February 5th, 1983

This is not really a story, as such. Just what I was doing this weekend - 34 years ago.

It was a rainy day, a kind of misty drizzle which we hoped would fall as snow on the hills. We stopped in Aviemore for petrol, and to pick up the morning papers, which we read in the mini-bus while we waited. The radio was playing "Yesterday Once More", and there were pictures of Karen Carpenter on all the front pages.

The road was blocked and queued up with cars, till the snow-plough cleared a way. When we reached the car park we got out and unpacked, dressing ourselves in salopettes and ski boots. It's impossible to walk in ski boots, your legs bent at an unnatural angle. You have to loosen them, to stop them from hurting. We bought our ski passes and headed for the tow, fastening skis and clipping up the boots again.

Riding the tow is difficult. It takes balance and concentration if you want to stay on. When you reach the end you have to stagger awkwardly in your skis until you get to the top of the slope. Then you look down and you just seem to slip away, not always in the right direction.

My technique is cumbersome, the ungainly snowplough action of a beginner. I try out the moves I've learned on the dry slope. Speed up, slow down, stop. But the snow is so much faster than I am used to, and it takes all your concentration to manoeuvre, to avoid collision when you want to change direction.

Children speed by, fearless, making me feel awkward and slow. I'd crash, then get up, slipping, and carry on with caution.

Pretty soon, though, I find my way. And maybe something of the grace, which you always imagine you show on the slope - but maybe not. In any case, it takes only seconds to reach the bottom, then you head back to the tow, and start all over again.

There were two levels on Cairngorm then. At the halfway point where the first tow ended, there was a cafe, a meeting place where you could get a hot drink and some lunch. It was always damp with condensation, melting snow dripping from everything and everyone. It was noisy, and raucous, but after a few hours on the slope, it was a place to recuperate, nurse bruises and have a laugh. But you can't linger long. The winter light quickly begins to fade.

We gathered in the car park and loaded our stuff into the mini-bus. Then we headed back to Aviemore, switching on the radio for the football results. But the radio was playing "Solitaire", reminding us of the sad news. Reminding us that there were pictures of Karen Carpenter on all the front pages.

Reviews

[alanwgraham]

Good Alasdair - its good to remember these days that we enjoyed and its surprising how often you can connect them to an event or some music of the time. Your acount takes me back to my many days in the hills.
Cheers,
Alan