Field notes from a mountain ski tour in the Cairngorms National Park
Skiers Jakob & Hammy transition from boot packing to ski touring
With blue skies in the forecast and relatively low winds (for the Cairngorms), we decided to push for a slightly bigger day out. We gained the plateau via Fiacaill a’ Choire Chais, skirting round the tops of Coire an t-Sneachda before dropping down towards Coire Domhain. Conditions up high were grim—rimed-up ice sheets covered most of the ground, with only small pockets of wind-blown snow. We had hoped that Coire Domhain would have collected some of the fresh stuff that had been moving around the night before, but it was disappointingly bare.
As an adventure photographer, You always have to strike a balance between keeping up with the group and staying in the right position to capture key moments. In ski touring, that means thinking ahead—choosing vantage points where I could frame movement against the landscape, anticipating when the scene would look its best, and knowing when to put the camera away to focus on the physical effort of the ascent. You’re constantly listening and looking for when the wind gusts come in because they will kick up all the snow and give a small opportunity to create a super atmospheric photo.
We kept pushing on and eventually reached the steepening at the end of Coire Domhain that looks down towards the west bank of Loch A’an. We finally found where all the snow had been collecting. As we peaked over the edge, around 400m of untouched Scottish powder was looking right back up at us. Jakob’s hunch had been spot on. I knew this would be a key moment to capture—the contrast of clean, untouched lines against the rugged Cairngorm backdrop, the anticipation before the descent. I positioned myself low on the slope, trying to emphasise the scale of the terrain while keeping a clear view of shelter stone crag in the background. Jakob skied first, traversing to skiers right to avoid some rocks directly below, and Hammy followed suit.
Jakob returns to the group after having scouted the line and snow stability below.
Skier Hammy descends down Coire Domhain towards the west bank of Loch A’an
Our original plan had been to ski “Smooth Chute,” a gully line just west of Shelterstone Crag, but from Coire Domhain, we could see the snow cover was thin and patchy. Instead, we turned our attention to Fèith Buidhe. Normally a waterfall in summer, it had filled in beautifully with snow and looked like every Scottish skier’s dream. We skinned up towards the base of the line for a better look at the snowpack, then made our way to the top via Garbh Uisge Beag. Jakob dug a pit for an extended column test—we were above some consequential terrain, and we needed to be sure of the snow stability before we committed to the line. Once we’d talked through the results, we were happy to proceed. I positioned myself a few hundred meters away from Hammy & Jakob as they readied themselves for the descent. Precariously positioned above a rocky outcrop I took every step with intention. Ice axe in one hand and camera stowed away in its case. I cut a ledge to stand on and framed up my composition. Again, Jakob skied first. Taking his time, he picked his way down the steep slope. His sluff caught up with him and carried him a few meters down the slope before stopping just above a boulder. He regained his composition and continued, traverseing skier’s left back towards our exit point. Hammy was second and took a similar approach to Jakob, taking his time and linking his turns like he’d done it a thousand times.
Jakob looks up at our new line Fèith Buidhe
Jakob preforms an extended column test to asses snow stability.
Hammy manages his sluff whilst descending down Fèith Buidhe
By the time we regrouped at the bottom of Fèith Buidhe, the wind had picked up and the sun was starting to dip. We still had about 6km to go to reach the car, with a steep boot pack out of the Loch A’an basin ahead of us. In the shelter of Hell’s Lum, we transitioned back to skinning mode, then strapped our skis to our packs and started the slog back up Coire Domhain. Spindrift was everywhere, swirling in the light of the setting sun. Snow devils whipped past, appearing and vanishing in an instant. This was another fleeting moment worth capturing—mountain travel isn’t just about the skiing, but the movement, the endurance, and the raw beauty of the elements at play.
Skier Jakob faces off with a snow devil in the Cairngorms National Park.
We retraced our steps towards the 1141 Cairn, where I started feeling the effects of not drinking enough water—both thighs locked up with a perma-cramp, slowing me down. There’s not much you can do in this instance apart from trying to stretch them out, drink the last of your water and eat some sugary snacks. Eventually, we joined the steady flow of people returning from their own days out in the hills. A quick glance over at the Cas headwall confirmed it was skiable all the way to the top of the resort, so we dropped in for a final descent. The headwall was icy and required some attention, but once we had hit the confines of the ski resort, the piste was freshly groomed all the way back to the carpark.
Photography in the mountains is more than just snapping action shots—it’s about telling a story, capturing a feeling, and working with the changing conditions to document the experience. It means constantly assessing when to shoot and when to move, when to position yourself ahead of the group and when to simply be present in the moment. This trip reminded me why I love this process—the challenge of balancing physical effort with creative thinking, the thrill of capturing those fleeting mountain moments, and the camaraderie that comes with shared adventure.
No two days in the mountains are ever the same. And that’s exactly why I keep coming back.
Back lit by the setting sun, some spindrift creates a halo around Hell’s Lum.
