#braemore

That's assuming the weather plays ball.  In winter, when weather systems come surging down from the Arctic, the modest peaks in this part of the world are first to feel their icy blast.  I volunteered up at the RSPB site in Forsinard in December 2011 and I can confidently state I've never experienced cold like it.  And that was out on the bogs, not up on one of the hills!  There’s no shelter anywhere!

And so, because of the mix of energy-sapping, soul-destroying terrain, and the brutality of the weather, even the shortest and lowliest of hillwalks take on a seriousness that you'll rarely get on similar hills farther south.

I found this out the hard way that same December I was at Forsinard.  I had a day off and decided to climb up Morven, the highest point in Caithness:

Caithness is generally rather low-lying, its hills concentrated in the south near the border with Sutherland.  What hills it does have aren't huge when compared with elsewhere in the Highlands.  There are no munros here, not even any corbetts.  Morven, the highest of a batch of hills just west of Berriedale, is 706m high. 

That's quite modest, I thought.  Looking at the OS map back in December 2011 there appeared to be a good track heading into the wild country from the road end at Braemore, after which it looked like a cross country trek for a couple of kilometres to reach the start of the haul up Morven.  It seemed straight forward, the perfect mid-sized walk for one of those winter days short on daylight:

It was a beautiful crisp snowy morning when I set off from Braemore.  Heading up the track I passed the shapely Maiden Pap and, set against a milky sky, I could just see the distinctive twin notches of rock on Morven's sloping summit some distance ahead. 

Though the track was under a few inches of snow the going was good and I was making speedy progress along it.  But in the space of just 15 minutes or so, the wind had picked up out of nowhere and was making forward motion difficult.  It raged down the track in sudden gusts and occasionally knocked me off step.

The bright sky had disappeared too, and light snow started to fall, stinging my eyes.  I put my ski goggles on.  I leaned into the wind and pressed on, intent on reaching my goal.

Before long I was cresting a rise, with the views of Morven opening up before me.  It didn't seem to be getting any closer, or perhaps it just looked no closer because it was requiring such physical effort simply to walk forwards.  The first doubts crept into my head and, though I was still consciously eyeing the summit and plotting my way up, subconsciously I'd already decided that this wasn't a good idea.

Morven disappeared behind curtains of snow as I stood near the cottage at Corrichoich, pondering what to do:

So often I find myself in this situation, frozen to the spot as the cogs in my head slowly turn and process all the information, weighing up the pros and the cons, planning what to do if I should turn back now.

I'd probably stand there all day doing that, but thankfully the biting cold always kicks me up the arse and jolts me into making a decision.  So I gave up on Morven.  It was extremely uncomfortable even down there at ground level so lord knows what it would have been like up on top.

Though disappointed I was also pleased that I could now recognise folly when I saw it.  There was a time, not so long ago, when I'd have ploughed on regardless, such was my drive to reach my objective by any and all means possible.  Thankfully I've got a little more pragmatic in my 30's.

I wasn't about to give up completely, however, so instead of retracing my steps up the track, I headed across the moor towards Maiden Pap.  By now that hill was behind me, so I reasoned it was kind of on my way back anyway.  It's a much smaller hill than Morven, only 430m high.  That's pretty much the same as East Lomond back in Fife, and that thought made it feel a bit more friendly and achievable.

As I squelched and hopped across the moor to Maiden Pap's base, I considered how unpleasant and unwise it would have been to try the same walk in the other direction in weather like this.  The terrain was mostly hideous to walk over, the frozen ground initially given me confidence it would hold my step only to break and swallow my boot in bog.

Once I reached Maiden Pap, however, the terrain was drier and more solid.  But it was very steep indeed.  I don't mind steep, though, and was at the top fairly quickly:

The view west was incredible.  Strange cloud formations hugged the hills and made the whole landscape look other worldly.

Morven, looking further away than ever, stood defiant against the elements.  Great big clouds of spindrift raced off its summit, betraying the savage conditions up there that day:

I lingered as long as I could suffer, immersing myself in the vast landscape before me, before descending the uniformly steep slopes back to the Braemore track.

I got back to the car feeling battered.  And I'd actually been surprised at how easily these relatively modest hills had sent me packing.  A look at the OS map before I’d headed out that morning had actually told me very little about the conditions I would encounter underfoot, and what would elsewhere have been fairly accessible hills were anything but.  I went away a little disappointed I admit, but I also went away with a new-found respect for these northern hills.

I returned in March 2015 and, though not as snowy nor as cold, the day looked very similar to the one back in 2011.  And again, as I crested the rise and Morven's distinctive top came into view the wind began to strengthen. 

I stood there for a bit, eyeing up my objective.  It was déjà vu.  It again looked close enough to touch, and seemed achievable under these conditions.  But only the day before I'd thought the exactly same with a smaller hill, Ben Griam Beg near Kinbrace, and had set out only to be savaged minutes later by furiously atrocious weather.

So while Morven looked close, I wasn't taking anything for granted and half-assumed that some massive blizzard would sweep in and beat me back once more.  As with the walk the day before, it didn't help that I was approaching a hill from the east and the weather was approaching from the west, as that meant I couldn't actually see what was headed my way.

This time, however, I reached the end of the track and started the boggy trek across country to the base of Morven.  It wasn't tooooo bad but it was still a bit of an effort, and after 40 minutes of bog hopping and occasional slipping, me and my sodden boots found ourselves standing below Morven's intimidating slopes.  And at that moment, miracle of miracles, blue sky appeared overhead!  That was like a shot in the arm and I set off up the steep slope to Morven's lofty summit.  The path was indistinct, perhaps indicating just how little-climbed these hills are.

Suffice to say I didn't reach the summit under the same conditions.  100m from the enormous craggy eastern summit, a blizzard engulfed the hill and I took refuge from the onslaught.

It's quite incredible how much stronger the wind gets when heavy showers rattle through, and it can turn a benign situation into a life-threatening one amazingly quickly.  And if you want to know more about that, just read my account of complacency on my home hill, East Lomond, this winter.

This time I was fully prepared, though.  I put two extra fleeces on underneath my heavy duty jacket, instantly put my waterproof trousers on, and popped my woolly hat and mitts on too.  And there I sat, in a blizzard, in thick fog, spindrift whizzing around from every conceivable direction, munching on a sandwich.  I was toasty though, and quite prepared to sit there for a while.....but for how long?

Thankfully it was only 20 minutes.  The surrounding landscape slowly came back into focus, clouds lifted up the hills, the snowflakes turned to grains and the sun came out:

The wind hadn't abated though, so it was a chilling walk across to the higher of Morven's two summits with frequent buffeting from huge swirling vortices of spindrift:

There was a beautiful lull in the wind as I crossed the lee slopes down from its summit, and then as I pulled up onto the summit proper the raging wind resumed.  As I stood on the highest hill in Caithness, the wild west came into view.  The vast expanse of Sutherland, looking much whiter than it had the day before:

To the north and east, Caithness stretched to the horizon.  Even Orkney was visible in the distance:

It’s only once you stand up here, looking down on the surrounding land that you realise just how expansive and flat Caithness is.  Compared to the rolling topography in the south of the county the rest appears relatively featureless, save for the occasional remote lodge or cottage and the conspicuous windfarms:

To the south and east, the other lofty Caithness hills had finally emerged from occasional murk and mist, and now presented themselves in remarkable clarity.  Scaraben, highest in the background, then the enormous tors of Smean in the middle, and Maiden Pap looking amazingly small to the left.

And behind them, the glistening surface of the North Sea:

As the highest hill around, it really does have a panorama worthy of its stature.

I lingered for 15 minutes or so, up to the point where my fingers lost all feeling. I was so chuffed to be standing there, especially after my previous failed attempt, and I realised it had all come down to timing.  Had I been walking up the track when the one and only blizzard rushed through that day, I may have been deterred from continuing.  But since it came when I was just 100m short of the summit, it was never going to be a serious obstacle once I was fully committed.

I headed back down into the relative calm, and found a less boggy route back to Corrichoich that followed the sparkling Berriedale Water:

I walked deliberately slowly over the spongey grass, enjoying what was now a sunny day.  Looking back over my shoulder, Morven basked under a blue sky:

Dippers fluttered up the river, and I was even treated to a low fly-past by a hen harrier.......which you can <coughs> clearly see in this, my best ever photo of a hen harrier:

It was a sublime way to end a memorable walk on an imposing hill.  But while everything ahead was blue skies and sunshine, looking back over my shoulder again the next wave of bad weather was already massing behind Morven’s distinctive outline:

Ten minutes later Morven had disappeared but by then I was back at the car.  I drove back through Helmsdale and on to Kinbrace in a furious blizzard, and I couldn’t help smiling at having seized another northern weather window :)

If you enjoyed reading this blog, you might also enjoy these:

From misery to euphoria in a Sutherland bog

Caught short in my back garden

You can watch the video blog I filmed of my walk up Morven too: