

"Would you like some money towards another Glenmore Lodge course for Christmas?" said my Dad, some time in December. I thought about last year's course for about half a second and said "Yes please!". This time I signed up for the five-day winter lead climbing course, and had five fantastic days climbing: Wednesday in particular was one of the best days I've ever had in the mountains. Below are some of the things I learned. Usual rules apply: I am not a qualified mountain guide, and these notes may contain errors. Use your own judgement. Unlike in hillwalking, in winter climbing it's possible to predict what order you'll need your kit in with a high degree of accuracy. If you pack your bag in the reverse of this order you can gear up much more efficiently. This is especially important if you're trying to gear up in a 40mph wind. If everyone in the party knows this except you, you will look very silly when you try to gear up in a 40mph wind. Even if you do know this, your carefully-calculated packing scheme can be foiled by the instructor demanding the emergency group shelter just before you set off. Similarly, your carefully-calculated layering system can be foiled by the instructor detaining you for five minutes in a wind-blasted car park to tell you off for not wearing thick enough trousers. More generally, layering's a personal thing. Our guide apparently required up to four layers for the walk-in, whereas I was overheating with two. Don't assume that someone else's system will work for you without adjustment. Put your helmet on as soon as you stop to gear up. My current harness - bought a few years ago for indoor use - sucks for winter climbing. The right-hand gear loops are inaccessible with thick jackets and a rucksack on. Fortunately the harness I borrowed from the Lodge was much better. I think I'll try borrowing my girlfriend's harness (which is similar to the Lodge's one) for my next trip.

SRENE? Bollocks to that. This. Is. SCOTLAND! Warthogs - old-school drive-in ice screws that are still useful for frozen turf - take a hell of a long time to drive in to any depth. Bulldogs are quicker, but you have to be careful to hit them straight - a glancing blow can loosen them. Be careful not to wiggle your ice tool once you've placed it - that loosens the placement. If you feel you must wiggle it to test the placement, place it again afterwards. Few sounds are sweeter than the "thunk" of an ice tool sinking into a solidly-frozen piece of turf. Stacey's mom has got it going on. Walking in wearing salopettes is (for me - see point 5) pretty miserable in anything less than a howling wind, but it does at least save time when gearing up (see point 1), and prevent the situation described in point 4. Do not challenge Heather to a game of Scrabble. Or rather do, but don't expect to win. Rime ice grows into the wind, because supercooled water vapour nucleates when it hits a solid object. If something looks pretty in the winter environment, it's probably trying to kill you - or at least it provides information about something else which is trying to kill you. Examples include rime ice, sastrugi and raised footprints (which tell you about wind direction, hence snowpack, hence avalanche risk), cornices (which will collapse if you put too much weight on them), and surface hoar (which forms a slippery, avalanche-prone layer on which any subsequent snow can slide).

Raised footprints, caused by walkers compressing the snow underfoot and the uncompressed snow surrounding it being blown away. By the trails of snow we can tell that the wind's mostly been from right to left. Windslab (windblown snow, the major constituent of most Scottish avalanches) can be recognised by its matte, almost grey colour, and the way it squeaks when you step on it. If it breaks away in sharp, angular blocks when you step on it, that's an especially bad sign. Skiers are more likely than climbers or walkers to trigger avalanches, since tight turns exert more force (have a bigger "footprint") on the snow than walking; they travel faster over a greater variety of terrain; and they actively seek out the 25-40 degree slopes that are most avalanche-prone. Hence, it's particularly important for backcountry skiers and ski-tourers to carry avalanche transceivers. If you're taking a transceiver, take a probe and shovel too - probing is much quicker than digging, especially digging by hand. Probe perpendicular to the slope. You're looking for a spongy resistance. Your chance of survival starts to drop abruptly 15 minutes after being buried, so if a member of your party is avalanched then you should search for them immediately rather than going for help. But if you have mobile phone signal, by all means dial 999 and ask for mountain rescue. A transceiver search is nearly 100% effective; a coarse probe search (probing at arm's length) is around 80% effective; a fine probe search is highly likely to find the buried person but highly unlikely to find them alive. Start from the victim's last seen position and work downhill, paying particular attention to areas around and below clues (eg rucksacks).

The best way to photograph climbers is usually while they're leading, from above. Try to remember this before the party below you sets up their belay. Signs of high avalanche risk to watch out for: avalanches or avalanche debris, foot penetration into the snow (gives you an indication of the layering), old snow (dark patches signify old, hard snow under the bright new stuff), dark rocks (which indicate warm temperatures: cornices over black rocks are old, but may still be unstable). Avalanche awareness antipatterns: "I know this area, it's fine", "We drove 15 hours to climb this route, and by God we're going to do it", "It must be OK, those two guys did it", "I laugh in the face of fear!" All of these attitudes get people avalanched against their better judgement. The time to dig a test pit is before you're committed to the route, and the correct place is somewhere relevant - somewhere with the same aspect, angle etc as the place you'll be climbing. Text "REGISTER" to 999, to register with the emergency SMS service for the deaf (UK only). Go on, do it now. Edit: it's often possible to send an SMS in areas where the signal's too weak for a voice conversation. The mountain rescue team can use your last cellphone triangulation in their search, so set your mobile phone to silent rather than turning it completely off. Hot tea is nice, but something with some sugar in such as hot lemon squash is better. In general, hydration is a problem. You don't need to drink very much while winter climbing, but a bit of water is very nice indeed. Anything in your rucksack will probably be too much of a faff to get out until the end of the climb.

Topped out - time for a brew A frozen platypus mouthpiece can be thawed by holding it under your armpit for a few minutes. Prevent freezing by blowing water back up the tube after drinking and hanging the mouthpiece tube-down. However, platypi have an additional problem - the tube can come unscrewed from the bottle. This soaks your bag and the back of your trousers, causing great hilarity for the rest of the party and a cold bum for you. Another possibility for hydration, which my partner swore by but which I didn't evaluate for myself, is a <1L collapsible bottle in a chest pocket. Of course, if it leaks then you've got problems. The best place to keep your sandwiches is in the chest pockets of your jacket, in opened plastic bags. You don't want to have to fiddle with knotted bags or twist-ties while you're wearing gloves. Ice screws, once extracted, remain full of aerated ice which is a pain to remove. Hang the screw on a sling round your neck and drop it down your jacket to thaw it out. Try not to think about the damage the sharp edges are doing to your expensive jacket.

The ice pitch on Central Left Hand, which Matthew led. I don't remember it being so steep last year! Quickdraws are a total waste of time on low-grade winter climbs. In five days of climbing, we used one to clip a rucksack to the belay, and cannibalised another couple for snapgates: we'd have been much better off leaving them behind and taking another slingdraw. Especially since we lost one and had to pay for its replacement. Woodsmoke is at least as bad for you as cigarette smoke. My confidence has improved - I happily led a pitch on Hidden Gully that I remember being utterly terrifying when I seconded it a couple of years ago. On the other hand, the conditions were much better this time. It would have been nice if I could have placed more gear than a tied-off warthog, but them's the breaks. If you don't feel like you've earned your calories after a day's winter climbing, go for a 5km run. Your legs will feel it then. Overall, though, I was surprised and pleased by my level of fitness. If you want to lead in blocks of pitches and tie in to belays with the rope for maximum dynamicity, you'll have to re-tie the anchor at every belay. This is more hassle than using a cordelette or sliding X, but if you do it with the right technique and know what you're doing it's more efficient than I'd thought. Something to practice. Other things I need to practice: tying clove hitches upside down, back to front, in the dark and with gloves on. Navigating by contours. Walking accurately on a bearing.

Fiacaill Buttress, taken after we climbed Jacob's Right Edge on Wednesday. More and larger photos here.