Winter Holiday Part 4: Aonach Mor Learning Curve

Its the final installment of the trip and Wally and I were "starting" to feel more than a little tired.  I work in the hills, and am used to getting out there day after day but in winter the physical commitment required hits a whole new level and I'm filled with admiration for the MICs and Guides who keep at it in all sorts of weather and still enthuse and inspire their clients.
To keep it gentle on our tired legs we headed up to Aonach Mor via the Gondola on the 12th.  I've climbed a bit on the wild West Face of the hill, but I've never been all the way round to the East Face and looked at the climbs in Coire an Lochain. Of course, this year I'm laying off the climbing to concentrate on my winter walking, but the centre of the face is split by Easy Gully, a grade 1, and perfect ground for practicing emergency winter ML rope work in a realistic situation.

Traversing under the climbs in Coire an Lochain, Aonach Mor. 

Looking up Easy Gully. The cornice had a decent sized slot just to the left of the buttress.

 Looking down Easy Gully, a dense mist rolled around the coire all day and occasionally spilled on to the plateau. 

On the plateau in the mist.  We lingered for a while and looked at snow belays such as buried axes and stompers. 

 Unfortunately while were were on the plateau, we became aware of a drama unfolding in the coire below as a climber had fallen. A Sea King helicopter was in and out of the area several times, with some impressive flying in the swirling mist. The man was airlifted to hospital. I'm happy to say that although he was seriously injured, we've since learned from the UK Climbing Forums that he will be ok.

A magical brockenspectre forming on the mist.

The follwing day, with legs like lead, but knowing that we had not spent enough time looking at snow anchors we decided to head back to Aonach Mor.  Strong winds were forecast, so  we planned a quick foray in to the Nid area, and then a trip back down on the gondola in time for lunch.

Snow snow snow....

 Wedged in my bucket.

We managed a quite few pitches up the Nid before we got a bit fed up with the snow plodding, untied and walked back to the gondola station. It wasn't long before we'd talked ourselves in to heading home to Arran that afternoon.  All in all a worthwhile little trip. 

A helicopter and a dead porpoise.

After a day off during which I was so tired I barely managed to lift my chin it was back to work as normal today. It was good after all the craziness of the weekend to get back to some semblance of normality and I was looking forward to a day of finishing jobs at the Ranger Centre. There are a number of little projects that have been put off due to bad weather and while the others were out on the hill completing the ptarmigan survey I hoped to enjoy a day of pootling and answering the phone. Shortly after lunch a pair of men arrived in a vehicle asking if they could land their helicopter in the castle fields. Not long after a royal Navy Sea King descended on a training exercise, scared the visitors and wildlife by whooshing leaves everywhere, and then left again. What a life!

Normality didn't really appear as predicted though as a call to the centre informed us of a dead harbour porpoise on the beach at Whiting Bay. I drove down there in the van to collect it for sending to the Scottish Agricultural College in Inverness for a post mortem. I had not expected to find an adult animal as strandings and deaths are usually juveniles. However, the poor creature was about five foot long, an adult male (I think), and extremely difficult for me to move on my own. I managed eventually to wrap it and drag it up the beach. There was some comedy value as I wrestled with the dead weight all the way back to the van but I was quite emotional at the same time as he was a beautiful creature, and I never expected to get so close to one, especially in such sad circumstances. Harbour porpoises are generally very shy and wary of vessels, and although they are sighted regularly in the Clyde, they are often just a fin glimpsed from afar as they glide away from you.