In Search of the Snow Line

Here comes a short spell of mobile blogging, hopefully the last with the Blackberry phone.

Today we eschewed Wythenshawe's Parkrun and loaded up the snow shoes. We still don't know whether we'll get a chance to use them, but as you can see, a long and winding road has delivered us to the promised Nirvana.

Lancashire was pretty damp and mizzly, but Shap did bear fruit, with well camouflaged sheep rummaging for their lunch in a glaze of icing sugar.

Through the rain of the Southern Uplands some high white patches were just about visible, but there was nothing to indicate a proper snow line.

The warmth of Glasgow continued through Stirling and up to Perth, where a couple of years ago I spent a night in my car in Morrison's car park after failing to extricate myself from the snow line.

Hope springs eternal, and Blairgowrie offered that, with the winding road to Glenshee liberally banked with white stuff.

Mist engulfed the summit of the pass but failed to conceal thousands of skiers enjoying themselves well above the snow line.

We'd made it, and with just a gentle descent past huge herds of deer to the vibrant mountain ski resort of Braemar, the trudge up the inundated garden path to Thornbank Cottage confirmed that we are indeed to spend the night above the snow line.

Bottles of red wine are lined in front of the wood burning stove in readiness for our host and any surprise guests who may track us to this wintry location...

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