Everything thing has a beginning. A start. A point of change. A first step, a first moment, that leads to the present situation you find yourself in. For us, winter now runs through our blood. By October, the excitement starts to build; we count down the days until we can meet, constantly messaging each other, organising dates, day dreaming of plans. But how did we get here…

It’s not a normal friendship, where you meet, you get on, you hang out and things grow. For us we worked together in Australia for an outdoor education company. With similar experience and qualifications, we’d often find ourselves on the same programs, riding in four-wheel drives into the outback, sharing our ideas about group facilitation whilst madly scribbling our lists and thoughts. Program after program, we would chat for hours about what we were planning to do, or how it had gone on the way back. But, outside of work, nothing. We didn’t hang out and didn’t see each other until the next ride to the outback.

2009 came to an end and we both returned to the UK, to pick up where we left off, with our previous work, with no intention or idea that we would see each other again. There I was, sat in the accommodation for an expedition leader interview, and the fire alarm went off. Following the crowd to the outside, who do I bump into, but Charlie, here for the same reason to venture into the expedition world. We sat and started catching up on work and aspirations, soon to discover we were both keen to get involved in Scottish winter mountaineering. No sooner had we left the expedition leader conference than, we had booked our first winter skills course with the Jonathan Conville Trust.

Totally unaware of what we getting into, we looked like we’d followed the brides traditional good luck list; something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue. The conditions were less than ideal, thin snowpack and classic cairngorm winds. We learnt the hard way, me, testing the limits of our new friendship when a large gust lifted my leg, flinging my foot in the direction of Charlie, slicing her new waterproof trousers with my beautiful sharp crampons. Undeterred she stated she still wanted to head out to a bothy with me the next day.

Venturing into the Glenfeshie hills, alone for the first time, with only each other for the decision making, we quickly discovered how much we enjoyed the chat, as much as the winter experience. Satisfied with ourselves romping around in crampons on the tops, we plodded back to the bothy, sore feet, ill fitting boots but completely happy.

And so began the madness. Charlie in Devon, me, wherever I could park my van. It was a time pressed mission at the weekends, picking a location to meet, Charlie charging up after work on a Friday, dumping a vehicle wherever we could. Sometimes random villages off the M6 were left with one of our vans for the weekend, and other times for reasons still unknown to us, staying at youth hostels in Glasgow. Glasgow, that’s not even the hills! What were we thinking?

Each trip, each experience, building a friendship and building our winter bond. We made mistakes and we learnt. We pushed ourselves no matter the weather. This in itself led to some interesting scenarios. High winds, heavy rain and wet snow on Ben More combined with an old waterproof jacket led to my first and only experience of hypothermia. And I’m glad Charlie was there, forcing me to eat and showing the strength we had as a team to deal with challenges. Other times it was consistently high winds and sleet battering the side of us on Schiehallion, so much so that when we reached the top we both had a thick later of ice on our jackets, gloves, and bags along the one side.

We loved it though. With each trip we learnt each other’s strengths and played to them. It was always an open dialogue, every situation and challenge shared and discussed. The more we went out together, the more we wanted to get back out for more. Sometimes it went to plan and other times we were completely blindsided by an experience. We still both remember, our first circuit of the Cairngorms, looking up from our axes, both locked down on the ridge, after being airlifted two metres towards the edge. Both a look of excitement and a need to get the hell out of there. We trudged an extra 10 km around the ridge and down the glen getting to Corrour Bothy late that evening. We opened the door to be greeted by a group of men who all assumed we’d done the lovely valley walk from Braemar. To their disbelief we explained how we’d just been blown around on the broad ridge of Ben Macdui.

Trip after trip, blasting up the M6, squeezing in whatever we could, whatever the weather. True weekend warriors. Each time testing our kit, testing our knowledge and our skills. Making mistakes and not repeating them. Wearing cheap green scarves from Morocco and dying our necks to look like Shrek as the dye leaked in the sleet. Each trip worth it. Each one memorable.

We are ying and yang. We compliment each other. We love the winter. We love the challenge. We know we can manage. We know we are strong and resilient and no matter what winter throws at us we will thrive. We laugh. A lot. We laugh when the wind is so strong Charlie’s head gets stuck to the slope, because the only place we can hear each other, is hunkered close to the ground with our heads on the snow. We do it alone and we need to. This is what we do to feel human, to feel strong to feel tested to know our capabilities and then stretch a little bit beyond. We may not see each other much in summer but come the winter our friendship comes out of hibernation and we’re off. We feel lucky to have this relationship. Lucky to have a winter best mate to share the highs and the lows, to chat to the early hours, to brace the weather with and count down the days to the next snows.

For more information on our Winter courses please visit https://adelong.co.uk/winter/