The Cairngorms - January 2004 

We had a fast and clear run up the motorways, but eased off after Stirling. The Trossachs were looking very handsome and we could see way over towards Loch Lomond and the mountains beyond. The snow line must have been below 2000ft, although a week or so earlier I'd read that even in the Cairngorms it had been up to 2900.

Glenshee means glen of the fairies. (I thought you might just need to know that). Spittal means...., I dunno......., hospital? Ysbyty? (I hope it's hospital, rather than spittle as in dribble and drool). Little more than 4 hours after leaving home we were diverting past the two tired looking ski schools at Spittal of Glenshee and over the fabulously functional high-arched bridge. Travelling on a very thoroughly salted road surface, we noticed little more than a dusting of snow in the parking area at the top of the pass. 

We soon arrived at the Caravan Club campsite at Braemar, (non-members welcome).

And then it started to snow. 

Having switched on our oil-filled electric radiator, and practicing eyelash flutters to keep the flakes out of our eyes, we walked into Braemar which must have taken all of four minutes. It's a very handsome village with fine, solid houses and, as if from another era, the Fife Arms Hotel where despite the enlightened Scottish licensing laws, on weekdays the bar shuts at 2pm and re-opens at five. 

Braemar is touristy, but certainly not depressingly so. Mostly jacket-less schoolchildren were leaping off the bus and it was good to see them excited, not as blasé about the snow as one might have expected real hardy northerners to be.

Where the Woozle wasn't ?

The site warden had pointed out that any water we put into our tank might well freeze. Having brought with us no other suitable container, we bought some bottled water.

Less than 2" of snow fell that night. With the radiator and some extra clothing we weren't uncomfortable inside the van. 

By not much later then 7.30pm we were in bed. At any time that night we could have been arrested for style terrorism. I wore thick socks, boxers, a sweatshirt and a snood! We slept under a thick duvet quilt with our very good sleeping bags spread haphazardly on top of it and a thinner duvet underneath us. 

"And that's a cold shot, babe!".

We didn't wake up until 8am and only then did I find out that the sliding door had been left slightly open all night! There was ice inside our single-glazed windows.

I made porridge for breakfast. Boy, is that stuff filling! Even without sultanas, or salt. Perhaps it was extra-filling because I ate half of Jo's as well as mine. 

One of our very few neighbours on the campsite was from Penrith. We'd originally been intending to stop near there, (at Hutton in the Forest), until we'd heard the exciting weather forecast.

He said that he and his wife had come up for the skiing and they were off to try out their skis (on the golf course!).