Back in April, with what should’ve been a straight forward up and over hill-day, instead, Beinn Eghie offered me a taste of Winter Hill walking & unexpectedly, new companionship..

Stillness hung over the Torridonian massifs today. Seven AM had arrived and the sun crept along the Glen, lighting up the Red Sandstone Rock as it went. I yet again embarked on another Hill walk that would test my boundaries and broaden my knowledge of the Munro’s Wintery conditions.

My Hiking Journal would note: “I learnt a valuable lesson today, just because there is a potential route in the Summer. Does not mean it’s there to use in the Winter & if OSMaps doesn’t show it on the map – it is unlikely a straight forward traverse/descent”  

Such would be the case after a 1 hour ascent from sea level into the Spidean Coire nan Clach (“Peak of the Corrie of Stones”), 600 metres high. A snow covered path laid in the corrie where the freezing cold winds and sub-zero temperatures at night had allowed winter to well and truly cling on. It showed me that the route I had hoped to walk was inaccessible for my level of experience.

However, I thought to get this far, I could give it a go. 

So, in order to avoid another wet-boot day for as long as possible, I would make my way round the Ice and Snow, scramble up a bit of rock and make it as close to the ridge as possible, this would give me the best opportunity of summiting today. Until I was stopped dead in my tracks just, Twenty Five metre’s from the top. There upon the hillside, I admitted defeat. No summit today. The Ridge was too far and the Snow to deep. I wasn’t equipped for this – today had been a hard lesson learnt and ultimately a failure.

Well that was until a fellow hill-walker, who I had met and spoken to at the start of the Hike caught up with me. 

I told him that I had reached my limit and it was time for me to turn back. To come so close and not make it, pity must have been taken as he said – follow me. So literally, following in his footsteps that he carved out, we ascended to the top.

Since entering into my later twenties, the people I now call ‘friends’ have become fewer, but the new connections that I make become deeper, more meaningful and inspiring friendships. Scotland had twice already shown me that and I might add a third to those rare additions.

After a short discussion about our route plans, which were the same, it turned out this kind stranger was also a qualified Mountain Leader and lover of winter hillwalking. That, combined with a true Blue Bird day (blue skies and barely a breath of wind) meant I had absolutely hit the jackpot.

We must have walked and talked for hours. In fact, that’s pretty much exactly what we did. A mid-morning snack stop arrived, feeling suspiciously like lunchtime as we worked our way across the ridge, taking in the views of clouds forming above Liahtach and views to the North as we went.

The plan had been to descend the scree heading north-west between Coinneach Mhòr and Ruadh-stac Mòr. However, upon arrival, both of us came to the same conclusion. Absolutely not.

The scree looked impassable. An abseil at best in summer and with me lacking crampons and proper winter kit, both of our guts told us the same thing – today wasn’t the day.

So instead, we headed north towards an unplanned Munro summit, which, truth be told, I was delighted about. Feeling like a dog let off its leash, I clambered my way up to the peak for Munro number two of the day. What a result. A completely unexpected bonus.

With no sensible route off the northern end of the Beinn Eighe range, there was only one thing for it: turn around, retrace our steps and head back the way we came.

Upon the hills, many of us come looking for the same thing. Space. Perspective. A chance to clear the noise from our minds.

Having caught an absolute cracker of a day, we traced our footprints back through the snow, talking about our own journeys. My reasons for ending up in Scotland. His remarkable career change. The mountains we had climbed, the ones we hoped to climb next and all the stories in between… Somewhere along the way, I forgot we had only met that morning.

As we passed other hillwalkers and informed them of the scree when they asked, I came to appreciate how generous my companion had been with his time and knowledge. Trusting a complete stranger enough to share a day in the hills and me, willing to listen and learn from someone with far more winter experience than I possessed. I couldn’t have done this without him.

Perhaps that is one of the great gifts of the mountains. Friendships seem to form easier out here and wisdom passes like an open book, rather than a better-kept secret down off the slopes.

The descent, guarded by a Raven (an ominous sign – hikers on the menu today, perhaps?) tricky as it may have been, offered yet more opportunities to learn.

By now the snow had softened beneath the warmth of the afternoon sun. Far from ideal conditions, but manageable enough. Once again, Fraser carved footsteps into the hillside while I followed from above, slowly learning how much effort it takes to move safely through winter terrain.

There is something oddly satisfying about kicking steps into snow and descending hundreds of metres backwards.

I even received a crash course in ice axe arrest should things go wrong.

The opportunities within winter hillwalking suddenly felt endless and, if I’m honest, I may have opened a can of worms. Could I just skip summer and head straight back to winter? This was unreal. I want it back.

As we said our farewells at the end of the day, I couldn’t help but wonder if I had just made my first local friend in Scotland.

If so, I couldn’t have asked for a better introduction to winter hiking.

Cheers Fraser.

Can’t wait for the next one.

Next week, I push deeper into the Torridonian Massifs…