by Steve France

Some years ago, whilst visiting the battle site of Culloden Field on a damp and misty September day, I was subjected to a feeling of utter dread. Subconscious emotions told me, “You must get away!” People could wander round the graves from clan to clan for hours but my whole visit lasted less than twenty minutes. A year later in the middle of the vast winter landscape of the Cairngorms, I suffered the same experience.

It was a typical Castle plod, made worse by dense cloud and deteriorating conditions, but our spirits were high even though Chris Holmes, Dick Savage and myself felt more at home on rock than playing the mountain man. The steep slog towards the Cairngorm plateau was no fun, especially when the skiers were gently gliding past on the ski tow whilst making sarcastic comments and giving us sneering looks. Our replies ranged from “Yes, we do enjoy walking up” to “No, it’s not tiring when you’re fit”.

Before our language became offensive we saw an ideal opportunity for one upmanship. By climbing a high banking of snow at the side of the tow run, we could jump and grab the unoccupied tow bars!

Weee!… up we went and after a short period spent adjusting the angle of our boots on the snow, a perfect glide was obtained on our Vibram skis! Protests were heard further down the tow from “paying” participants and we raised our overmitts in reply they could not see the two fingers inside, but I think that the message was plain enough!

Once over the wind swept edge of the plateau we were on our own and left to enjoy the beauty of the mountain solitude. The clouds were white with snow as we came to the col beside Lochan Buidhe. The mountains merged with the snow into total whiteness, so bright that our duvets appeared translucent. The silence was oppressive except for the crunching of the snow. I remember vividly the way we walked, as if in a slow motion action replay. This was my first and only “white out”, the only reality was the person in front until suddenly a snow bank resolved itself into focus in front of my eyes. It was not the snow bank that I saw but a hole in the snow, approximately one metre square. We entered, and as the tunnel opened out, were stunned with surprise by the ice village which greeted our eyes. It was without doubt the Ritz of all snow holes with room after room each connected to the other and complete with its own table, chairs, raised bed and shelving systems… all made out of ice. It must have been a distant relic from a winter survival course at Glenmore Lodge but the unnatural silence, together with the ambient light that soaked through the ice walls, transformed the shelter into a mortuary of past memories. Imagining ghosts, goblins and yetis, we ran out of the tunnel and back to the welcoming “white”.

Another mile and our high spirits changed. I can remember approaching the final slopes trying to find an excuse to turn back, but there was no rational explanation why, and so we went on. The cairn was found quite by accident we were standing on it! because the snow covered all but the brass plaque on top which shows the various peaks and directions. Even though we had reached our goal, the summit of Ben Macdui gave us no pleasure. There was no vista to enjoy, only grey dread and an urge to go home quickly. The usual summit rest, comprising a bite to eat whilst soaking in self-satisfaction, was limited to a quick photo before we legged it back down the mountain.

The campsite talk that night re-lived the arduous knee deep slush and the “white out”, but we never talked about Ben Macdui. I am sure that strange perception of malevolence was shared subconsciously between us, although at the time, I never gave it much thought.

Recently I was reading a book entitled “Scottish Ghost Stories” and to my surprise, discovered that there is an alleged ghoul on Ben Macdui called “The Grey Man”. Although never seen, it has been responsible for campers fleeing for their lives, leaving tents and equipment behind, totally convinced of their impending doom if they remained there any longer. Gruesome stuff!