Christmas in the Smoke

Royal Courts of Justice

For the past 43 years, I have been home at Christmas apart from two occasions when we took the family skiing to Wengen and Mottaret. This year my culinary skills were declared redundant and I ventured to London to spend Christmas with two of my children and their families. I arrived a few days early to gain some points for child-watching duties to allow some time out for busy parents. The next day I went foraging for some late presents in central London. I passed the Royal Courts of Justice where several mini-demonstrations were taking place and then succumbed to the attractions of Somerset House where the Impressionist Room in the Courtauld Institute was virtually free of other visitors. I could revel in the exhibits including some post-impressionist paintings by Roger Fry of the Bloomsbury Group. 

Shopping called and I drifted through Covent Garden and Soho and hit the crowds skedaddling along Oxford Street. I had some food at John Lewis and explored some Christmas offers before indulging myself by joining the Christmas throngs in Selfridges. Formula 1 cars mingled with Middle Eastern shoppers, who seemed non-plussed by prices as ridiculous as cryptocurrencies. I escaped and took a look at the M&S department store next door. Angela Rayner had created a stooshie by giving permission to demolish it, a listed building, but I tended to agree with her. 

It was time to buy something so I wiggled my way through Mayfair, pausing to look at the old American Embassy with the adjacent Grosvenor Square providing lots of space for demonstration, maybe the reason for the strange decision to relocate to Battersea. The bookshop in Piccadilly sated my shopping habits and I left with a good haul of books before heading back home. 

The next day, Simon had procured tickets for QPR v PNE, my first visit to Loftus Road and the first game I had seen for three years. I was pleasantly surprised by the intimate, ageing but comfortable stadium that had more atmosphere than many of the newer grounds that have been constructed in recent years. The sound system was at full volume and QPR's goalkeeper from the 1980s, Phil Parkes, was given legend status. He had been the player of the year in 1986 to the chagrin of Stan Bowles who had a stand named after him and seats installed instead. It was the year that QPR had their best-ever season, coming second in the old First Division. The game was not the best and despite PNE taking an early lead, justice was served in the second half when QPR scored a couple of goals. I have my worries about whether PNE can avoid relegation but games in the championship have random results, anyone can beat anyone and everyone can lose to everyone.

We nudged our way to Christmas day on raw cold days with visits to local attractions, the market in Herne Hill and walks around the local parks before the arrival of Gregor and Emily on Christmas Eve. They started Christmas day with the Park Run in Dulwich Park, it had its biggest-ever turnout with over a thousand runners including a couple of hundred Santa Clauses and parents running with a bigger fleet of baby buggies than in a Nursery Store. G came third but seemed content, he had not been training much and presents and bubbly were to come after a late breakfast. Meanwhile, my grandson was out pedalling the local bike trails. The excitement of a bike for Christmas is as timeless as ever,

Christmas Day morphed into Boxing Day, the day when everyone relaxes. We marched around the parks and woods, calling in for pub refreshments before eating remainders from the Christmas feast and dozing in front of the television.

We had the first slot for ice skating the next day. or Gliding as it is now termed in the sophistication of the former Battersea Power Station. The Thames was lost in a fog and I struggled to find my balance on my first foray on ice for 25 years. I used to be able to skate backwards but until my offspring escorted me for a few laps around the Glide circuit, I was dependent on staying near the boundary rail. It used to be the other way round as I pulled them around the rinks. I was told not to worry as I was the oldest person on the ice which was a double-edged insult. On my last circuit, before the siren went, progress had been made and I had my arm behind my back and leg aloft as if I was on Duddingston Loch. 

The final day of the visit was taken up by a visit to the National Trust house and gardens at Polesden Lacey in deepest Surrey. Several thousand others had the same idea but there is a 1,600-acre estate to walk around and we spent a couple of hours traipsing the walkways in the mature woodlands along the Mole Valley. The Tanner's Hatch Youth Hostel had been renovated and was being used for musical weekends. A carousel was pitched outside the house along with coffee and Greek food vans and the stables had been refurbished as a well-managed eatery. It suggested that the National Trust was more advanced in its thinking than in many other properties that are moribund by comparison. 

My time was up as I caught the Sunday train back to Scotland. It was full to the gunnells with suitcases, buggies and baggy-eyed post-Christmas travellers. There were no Sunday buses for the last leg home so for the first time since moving six years ago, I had to call a taxi to reach home alone.

M&S on Oxford Street

Roger Fry, Post Impressionist -Blythburgh Estuary

Dulwich Park Run on Christmas Day

Bikes are not just for Christmas 

Formerly known as Ice Skating

Fog on the Thames, where the coal boats from the Tyne came in

 

Buchaille Etive Beag

Stob Dubh summit, Buchaille Etive Mor behind

Soundtrack for the walk - Cafe del Dubh.

Buchaille Etive Beag

Tuesday, 10 December 2024

Ascent:       1006metres
Distance:    11 kilometres
Time:          4 hours 56 minutes

Stob Dubh                    958m.     2hrs 41mins
Stob Coire Raineach.   925m.     3hrs 37mins

Some days just happen. Keith had messaged me on Sunday evening saying the aftermath of Storm Darragh might yield a few days of freezing but sunny weather. I suggested we climb Buchaille Etive Beag, Glencoe had been glazed with snow during the storm. It suited us both, neither of us had climbed it on our unintended sixth rounds, but we were no longer into Munro bagging!! I picked him up at Crianlarich at 8:30 a.m., having driven through the morning fog on empty icy roads. Crossing Rannoch Moor, it was -7°C and much the same when we parked at the newish car park by the bridge before the descent into Glencoe. A dozen cars were parked already and the visibility was no more than a few hundred metres. 

During the usual exasperation of preparing for the first winter walk: fitting boots and gaiters, fixing ice axes on the rucksack, packing crampons and easing ourselves into jackets, hats and gloves, I was chatting to the man in the next car who was ready to set out. He was dressed as the hillwalker equivalent of a mamil (middle-aged man in lycra) but with pricey mountain gear instead of Rapha, Castelli and Oakleys. He told me he had recently completed a Munro round and was starting on his ninth round. I was impressed and mentioned this to Keith who had been deliberating which of his many jackets and items of equipment to wear or pack for the outing. 

We started on the well-made path of large stones and small gravel. It had become a strip of black ice making it necessary to walk on the adjoining ground or perform a hiking on-ice routine. We caught up with the Mamil at 550 metres, he was fixing some step-in crampons onto his high-end boots. Keith congratulated him on being on his ninth round of Munros but discovered it was only on his ninth Munro in his second round. The kudos was immediately reversed when he heard that Keith was on his sixth round, he had never met anyone who had done more than three. Keith, who is instinctively modest, didn't bother to mention his 4 Munro Top rounds, 3 Corbett rounds, his rounds of the Grahams (Fionas), Firths,  and Wainwrights,  not to mention all his other walks. 

I decided given we had stopped to put on my crampons and Keith fitted his microspikes as the path was getting steeper and icier. My pace slackened as I kicked in my crampons to ratchet myself up the slopes. I ascribed it to the boots, the crampons and the fully loaded rucksack but it was probably a winter and age fitness syndrome. Keith was charging on in his micro spikes, his fitness permanently hardened by hillwalking three or four times a week.

At 700 metres, we emerged from the grey cloud and freezing temperature to gawp at the sheer beauty of Bidean nam Bian, the Aonach Eagach ridge with Ben Nevis looking near and looming big over its smaller siblings. Suddenly the ungainly crampons that had squeezed my boots and started blistering my heels no longer seemed to bother me. Even more so when we reached the bealach at 748 metres. We were treated to a balcony view of Buchaille Etive Mor and all the mountains stretching to Schiehallion. It was overwhelming as we had 360° of peaks surrounding us. (see video). They looked like a spikey meringue and were spectacularly delicious. Two young women arrived, they were equally mesmerised and asked if we knew of the App that gave you the names of all the mountains. We did but didn't know its name, we are old school and like to mentally exercise our mountain memories as we put together the jigsaw of peaks. We decided to climb Stob Dubh first, it is the higher and further away of the two Munros and would allow us to walk towards the midday sun and top up our vitamin D.

We drifted along, taking photos, the sun had warmed us, and our gloves were off as we reached the 906-metre top. We watched another walker set off to the summit with his drone following his progress. It was another kilometre along the ridge, and we loitered along goggling at the stupendous views of Ben Starav and the Cruachan range to the south aware that days like this are the reason for hillwalking. We pottered around the summit before finding a couple of boulders to sit and enjoy the moment. It was the first time I had brought a flask of coffee in a couple of years and it was warm enough to eat a sandwich, We both sent photos to friends and family stuck in cold foggy urban Britain. We spent 30 minutes chilling over an extended lunch, it was ecstatic at the Cafe del Dubh

We began the return before 1pm, dropping down to the bealach which was easygoing in the snow that had softened in the midday sun. The climb up to the second Munro, Stob Coire Raineach, was a slog and the crampons were probably unnecessary in the deep snow. We made it in under an hour and were gifted another set of views to drool over. We could see from Ardgour through Glencoe and back to the Breadalbane mountains. I removed my crampons before we galloped down the soft snow to the bealach. 

The sun was dipping behind Bidean nam Bian as we began the trek down the path. Initially, the snow and ice had softened but lower down and in the shadow cast by Bidean, it was refreezing and we found it easier to walk on the softer snow, it certainly exercised the quads. There were exceptional close-up views of the Aonach Eagach ridge as its crenellated summit was etched against the cobalt blue sky. We were down by 3:30 pm, it was still light but the car was frozen. After dropping Keith at Crianlarich, I made it home by 5pm. Now that was what I call a magic day.

Bidean nam Bian

I 💙 Bidean

Towards Ben Nevis with bonus Brocken Spectre

Bidean and me

Keith on Stob Dubh

Cafe del Dubh - Keith sending photos

Bidean nam Bian again

Bidean and Aonach Eagach

Looking back to Stob Dubh as the sun begins to dip at 2pm

Summit of Ston Coire Raineach

Aonach Eagach and Ardgour

Aonach Eagach

Big Boy