As Easy As 1, 2, 3 - The Fun of Skiing Scotland

After a snowy start to 2026, Henry headed North to discover Scottish skiing - to realise a dream long held, and to explore how an industry left on its knees is celebrating an epic winter.

The sun rose – barely – out the window of the train as it wound its way higher and higher and deeper and deeper into the Scottish Highlands. There was barely anyone else onboard, and who could fault them? The snow had been falling thick and fast over the previous few days and this, the first train of the day on Friday out of Glasgow towards the Highlands, was doubtful to get through.

As the light broke through, it did so on a winter idyl. Snow lay thick on the ground, on the rooves of houses, and even thick in the branches of the firs, proof that when it had snowed it had snowed properly, and recently too.

The cold hit me instantly as I stepped off the train at Aviemore; not just the difference in humidity and temperature from a damp Glasgow three hours earlier, but somehow that cold that is full of anticipation, driven home by the utter silence of the station once the train had roared off towards Inverness.

Stepping out of the station I joined a cluster of other travellers, some wrapped in hiking gear but others, like me, dressed to ski huddled together waiting for a bus on to the heart of the Cairngorms.

I’d forgotten when Scotland’s last good snow year had been. There was certainly 2020/21 – shuttered entirely by COVID – and in these parts I’m sure they’d tell me stories of good days amidst the bleakness. Faction even made a film in the Highlands on skiing Scotland, showing the seemingly endless bad mixed in with the rare, stunning shots of gloriousness that has become a byline for Scottish skiing.

But this year was different. With cold, cold weather, tonnes of snow, and my Instagram feed filling up with bluebird skies and powder days, I changed some plans around and headed north to Scotland for a weekend to see what Scottish skiing was all about.

Type 1 - Fun in the Moment

As the bus wound its way through the forests to the base station of Cairngorm Mountain resort, the snow grew thicker and thicker on the ground. Passing Loch Morlich, I looked out to see a lake completely frozen, snow covered mountains forming a most perfect background as they blended with the low cloud above.

The car park was covered in what must have been close to a foot of snow, cleared away on the roads but deep and slushy around the base of the slopes. The resort base at Cairngorm is one of the better ones in the Highlands, with hire facilities, ticket office, bar, café and a small gift shop. It is also the base station for the Cairngorm Mountain Railway, Scotland’s only funicular railway and the main uplift here. Much maligned following a nearly-seven-year odyssey of the railway falling into disrepair, being brought under government control (as part of the rest of the resort), having a significant sum of money spent on repairs only to fall apart again almost instantly, it is a relief to both Highland visitors and the wider economy that it is once again back up and running.

Turning right at the top of the Funicular, I clipped into my skis and, amidst a layer of fog and cloud, set off towards the M1 Poma.

Immediately I was hit by the variety of skiing in Scotland. The green run that zig zagged its way down this side of the run was at times corduroy, the team here having put their utmost in to preparing the pistes with only the 30cm of base down. At times, it was powder, mostly windblown snow coming off the Cairngorm Plateau and nestling against the snow fences that are ubiquitous at Scottish ski hills but perfect for shorter more playful powder turns.

But my god was it fun. 500m of vert from top to bottom weaving up and down and around the mountain, finishing the beginner slopes available in their own area at the bottom, close to the base station. The open terrain in the ski area offered blues and reds and the odd black that, despite the limited snowfall, had been polished into tip-top fashion, a real credit to the team at Cairngorm and the effort they had put in.

M2 on to Day Lodge was the best, winding along the ridge at the top of East Wall of White Lady, looker's left from the funicular. From top to bottom it was covered in snow and mostly sheltered from the wind, meaning it was a hoot. Dancing over and through pockets of wind blown powder I dove off the piste for the last couple of hundred yards down Day Lodge run and scored genuine, brilliant, blower powder back to the car park at the bottom.

This was exactly what I had dreamt of.

Type 2 - Fun in Retrospect

Earlier that morning I had issues with my lift pass – still struggling to get it to work properly, I skied to the bottom and weighed up my options.

I could join the queue for the lift pass office as I had done earlier where, bless them, they were clearly struggling with this wave of skiers enjoying the epic conditions and out of practice without having had this in previous years. Or, I could resort to plan B.

Plan A had been to stay in the resort and lap some more of the runs and lifts, but with more limited terrain open than expected I was quickly skiing it out. The team here had done a great job getting the pistes in order but the base was still limited; openings were therefore limited both because of this and to save more terrain for the looming weekend.

In preparation for a touring trip coming up in a few weeks time I had snuck my skins into my suitcase at the last minute, and still covered in flapjack crumbs from a snacky lunch, I stuck them on and changed a few layers for the uphill. Plan B was in effect.

I almost exactly retraced my steps back up the hill, heading up under the Day Lodge Poma lift alongside the piste I had just skied. The variability of the snow at the very foot of the run meant I had to zig zag and weave between trees and rocks and undulating piles of snow to get off the ground.

As I snaked up the hill I settled into my rhythm, looking a little apprehensively at the cloud rolling in over the upper slopes of the mountain. I was aware of time ticking away from me, too, with the lifts closing bang as the sun set around 4pm; not wanting to get caught out, even though I had plenty of time to spare, I pushed myself further and furth up the hill.

Turning the corner at the top of Day Lodge back onto M2, I was immediately buffeted by strong, strong winds. I paused, only briefly else the wind would suck all warmth off me and blast me back down the hill, and weighed up my options: turn around, transition, ski down and argue with the lift pass office about my ticket; repeat the all but the last step and instead give up for the day; or keep going.

I resolved to keep going. Onwards I plodded up and up, ducking around the snow fences to stay out of the way of other skiers coming down, picking their routes amongst the howling winds. Turning towards the Ptarmigan restaurant at the top of the hill I hugged under the West Wall lift – currently out of service thanks to the limited terrain opening – and rushed up the last few hundred metres, snow fences doing little to protect against the gale.

I sprinted to the top, sheltering in a knook by the restaurant as I took my skins back off. That had been an experience. I can’t say I was disappointed – this was Scotland, after all, and this is just par for the course!

Diving into the café I took onboard a restorative hot chocolate and resolved that that was enough for the day as closing time beckoned and a well earned pint began calling my name …

Type 1 (Reprise)

The bus from the base station stopped, conveniently, by Coylumbridge Resort Hotel. Over crisp pints of Scottish lager, sorely missed south of the border, and a barbecue dinner in the “après ski lodge”, I shared stories of the day with my friend who had driven up to join me from Glasgow after work in preparation for another ski day tomorrow.

With a few flurries of snow in the air and temperatures remaining cold, tomorrow promised to be a mega day …

Type 3 - No Fun At All, But Glad You Did it!

Saturday started even better. Longer queues for the funicular had been expected and planned in, so an early start to the drive up the mountain was called for; we found the road still closed as the team worked to clear it before the scheduled opening time, but it meant a perfect parking spot in the car park …

Wind overnight had moved snow around, most of it onto the pistes that sit on the leeward side of Cairngorm and Ben MacDui. The greens and blues I had lapped the day before were in even better shape, and we decided, much like the day before, to push on down M2 and Day Lodge for a complete lap of the resort.

M2 started great. Loads of snow was down meaning a few of the rocks from the day before were covered, and the skiing was smooth and easy going.

But things quickly deteriorated.

Turning a corner – much like on the ski tour up yesterday – we were hit and nearly knocked over by the force of the winds whipping up the East Wall of White Lady.

I had never felt anything like it.

It was bitterly, bitterly cold, and with a layer of cloud and fog the conditions sapped all vision and sense from you. No matter how much you zipper up, cinched up, or covered your face with a balaclava, it found its way in to draw the warmth from your body.

It made the skiing impossible, too. Already well below the last lift up we were committed to skiing down. What had made things worse was the effect of the wind on the snowpack: half the run was now knee deep in powder, great for advanced skiers but impossible to see where they reared up in front of you. The other side of the run was bare rock. And I don’t mean a few rock patches, but fully, 100% scraped bare sheets of rock.

It was a lethal combination, especially for less experienced skiers. You were forced into powder that rose up in front of you but was simultaneously impossible to see, that gave way into troughs and gullies with no notice, or face an agonising turn onto, over, or around bare rock. It was a depth of skiing hell I had not thought existed.

All we could do was pick our way slowly, ever so slowly, through the powder hugging the left hand side of the piste. A small group of six – us, a dad and two young sons, and a snowboarder – helped each other through every turn, picking up the pieces from tumbles and making sure we all got down in one piece.

We got to the bottom, somehow, and breathed. We’d done it. The sense of relief mixed with a sense of achievement to turn this almost immediately into a fond memory; the definition of “type three” fun, hell in the moment but glad we’d done it. As if we needed proof that this was all part of the fun, we picked up our skis, turned around, and made a beeline straight for the funicular to try once again.

No Fun - The State of the Scottish Ski Industry

As I sat on the train back to London on Sunday morning I thought back on the weekend that had been.

The skiing had been great. Yes, the snow had been patchy in places, and yes the wind and cloud had done their absolute best to destroy plans, but once the skis were on it was (almost) all forgotten about.

I had dreamt of skiing deep powder lines down corries and skinning up in the shadow of looming granite cliffs. And whilst I hadn’t quite gotten that, what I got was just as good. Great skiing, a great time with friends, smiles from every liftie and every person I shared a T-bar with; I had a great time in one of the world’s greatest places, and certainly one of my favourites. What more do you need?

The Scottish ski industry is almost on its knees after years without a good snow season. Resorts have openly admitted to running winter operations at a loss, subsidised by summer hiking and mountain biking opportunities, or topped off by large investments from arms-length government bodies. Huge infrastructure challenges have plagued several resorts, most obviously and controversially Cairngorm Mountain with the whole saga around the funicular railway, but most recently Nevis Range were at risk of missing this winter's good snowfall thanks to maintenance issues with their main uplift gondola.

The last good snowfall year fell in 2020/21, when COVD19 restrictions meant many in Scotland couldn't leave their council areas and those of us further south faced similar travel restrictions. This meant that ski centres missed out on their last proper opportunity to benefit from a good winter. The Lecht was forced to sell virtual "lift passes" to prop up the account books in 2024, after these down years stripped away any chance of making a decent income; even new snowmaking machinery, purchased over the preceding years, hadn't been able to make up for the dearth of cold weather and natural snowfall. Thankfully, new investment to the ski area has brought it back from the brink.

But this is an industry that still needs supporting. That must be supported. Having the opportunity to ski on your doorstep - if you are based in Scotland, that is - is an unbelievable pathway into snowsports. Real snow is night and day different to artificial slopes and even indoor snow centres; giving people who may not otherwise have the chance an opportunity to simply be in the mountains, to slide around on skis, and to have fun in the outdoors - as I have said time and time again, this is after all, why we are here.

These are also the playgrounds where champions are forged - most notably Kirsty Muir, who grew up skiing at Aberdeen Snowsports Centre and The Lecht, and took X Games gold in 2026 before coming oh-so-close to a 2026 Olympic medal in Big Air and Slopestyle.

Final Thoughts

Regardless of what the snow does next season, go and visit the Highlands. The scenery is breath-taking, the opportunities to explore truly wild regions right here in the UK are unparalleled, and you know what? The skiing is great. That's it. It's that simple. The skiing is great, and the vibes and the craic even better.

That is Scottish skiing. Haste ye back. I know I will.