Day 2 - Sunday 26/04/15

I woke up myself up at 8am shivering, which was a bit of a temperature shock. Last week I was basking in 20+ degrees and now I was sleeping in a van, in some woods, in the highlands, in -1. I started the van to get some heat going, which seemed to take an age, but finally got me feeling toasty again.

I had decided yesterday that I was going to attempt skiing, if the weather was OK and the pistes were open. The lovable nutcase receptionist told me that there might be some mist and light rain showers so I made sure I got up early enough to get the best of any worthwhile conditions. I stuffed my face with the remaining brioche that I had purchased a day earlier and took off up the mountain road. The road wound upwards through a forested area that wouldn't be out of place in Canada. About 200m up I found myself breaching the tree line and was introduced to a spectacular view of the mountains, forests and lakes from where I had spent the night. I had to stop to take it all in.

At the top there were about 40 cars carefully lined up in the car park. Rising above the ski centre a funicular railway disappeared to the crest of the mountain. I stood there for a second and watched it climb, wondering where the pistes were supposed to be. There was not of lot of snow at all at this level (about 650m) so I went to check the state of play. On the way up to the centre I stopped for a bacon sarnie and a cup of tea in the cafe and asked if the pistes were open. "Ye they're open, a few at least, right up the top". I scoffed the swine and headed up to get a lift piss and rent some gear.

At the top of the railway I was suitably impressed with the conditions. There were about 3 T-bar drag lifts and a couple of runs from what I could see. I connected my skis and set about exploring the mountain. The snow was hard under about an inch of powder which wasn't bad for 26th April at 1,100m in Britain! I discovered an area in another valley and skied quite serenely on empty pistes in the glorious sunshine. I skied for about 4 hours with a small break for lunch and in that time I encountered every season. First it was warm, sunny and slushy. Then the snow rolled in and it was a full on blizzard. Then it was sunny again until a whiteout mist threatened to send me onto the rocks. Then hail. I screamed in agony as the massive hail stones bounced off my naked eyeballs and I decided at that point that I had had enough for one day.

I handed the rental gear back and headed back to the van. By this time snow had begun to fall, with massive flakes coating me in a dusting within seconds. I had planned to go for a walk around the lake in the sunshine so heading down the mountain I was hoping that it was clearer lower down. By the time I reached the campsite the entire landscape was transformed into a winter wonderland. About 3" had fallen and the idyllic spring forest haven was now a winter resort.

After a shower I went on the search for food and was sent to the local hostel. There I had a hearty chilli and was talked into signing up to a year's YHA hostel membership, which was free with my student card (a remnant of my digital studying days). I was thinking about the possibilities of using it in Europe, in the summer. I then left for the local bar for a well earned pint.

At the bar I ordered a local pint of ale. 

"That'll be £4 please" she said.

"No problem, there you go, thanks." 

"Thanks Dan". 

"Er, excuse me?" I was a bit taken aback as the she apparently knew my name and I couldn't figure out how on earth she knew it. I asked her and it transpired that she new the chef who had cooked me food in the hostel and he had called to see who was over the bar before finishing his shift. She had responded that it was her, two other hostel workers and a guy who just had chilli in the hostel. Small town indeed.

Whilst sitting updating this I overheard one of them discussing the El Camino and one particular guy mentioned that he is walking it in October (El Camino is an old pilgrimage route that crosses the Pyrenees from France to Santiago de Compostela, a trip over 1,000 miles). I had read about this route and recently saw the film The Way as recommended by my brother. I had been considering doing the West Highland Way this week but I'm glad I didn't with all the snow that has fallen and the low temperatures forecast for the week. That is a meagre 96 miles. I've been reading a couple of books by Keith Foskett about his walks along the PCT and Appalacian trails in the US which are thousands of miles long, so their conversation made my ears prick up. I decided to butt in and ask the guy what he was doing and how he was doing it. He happily divulged his full plan and it rekindled my desire to do a walk like this myself.

After a couple of hours of chat about where to travel to next in Scotland, armed with a good few suggestions, I called it a night to build a duvet fortress in the snowy thicket.