"Right," came an authoritative, vaguely Brummie accent from behind. "Ten minutes are up, let's get going." The voice belonged to Andy Bateman who, along with partner Rebecca Field, runs Mountain Innovations, a small company offering walking, navigation, "snowhole"-building and even mushroom-picking holidays from its base in Boat of Garten near Aviemore.

I was on a six-night "High Cairngorm Backpacking" trip that mixes a couple of nights in the couple's comfortable hostel, one in a remote bothy (a small building originally used for shelter by deer stalkers and estate workers) and the rest under canvas camped out by lochs in the heart of the mountains and about as far away from civilisation as it's possible to get in the UK.

Andy ranks his trips on a toughness scale of 1 to 4 and ours was 3+, but to soften the blow we spent the first night enjoying Rebecca's cooking, which would have passed muster in any hotel, let alone a hostel. Home-made fishcakes, curries, white chocolate and pecan brownies, and raspberry and basil ice cream make up just a small part of her repertoire.

The week is divided in two: the first couple of days acting as a kind of trial for the final three which are spent higher up. Andy warned us he'd be keeping a strict regime of walking for 70 minutes then resting for 10, which at times meant we kept our heads down and trudged on up a mountain when it would have been nice to take a moment to soak up the beauty. To be fair, though, he's not aiming his holidays at people who want a ramble in the countryside. "My trips are for someone who's done a fair bit of trekking and wants to get to grips with the mountain environment, someone who likes the idea of self-reliance and independence," he says.

There was plenty of ground to be covered and we began by walking from Auchlean, and a long slow climb to the top of Sgor Gaoith (1,118m) - "bagging" my first Munro, as Scottish mountains higher than 3,000ft are called - then along the high ground to Mullach Clach à Bhlair (1,019m). That first day we covered around 16km, stopping along the way to look at exotic plants like the carnivorous butterwort which traps insects with its sticky dew, penny bun mushrooms and heath spotted orchids.

We spent the night at the Ruigh Aiteachain bothy - no electricity or running water inside, but there was cover over our heads and it was cosy. As the light faded, we sat drinking in the scenery, topping it up with with tots of whisky.

The second day was the easiest, a five-hour walk through low-lying moor and woodland, looking at frogs, dragonflies, buzzards and mushrooms, before we returned to Andy and Rebecca's Fraoch Lodge hostel to replenish stocks for the big "three dayer", loading up on flapjacks, bananas, malt loaf and sandwiches. We had to carry everything we'd need.

The following morning we zig-zagged upwards on a rocky path. After an hour, we came to a tundra-like plateau with Loch A'an down below and the summit of Ben Macdui (1,309m), our goal, away to the right. The reindeer were hunkering down against the chill while an eagle elegantly battled the thermal currents above. We came down to our campsite by Loch Etchachan, sliding on ground-mats through patches of snow that had clung on stubbornly into early summer.

We put up the tents while Andy got the stove going for a meal of pasta with sausage followed by apricots with sort-of custard. We ate wearing woolly hats, the only sound being hungry slurping, the wind and the seagulls. At least the cold kept midges away.

Thursday morning was a low point. A thick, cold, swirling fog obliterated any views, leaking boots, sodden socks and my turn to scrape burnt porridge off the bottom of the pan in the bitterly cold loch. The boggy ground squelched over my boots as we descended for an hour, the mist suddenly becoming thinner as we emerged into the end of Lairig Ghru - which made all the bleak hours that day worthwhile.

The final day saw us traversing the high ridge that borders Lairig Ghru, with some truly spectacular views of the high, undulating landscape spread all around, diverting to claim the summit of Cairn Toul (1,291m) and covering 20km before finally dropping down into a car park on the edge of Glenmore Forest, where Rebecca greeted us with still warm, home-made biscuits.

I was tired, dirty, almost hallucinating about the joys of a hot shower and warm bed, but with a stronger sense of achievement and satisfaction than I'd felt for a long time.

The best activity breaks in Britain Winter trekking in Inverness-shire.  Other than being able to tie your own shoelaces and fill a Thermos full of soup you might assume it doesn't really take any special skills to go hiking. However, for those wanting something more extreme than a gentle ramble through the Trossachs help is at hand. Mountain Innovations, based at Fraoch Lodge in Inverness-shire, offers a three-day "winter snow hole expedition" in the Cairngorms.

Participants spend one of the nights in a communal shelter dug in the snow, at nearly 4,500ft near Ben Macdui, as well as practising navigational skills and the use of ice axes and crampons. This is not a leisurely jaunt in the park. Participants need to be fully fit before tackling this rewarding but challenging course. Need to know: Mountain Innovations (01479 831331) has snow hole expeditions next February and March from £251. This includes full-board accommodation and transfers from Inverness airport or Aviemore rail station.

Escape: Playing in the white stuff is not for flakes Remember the childhood joys of messing about in the snow? Elizabeth Woodcock rediscovered the magic of it all by taking to the mountains ‘When I let go of your feet, sit up and skim the axe over the snow, turning yourself around, then self-arrest.” It sounds easy enough. I grasp the ice pick to my chest while lying on my back with my head facing down a steep icy slope.

“Ready?” Andy, the mountain guide, grips my ankles from the safety of his mini snowhole. My inverted position has rendered me light-headed and I ponder this seemingly unanswerable question. Hanging around seems futile so Andy lets go, and Steve, a fellow ice-plunger, gives me a push. I accelerate downwards. I execute the turn perfectly, although the self-arrest is more of a snow-arrest and I plough into a fresh, soft drift. I pop my head out of the white mound to find Andy laughing. Supportively, I think. Greg, a Belgian brain surgeon and fellow virgin snow-walker, had a similar experience with the same drift.

I am on a "Magic Mountain Break" in the Cairngorms, and on day one we learn the most basic winter skills needed to survive walking in snow. I was previously of the opinion that the words “walking in snow” should not be in the same sentence as “break”. Certainly not the kind of break that means holiday. I had seen hearty individuals togged up with monstrous packs, picks and crampons dangling from their midriffs. With poles and boots, they looked fierce and fit, climbing to 3,000ft to eat sandwiches in minus temperatures and blizzards. They were hard core. I did not see myself as one of their number.

With these doubts in my mind I set off to meet Andy from Mountain Innovations. I quickly realised why this little course is called Mountain Magic. Snow is, simply, magical. Remember being four years old, hearing it crunching underfoot, watching the flakes fall off the trees, and leaping into irresistibly soft drifts? That is how exciting it is. Snow is pure, white fun.

After half an hour, I realise I’m enjoying myself. The pack isn’t too heavy, the air is clean, the sky sometimes blue, sometimes moody, there are ice crystals like jewels hanging from the trees. All I can hear is the rhythm of each footfall. Hazlitt said “the soul of a journey is liberty, perfect liberty” and walking in this pristine environment is like exploring the wilderness. The wind starts gusting, the incline increases up Bynack Mor, and I’m soon wearing crampons. Not a patch of skin is showing, and the ski goggles make the world orange. I feel strangely detached, safe and warm in this volatile yet utterly beautiful land. What I’m witnessing, the wind and ice formations, have been seen by so few people. I’m very glad I didn’t give up.
I had not thought of winter-walking as an extreme sport but that final push really is a mind-over-matter moment, culminating in a huge rush as you reach the summit. By this point my sarnies look as if a reindeer has sat on them. The thought of soup and bread, followed by a substantial main course by the fire at the cosy Boat of Garten lodge keep me going. This is a challenging holiday and you’re never too old to learn, but you do need to be moderately fit. My perceptions of winter-walking have been turned on their heads. It’s not just for nutters.

Mountain Innovations: http://www.scotmountain.co.uk; 01479 831 331. The next Winter Mountain Magic break is on January 12 - 15 2004. It costs £286 including accommodation, full board, pick up/drop off from Aviemore station or Inverness airport, and all guiding.

The sounds of silence, Snow-holing in Scotland.  In the Highlands of Scotland, the frequently fierce winds make for Arctic rather than Alpine conditions and can create snow drifts so deep that they last well into summer. In this landscape, where wind-chill factor can bring temperatures down to -31oF (-35oC), an effective shelter in the snow can be a lifesaver. Andrew Bateman, a qualified winter mountain leader, has recently started the first public courses in building a "snow hole". He claims these are much more comfortable to sleep in than a tent: bright from the candlelight reflected off the white walls, silent, even in a violent storm; and ventilated, as snow is breathable. He allows two to three hours for a group to dig one big enough to stand and sleep in.

The climax of the course is a two-day walk in the Cairngorms - 4/5 hours of hiking each day, stopping early enough on the first afternoon to dig a fresh snow hole, before having a three-course dinner inside (plus whisky) and spending the night inside in sleeping bags. Before the hike comes two days of winter skills training, including learning how to use avalanche transceivers and crampons.

Up above the world we know.  It's the International Year of Mountains. How better to mark it than by tackling our own "Big Three" says Christopher Somerville.  It was the wretched veldskoen that ruined my first taste of the mountains. Built of ox-hide rigid enough to last a Boer farmer a lifetime on the veld, they should have had at least six months' bullying with grease and knucklebones to render them soft enough to walk in. But my father didn't know that when he bought them for me before our first walking holiday in the Lake District when I was 15.

Ben Nevis: at 4,406ft it is the highest mountain in the UK Ben Nevis 'Intermittent rain over Western Scotland, turning heavier," glooms the Met Office entrail-reader, "with widespread thunderstorms, hill fog, low cloud . . . "

A typical Highland summer's day, then. I grit my teeth, gird my loins in Gore-Tex and set out from the Glen Nevis Visitor Centre in full expectation of a storm-battered slog to the top of Britain's highest mountain. By my side walks Andrew Bateman, whose origins in the flat country of the English Midlands lit a fire of ambition to climb any peak put in front of him, the tougher the better. This is a man dedicated to opening the delights of the rugged outdoors to all comers. His company, Mountain Innovations (01479 831331, www.scotmountain.co.uk), will bring you to the top of a Scottish mountain, spider you up rock faces, dig you into a snowhole for a winter night - or just give you a b & b base for exploration under your own steam.

Up the flank of "Ben Nevis" we climb the well-worn pony track, pitched with stones. It's patronisingly known as the "tourist path", and we see families in jeans and trainers along with sterner hikers in mountain boots. Ben Nevis is a popular mountain - everyone knows it's the Daddy at 4,406ft, and a good number of visitors to the Highlands set out to climb it. There's nothing technically difficult or demanding about the path. But you shouldn't underestimate "Ben Nevis" It's always cold at the top, and has a well-earned reputation for sudden storms.

We plod through a shower, then into thick mist. Mountain torrents tumble over the path and crash out of sight. "The halfway loch," says Andrew, gesturing into the wall of mist.

Now we tackle the second and stiffer part of the climb, crunching interminably back and forth up the Zigzags. Suddenly we pop out of the mist and climb high above its soft wool carpet. Glorious blue ridges and mountain peaks are revealed.

We reach the boulder-strewn summit some 3.5 hours after starting the climb. Hundreds are there with us. Sandwiches are munched, pop bottles popped around the summit cairn. An ark-shaped shelter built atop a 20ft stone pedestal vividly demonstrates how deep the snow and frost can lie up here in winter. But today all is sweet on Ben Nevis.

"Wonderful," enthuses Andrew, like a man who has never been here before. "The summit's been in cloud the last seven times I've come. Just look at that" - and he points to range upon range, fold upon fold of beautiful mountains, a mosaic of dinosaur ridges, ink-shadowed valleys and lochs. We stand and gaze, tiny beings with Britain at our feet.

 

Scotland's icy adventures.  John Hancox discovers that the country's mountains are a haven for climbers with skill and stamina.  It calls for stamina, skill and an icy psychological strength to go onto the Scottish mountains in winter. The conditions you can experience, ranging from blown ice, to atrocious whiteout conditions are best described as arctic, or perhaps something ruder.

Melville Martin, a climber from Glasgow, says: "Once you've learned to climb in Scotland, you can climb anywhere in the world. You don't get more extreme winter weather than here."

Serious mountaineers agree there is something very special about being in the Scottish mountains in winter. Andrew Bateman, of Mountain Innovations (01479 831 331 www.scotmountain.co.uk), a mountain guiding specialist says: "The attraction is being able to operate in hostile environments and to cope with what could be hazardous situations. There is a different world up there: pristine white snow and black rock and you get fantastic views that go on forever.

"You get that great sense of solitude and also a sense of adventure. The ice effects are spectacular - fluting and overhanging cornicing, and rime - a wind-directed frost - that climbs to rocks."

Simon Lowe of Jagged Globe, which runs climbing courses in Scotland and in the Alps, says: "When you are climbing you need to concentrate all your mind on that. It is an absolute break from everything else."

" Winter Mountaineering" requires more serious equipment than in summer the emphasis is on lightness, and portability. Winter clothes clearly need to be warmer, but also designed for use in these conditions. Head torches, winter boots that can take crampons, bivvy bags, ice-axe all require a bigger rucksack.

Andrew Bateman said: "You need a good level of fitness, stamina and also a mental strength. The exercise is not as intense, say as playing squash, but you need to be able to go on for eight hours in conditions that can be difficult and tiring. If you are doing a team sport regularly every week you will probably be fine. However, you also have to be prepared to push yourself further than you think you can. Mental strength is really important."

There is tremendous satisfaction when you have had a great day on the hill and can enjoy a pint next to a hot log fire. And there is one undoubted advantage of winter mountaineering compared to summer. It may throw ice and wind at you, but at least there are no midges.
Ready to hit the slopes?

John Hancox discovers that those interested in winter sports should first consult an expert.

Whatever sport you are interested in, remember to keep calm and careful, and certainly prepare wall and approach the Scottish mountains with the utmost respect.

The best advice for novices wanting to take part in Scottish winter sports is to find an expert to help them. That could mean a friend, who could take you, or joining a club can be a useful starting place. Remember too, that many specialist shops that stock climbing, surf, ski or boarding gear tend to be run by enthusiasts, who like nothing better than helping people get started. Don't buy gear, though, until you have tried the sport and are sure it's for you. Bat a demonstration or take a course first.

Winter mountaineering & climbing
Many outdoor activity centres offer all inclusive course with all the specialist equipment (bar the thermal undies) you need and can guide you to the right gear to buy. Learning from an experienced mountain guide is invaluable for when you want to get out by yourself later.

Mountain Innovations: a small friendly mountain guiding service based near the Cairngorms (www.scotmountain.co.uk) run a range of winter skills courses and expeditions.

You can subscribe to getting a free regular winter climbing conditions report on the Northern Cairngorms by sending an email to info@scotmountain.co.uk.

 

Five Men in a hole.  Christopher Somerville straps on his crampons and dons his thermals for a winter survival experience in the Cairngorms, Scotland.

Why don't you join one of our snow-holing expeditions?" That's how the whole thing begins. Andrew Bateman pops the question one Scottish summer afternoon on the way down from the summit of Ben Nevis. Andrew, a Midlander with mountains stitched right through his marrow, leads expeditions and sorties under the banner of Mountain Innovations - an enterprise he runs with his partner, Rebecca Field, from their Fraoch Lodge hostel in Boat of Garten at the foot of the Cairngorms. I say yes without really giving much thought to what I am undertaking.

The arrival in the post of the equipment list - ski goggles, sleeping bag effective at 10 degrees below zero, head torch, fleece trousers - is a bit of a wake-up call. The Cairngorms, after all, rise to more than 4,000ft, and their high plateau is subject to prolonged weather of Arctic severity in winter. The three-day expedition, says the literature, includes a day of "essential winter skills refreshment". All I possess is an average walker's experience of winter days out in relatively unthreatening terrain and weather. It looks as if Mountain Innovations takes its jaunt seriously. I'd better follow suit.

On the appointed day Andrew Bateman picks me up from Aviemore station and drives me out to Boat of Garten. It's good to see him again - a friendly, level-headed and capable man, a natural leader whom you instinctively trust. My confidence kicks upwards. It soon slumps again when the other members of our snow-holing team convene around tea mugs in the kitchen at Fraoch Lodge. Gold-earringed Shaun and his walking and climbing partner Dave, two fit and hardy lads from County Durham, seem to have done it all - mountain-biking, the Lakeland peaks in snow and fog, climbing ice falls. Adam from the Clyde Valley is nearer my own (middle) age and body shape; but he, too, has apparently conquered more peaks than I have had hot curries.

It's impossible to remain abashed for long at Fraoch Lodge, however. Other mountaineers and hikers appear from the hills, as hungry as hunters. At one of a string of imaginative dinners dished up by Rebecca, the stories and one-liners flow with the wine. We build bridges and discover places and follies in common. Andrew and Rebecca eat with us, cementing the "all-in-this-together" feeling.

The next day Andrew takes us up into the snowy cleft of Coire Cas for our winter skills crash course. And it is literally that, because it involves launching ourselves, hard-hatted, down a steep snow slope with only an ice axe between us and oblivion. We do this feet first, face first, on our fronts and on our backs. "Wa-hey!" cries burly Shaun, hurling himself headfirst down the mountain and executing a perfect ice-axe arrest. There's a serious backdrop to this tomfoolery, of course: one stumble at the head of a Cairngorm snowfield and if you don't know exactly what to do, you can slide 2,000ft faster than an express train, but without any buffers when you hit the bottom. By the same token, we learn how to cut steps in snow, and how to walk in stiff boots and crampons. Encouragement and leg-pulling are the order of the day - and of the evening, too, tightening our sense of group membership over pints of Stag bitter in the Boat Hotel.

By noon the following day we are all on the move up the snowy Fiacaill ridge, our packs heavy with snow shovels, saws, ice axes, gas cylinders, crampons and sleeping bags. I puff a bit at first, but by the time we are up and over into Coire Domhain's white hollow I have got the climbing tempo more or less to rights. The high Cairngorm plateau is an inhospitable place. Snow lies thick, the wind whips across, and visibility is down to 100 yards at times. But Andrew navigates us unerringly, using his patented system of pacing and timing, until the mid-afternoon when we reach the selected snow-hole site in the high cleft above frozen, remote Loch Avon.

Everyone is cold and tired by now, and we inwardly groan at the prospect of having to cut our own accommodation out of a solid snow bank. But the work warms us up as we dig and saw great blocks of snow, shovel debris, sweat, curse and giggle. Luckily we break through into a set of former snow-holes, which gives us more rooms at no extra effort. What we end up with is a split-level, wonky-roofed series of interconnecting chambers. It feels like home by the time we've crawled into our sleeping bags and have sampled the indefatigable Andrew's sausage-and-God-knows-what cuisine. We are all dog-tired. Candles light the scene. Jokes and tall tales do the rounds, and so do the bottles of sleeping elixir - Baileys for the Durham lads, whisky for Andrew, Adam and me. It's not a comfortable night by any means, but the hard exercise and the whisky combine to pole-axe me until a ghostly blue dawn filters in through the doorway.

Breakfast is a plastic bag full of muesli and dried milk, moistened with a generous helping of boiled snow. Struggling into halffrozen, sopping wet outer gear and cold, damp boots is an ordeal but, once clad, we find that our body heat dries the clothes and footwear remarkably quickly. When we emerge from our Arctic hobbit-hole, we find a cold, windy day thick with hill fog. We abandon thoughts of bagging the second highest peak in Britain, the 4,295-ft Ben MacDui, and in another remarkable feat of navigation Andrew leads us out of the wind and murk, through the snowfields, over icy rocks and down into the real world once more. It has been a much more demanding experience than I would have imagined. I have had some moments of self-doubt to work through. We are all pretty tired, and we ache here and there, but we returning snow-holers feel absolutely wonderful.

Mountain Innovations , offers a variety of holidays from mushroom-picking forays to snow-holing and a range of courses from navigation to mountaineering.

 

Give them a break: a perfect present for every traveller.  Don't rely on Santa: The Sunday Times has all the best travel gifts. Vincent Crump, Jonathan Futrell and Anthony Sattin deliver the goods

Compared with the era of lords a- leaping and French hens, Christmas gifts for grown-ups seem to lack imagination these days. This is partly because we’re all gifted out — it’s a consumer culture, and if uncle Mike or cousin Kylie wants the latest novelty putting aid or computerised cake-slicer, they’ve probably treated themselves to it already.

No wonder we despair and buy everybody a Marks & Spencer vest-and-briefs multipack again. But the presents you give this Christmas don’t have to be pants. One thing that all your friends and family will do next year is take a holiday. With this in mind, we’ve collected a sackful of original gift ideas with a travel theme — gear, gadgets and getaways to suit just about every kind of globetrotter you might know. Some are clever bits of hardware, some are travel books to treasure, others are one-off treats: activity days, flights or special hotel stays. All the suggestions here can be arranged as gifts — from eight maids a-massaging on a spa break in London to four collie dogs on a shepherding course in the Dales. We’ve even got a partridge and a palm tree.