Perimeter

High-altitude snow offers Quintin Lake climbing challenges and creative potential

The roving Quintin Lake embarks upon the next leg of his epic coastal journey

Zipping up his wetsuit at Clachan Bridge, a kayaker remarks: “Sod work – looks like it will be the last decent day in a while.” He’s right; but today is magic for photography, with golden light, clear and cold, so telephoto shots are sharp without any heat haze softening the image.

I’m taking it gently. It’s my first day walking with a backpack after the stress response injury nine weeks ago. (See last issue.) As the day progresses, I forget about my leg for longer and longer intervals. All’s good after a week of walking from Oban, and my digs in Fort William have a fine view of a wheelie bin. I share my good fortune on Twitter: “Ah, the famed Bin Nevis,” comes the response.

Today I plan to conclude the trilogy of walking to the summits of the highest mountains of England, Wales and Scotland, each as a loop from the sea in a single day. I leave the kebabstrewn streets of Fort William at 5am. My head torch guides me past a distillery, into a knotted birch wood and out onto the open hill. The stars are bright overhead. 500 metres up, I shelter from the ferocious wind behind a boulder, with clear views across the hills; the summit is in cloud.

As I approach Carn Mor Dearg Arete at 900 metres, the ground is covered in snow and a group of ptarmigan. The snow cover is extensive but grippy. I don’t have an ice axe or crampons, so I double-check every step I take and make a slow, careful route at the site of the arete, so that a slip can be controlled. The white-out conditions help me concentrate: hand, foot, hand, foot, hand, foot.

As I clamber over jagged boulders near the summit, the ice-covered ruins of the observatory emerge. I’ve been out for 10 hours now and haven’t seen a soul. As I round the raised refuge near the summit cairn, two men are inside. Lukas and Kuba shuffle along to make space for me. I’m warmed by the shelter and the conversation, but I decline their offer of whisky: I need all of my faculties for the descent.

Dropping out of the monochrome world of the summit the snow line ends abruptly, the wind softens and the temperature rises. I exhale. The rich autumnal colours of the surrounding glens and mountains return.

After 15 hours in motion, the loop is complete, and I’m back in Fort William. When I review the photos from the day, it looks like a week’s worth of images spanning four seasons.

The summit of Ben Nevis is otherworldly at the best of times, but the white-out conditions of these observatory ruins seemed to accentuate the strangeness. All white subjects like this need overexposing by a stop or two, otherwise the meter will make the exposure grey. My original framing placed the ruins in the centre; I later extended the sky in Photoshop, as I felt the composition was stronger showing this vast stillness.