there’d still be deep enough snow to dig a hole as a shelter.

A full moon was aloft but within Ballochbuie forest’s treed confines I needed the headtorch, and shining it into a small pool with a thin film of ice revealed spring beasties afloat.

Across the Feindallacher Burn and climbing, the scattering so new snow deepened quickly, and I mostly stayed off-path to avoid drifts foot-planting in the footsteps of a duo who must have descended earlier. The drifted path was a stramash of tracks of lighter beasts, hares mostly but also smaller – perhaps a stoat or weasel.

Clouds had scudded in and out and the torch went back on, the zoom one pointing out some huge drifts around Carn an t-Sagairt Beag, I probed depth as it’d be a sweet sunrise view towards Dubh Loch, but just short (need 2 metres plus). Between this and the unexpectedly deep snow I’d not made great progress; it’d be past midnight to get to Coire Boidheach. I considered walking towards Dubh Loch and picking a camp spot, but recalled there’s a lot of rough, bogged and rivuletted ground in between, and with fresh snow on top, but not neve, it’d be risky for a dunk. Ach, onwards to Boidheach, a known quantity.

This time with great visibility I found the rocky outcrop on top of Carn a Choire Bhoidheach easily, and what’s more I didn’t even have to take a bearing or follow a compass as the distant top of Little Pap was visible in the frosty clear – it lies beyond the coire on a direct line.

The moon also cast deep shadows so the usual hesitant creeping to the edge of the coire wasn’t needed, I could see the stream line easily and made my way down. All along the plateau the ground had been encrusted in chunky sastrugi, and the coire bottom had patches of the stream showing through – pitching a tent risked a collapse or required clearing a platform of crunchy texture. The south side snowbank had no sign of my previous snowhole, and was rock hard; fortunately the new snow on the north side was nicely diggable, I checked depth was good and I set to it: with sunrise at 6.30 I’d not have much sleep ahead.

I dug out a very rough minimal space and attempted to get straight to sleep. Initially I felt alright but gradually chilled and was pretty uncomfortable, tossing and turning, in a damp tangle and clumsily letting heat escape. A few times I was shivering despite the reasonable temperature (-5c) and extra layers. About 5.30 I opened an eye, poked my head out the entrance. Ooft, a pristine mountain dawn: right fuck it I’m up and going to go out and smash around the plateau a bit and generate heat.

I felt much better getting up, getting some food down me, and absorbing the delicious morning colours. With some time to spare before sunrise (not like me) I had a good scout about looking for some photo angles and spots, I saw the upper coire catch the first beams, climbed up quickly to meet them then followed back down, settling on a drifted rock as a good feature for a sunrise shot.

A flurry of activity then sunrise was gone to the pristine blues skies of day. I’d no real plan for the rest of the day other than needing to be back in Braemar early afternoon ( having a gig to attend back in Aberdeen in the evening). I spent some time digging the snowhole out a bit further, then closed it up – I might return to it if the cold sustains, but the snow may have hardened making it harder to expand. Blocking it up would keep spindrift from drifting inside.

I decided to wander over to The Stuic first for a view, to start the homeward leg. From the coire across there I splutched through the sastrugi and thin crust, and any thoughts of long return routes began to evaporate – tiring work, maybe not helped by a lack of sleep.

I’d have liked to have headed over to Cairn Bannoch and chopped up the north side gully again, but realistically it would add a few hours and drain more energy that I wasn’t sure I had in reserve. I stopped to rest and have a lunch on a rock, and packing it up to move on, the decision was made: enjoy the weather, easiest route possible, keep it scenic.

I made for Carn an t-Sagairt Mor, and steeping others footsteps again had made my way around missing the turn up over the top.

This particular ptarmigan was determined in it’s perch: I only noticed it once quite close and framed by the loch as a background. I came off the path and rotated around it’s throne, giving this boss the space it deserved.

Losing the path in a snowfield, I short-cutted away from the iron poles and zig zagged carefully down through rocky alcoves, many with a lot of ice. The strong sun had them crackling and globs of water easing underneath, like dark tadpoles wriggling.

I decided to stop at the bothy for another break as the bench outside was tempting with it’s sunlit warmth, and I chilled with my fizzing feet bare to freshen up. The bothy roof creaked with heat-expansion and I let out a few sighs and sun-mumbles in sympathy, feeling a bit creaky myself, and knowing that a 10km march down the Callater track and the old military road to Braemar awaited.

Heading down along the river I noticed regular “woody debris” insertions, a token effort of greenwashing the barren glen while entirely failing to make any meaningful change. This would become even more apparent soon.

I passed a few dog-amblers and tourists, passing pleasantries in brief but then something distinctly unpleasant: a large plume of smoke indicated muirburn starting directly ahead. Then on the hillside too – another. I thought back to the newts, and also at this time of year adders and all manner of invertebrates come to life; only to be scorched so fat old men can blast away and brag about their “bag” of grouse.

Looking more closely around I could see many black strips of recent burning on the eroded hillsides, but also right down to the river. There was a fire warning in place – people told to not have campfires and to take care with garden fires etc, yet out here it was a blazing free-for-all for the rah-rahs, who think they’re above any guidance for the little people. The pointlessness of sticking chunks of woody debris in the river, while continuing to propagate the barren treelessness of the glen is pretty sad, but such is the tweedy mindset.

My scowl was lifted once across the Clunie, first by a “path less chosen” I noticed heading into a copse of woods at Balintuim, pleasant and mossy, perhaps an offshoot of the old military road; and then by happy ducks, who were out enjoying the sun along the river. Finally a cold beer in the pub with plenty time to sup before catching the bus home. Very glad to have got a winter mountain sunrise out of the season before it ends.