Letting the car slide off the road wouldn’t have been an auspicious start to the day. Emphatic warning signs warned: “Avoid In Winter Conditions.”

Ben Lawers wore white, snow lay on verges and ice glinted off the road. The car’s temperature gauge couldn’t decide if it was still freezing. The road snaked up at least another 500 feet, before plunging into the shadows of Glen Lyon and wouldn’t benefit from the sun’s warmth for another couple of hours. Everyone knew they didn’t grit this road.

But I’ve always been a bit gung-ho. With a light touch, a low gear and momentum I’ve known when to steer, when to slide, and when trying to stop makes matters worse. I’ve left a car in a snowdrift to climb some gullies below Helvellyn, and when someone suggested getting snowed-in in Glenridding, took the same approach with a university minibus. Rubber wheelarches are much more forgiving.

Touching wood, the only time I’ve suffered has been in the middle of a housing estate, fifty yards from home. To keep my no-claims bonus I self-funded the replacement of an alloy wheel that argued with hidden kerbstones
.
Ahead, the frosted ribbon of tarmac twisted and turned as it rose toward the dam, a bulwark of 1950s brutalist gun-metal grey concrete. I touched the brakes. The car twitched. Round the bend, the road disappeared into the shadows. Don’t brake suddenly, breathe slowly, absorb the adrenalin.

Skittering along the parallel gravel tracks it was reassuring to hear a satisfying scrunch as the tyres found something into which they could bite. On some bends, even double-digit speed seemed precarious. On finally reaching Bridge of Balgie and Innerwick, I wondered if I’d saved any time.



The excitement was over. I could now enjoy a less stressful day.

Cam Chreag was the choice, with a less strenuous approach along the Allt a Choire Uidhre than its neighbour Beinn Dearg. I knew I didn’t have enough hill-miles in my legs to do the pair. It was another case of enjoy not endure, and adding the big rounded bump to the east could wait for another longer day.




Once above the woodland track from the car park, table-top of Cam Chreag gradually filled the western horizon as I got closer, undulating and criss-crossing the river. Just before a remote hut was reached a small cairn marked the point at which some hard work and snow-plugging was required. Somewhere under the snow a logically efficient line might have lurked to reach the skyline. By the time I reached it, neither my legs nor my lungs thought I’d found it. But at least that was the toughest bit of the day over and done with.



The remainder of the walk was a pleasure. A gently rising stride to the north west reached the summit cairn accompanied by a 360 degree panorama of far-reaching views. In its setting, Cam Chreag’s position epitomises so many Corbetts: high enough to feel a sense of achievement, not so remote as to prove difficult to access, yet benefitting from the larger surroundings. As I left a couple arrived, expressing surprise that they were sharing the hill with someone but also gratitude at the trail I’d forged through the loose, powdery stuff on the slope below.





Staying high and enjoying the best of the views for as long as possible was then my objective. Heading back over Ben Meggernie, meant that the exposed, wind-blown ground made the going easy with not too much risk of plunging into any knee-deep stuff, white or gloopy and black. Once near the woodland it was easy-going back down to the track followed by a gentle saunter to the car.



All in all, a good day out, with a far less tense drive back over to Loch Tay, wondering what all the fuss had been about.