Blustery hardly covers it – and it’s not really been a day to be up a hill or out for a sail. Like a lot of other people, I’ve largely stayed put, at least since a mid-morning expedition to the wilds of Sainsbury’s – a couple of miles away – combined with a diversion to Bayne’s the baker.
This was warm, bright and cheery in the classic Scottish baker’s shop style, and I could have stayed in there all day – but the cautionary words of the weather forecasters won out over the lure of gleaming pastries and I headed home before the really big winds arrived.
Yesterday evening, journalistic scepticism inevitably made me wonder whether the big storm might turn out to be not quite as bad as predicted – especially when the pre-emptive school closures were announced. Might it not just be another way of boosting retail sales? That appeared to be the chief effect of last week’s “damp squib” public sector strikes, after all.
There does seem to be a trend of erring towards overstatement in weather forecasting (eg anyone using the Mountain Weather Information Service needs to bear in mind that, while undoubtedly useful, it does also have Jeremiah-like tendencies that could cause you to stay at home and miss a stonkingly good day); and it isn’t beyond the bounds of possibility that the Scottish government has put pressure on the BBC in the meteorological-coverage regard, given how miffed ministers were this time last year when one of their own had to take the rap for the big-freeze gridlock.
But today, to give credit where it’s due, does appear to be going with the prediction: it was a wild morning in central Scotland (I’m in Stirling), and at present, late afternoon, it doesn’t feel either safe or sensible to be venturing very far outside. My trusty old Suunto wrist altimeter is a good reference point in conditions such as this – and at present it tells me that the house is 250 metres higher up than it was yesterday evening, a sure sign for concern in terms of plummeting pressure and strong winds.
Thankfully in this part of town it’s not rubbish-collection day – the wheelie bins, especially when emptied, have an alarming habit of disappearing off down the road in weather like this, while the smaller recycling boxes – and their frisbee-like lids – can turn into dangerous projectiles.
As it is, I’ve parked the car in the street, as the risk of someone clattering sideways into it feels less than the strong likelihood of a slate or two skelping it in the driveway alongside the house. The mid-morning Great Shopping Expedition wasn’t too bad – the rural stretch near here was half-flooded and required a spell of EU-approved driving on the wrong side of the road, while a certain amount of weaving between tree debris was needed a bit further along. (The pieces never really exceeded big-twig size, however – and, on the one occasion they did, I pulled in, hopped out and scooped them up for firewood – waste not, want not and all that.) Whether it will still be twigs-only come evening is another matter – chances are there will be some proper branches down by then. ("There are some trucks blown over, and trees down at [Stirling] university," a neighbour has just told me.)
Talking of trees, at least there is one significant improvement on the two big central-Scotland gales from earlier in the year: both the May gale (the bigger of the two) and the September, post-Katia edition swept through when the trees were carrying their leaves. That made them akin to ships in full sail, and the May gale in particular did a lot of damage (and, again, led to a lot of woodsheds being nicely restocked).
From a recreational point of view, the big question is what today’s gale will do to the snow conditions on the hill. This has been a very different early December from last year, which saw a big-freeze clampdown after a couple of initial heavy snowfalls. Then the winds, such as they were, switched into north-easterly mode, and that was that for a month or more: ice-plated pavements and glorious conditions up top provided you could find a road – and a parking layby – safe enough to allow access.
This December is serving up more traditional stormy/squally, on/off, “mixed” fare, but there were substantial snowfalls last weekend, with the bigger hills starting to come “into condition” – and the chatter level on the winter climbing noticeboards started to increase accordingly. I was away in the Lake District last weekend, so slightly lost touch with Scottish conditions (down there it was windy on all three days, with a thin covering of snow, accompanied by impressive spindrift, on Helvellyn on Friday). But a weather window and a gap in the workload yesterday afternoon prompted a quick scoot up on to the Ochils to see what was what – and to grab a piece of it before today’s proper storm swept in.
There was a fair amount of snow – I went from the woodland car park between Alva and Tillicoultry, up the Silver Glen track to the Ben Cleuch / Ben Ever col before slogging up the former and returning over the latter. The snowline had nudged up in the morning – there was almost nothing below 200 metres – but from 400 metres there was complete cover, although not to any great depth.
On the same hills a year ago the uphill sections required significant effort – thigh-deep drifts and the fenceline being used as a banister – whereas yesterday it was never more than calf-deep and the fence never came into play. (My hill notes for 8 December 2010 include mention of crampons being worn from the car, cornices higher up, and envy at a skier given that he was swooping downhill while I was in foot-soldier slog mode. Whatever this winter is turning out to be, it’s very different from that.)
The downside yesterday was the lack of consolidation – it was all early season soft snow, with not even a crust, never mind a hold-your-weight surface. But it was fun to stretch the legs, the wind was no more than a strong breeze, a couple of roe deer were lolloping about in the upper glen and the light – as so often in winter – was wonderful. Clear-blue to halfway up, then a skin of thin, clinging-to-the-hillside cloud that gave everything an eerie brightness.
That was yesterday, however: 24 hours later, the mild gale is having a major effect. Looking along the Ochils just before dark, mid-afternoon, there appeared to be almost no snow left: I can see up to about 550 metres from my desk and it was a case of almost-bare hillsides with just a few streaky snow-dregs.
Of course that means flooding in the flatlands beneath – pretty much the entire main part of the range feeds into the River Devon, which does a massive loop from the Frandy reservoirs, round by Crook of Devon then back along beneath the southern slopes. Bad news for the farmland – but fun, once the storms have passed, for the kayaking community.
As for the bigger hills up north, quite where the snow level lies after all this – and how firm the base will be – remains to be seen. The brutal gale could help the consolidation process – especially if, as forecast, a decent dose of sub-zero stuff follows over this coming weekend. A steady alternation of freeze-thaw is what winter walkers and climbers yearn for, and this week’s turbulence could – fingers crossed – provide something like that. The ideal situation – with the roads clear and hefty amounts of good firm snow above 600 metres – might be just around the corner.
But for now there’s still the rest of this gale to get through – and the real fingers-crossed concern is not about upland snow-and-ice conditions but about the avoidance of everyday, low-level casualties. If we get through this without anyone being killed or seriously injured by falling trees or masonry, or swept away by fierce waves or gusts, then that will be seen as a satisfactory result. Bridges can be reopened, roofs repaired – the people side of things is the real worry, and the next few hours, especially with the rush-hour in play, will be critical in that regard.
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