Birthday Bonanza

SpiderJuan (Mark II)

Bongotastic

Rocks. Careful now.

Normally on my birthday I am away skiing in the Alps. However, for one reason or another this year’s ex-Dundee Uni Sailing Club ski holiday has not happened and I am left with having to organise something birthday-related myself. Bastards.

An initial email out suggesting a long weekend in the West Highlands elicits a flurry of positive responses, so I book the (excellent) Corran bunkhouse for sole occupancy. Predictably a good number pull out when they realise Corran is a little further North than Coventry, which might as well be Vladivostok to Southerners.

I have a quick word with the snow gods, who tell me they’ll see what they can do for the weekend.

After several laps of the Southside of Glasgow I manage to wrestle the Bongo away from the gravitational pull of Pollockshields, and Gus, Bob, Kenny, Don Juan and I career across the Kingston Bridge and head for Corran. The Bongo induces a mystic karma over everyone (or maybe it is Kenny’s farting) and we arrive in no time at all. Paivi, Custard and Annette are already there, and Hunky Duncs, Big Ian and Steve Wright arrive shortly.

Al and Lindsay are travelling up from Macclesfield, so have an ETA of 3am. We do the decent thing and stay up until then drinking heavily, in order to toast their arrival. Around 3 I get a call from a tired and pissed-off Al, whose satnav (“At the third exit, turn left across the rocks and heather. You have arrived at a bog”) has directed him into a ditch. Luckily they manage to escape its clutches.

The Falls of Kenny

The Snow Gods have obviously lost last night’s poker game to the Wind Gods, as Saturday dawns to the sight of ptarmigan, sheep, and small houses being blown across Loch Linnhe. The plan to ski is thus reassessed, and a group of us decide on a hike up the Lost Valley, Glencoe. The Lost Valley is an ace hidden glen, sheltered from the wind and slightly Himalayan in appearance. I wonder if all the Highlands would look like this if the weather wasn’t so extreme?

Halfway up is a river crossing, OK in summer but after substantial snow melt a bit more tricky. I take my boots off and wade across, while Kenny and Don Juan head higher to try and find some rocks to cross on.

A shriek from Don Juan alerts us to the fact that something has gone wrong, although the sight of Kenny bobbing head-first down the gorge also provides some indication.

Kenny hugs a rock in the centre of the river, while Don Juan and I form a chain and haul him out. Luckily Al, Jon and Steve have brought a complete change of clothes – in fact Steve has a complete semi-detatched bungalow in his rucksack. Kenny is warm again, so we nip off to get pissed in the Clachaig.

Snow Gods smile on the Coe

The Snow Gods have obviously been kicking ass in the Weather Gods poker tournament – snow is even visible close to sea level on Loch Linnhe. Topping the access chair at Glencoe ski centre, a vast winter wonderland is evident.

The comedy Glasgae ski patrol are discussing whether to open the Flypaper, Scotland’s steepest run. “Mebbie if ye can still see the closed sign next tae the open one, it absolves oor responsibility?”

By the time Al and I get over to the Flypaper the weather has closed in, and it is whiteout conditions. The Fly is scary enough with visibility, and the freefall sensation when you put in a turn is something else. There is several feet of powder (!) in places, and while my skiing doesn’t look good it feels sensational. The snow is coming down thick and fast- you can even get freshtracks on a poma lift!

Parralel Universe

The fundamental rule of Scottish skiing is “expect it to be shite and you’ll be delighted when its not”.. Nowhere is this more apparent than Monday 10th March at the Nevis Range.

The birthday crowd has whittled down to me, Don Juan, Al and Lindsay – even Bob having opted for a bus home that morning.

There is light drizzle in the Nevis Range Car Park, and the forecast is for 50mph winds. Lindsay is having sense of humour failure, but we buy passes anyway.

The gondola up is comfy, and a fresh coffee is purchased at the top. Snow is falling, but the wind is (by Scottish standards) non-existent. There is acres and acres of powder – and only about 20 people out! One of those rare days where you expect the worse and it turns out epic.

Full-width powder, little wind, and latte-in-a-sofa at the café. Is this Scotland? Long may the Snow Gods be dealt a decent hand!