In spring things are different. The peak of Gabhar still white and icy, the northern corries a wasteland. The views towards the north are not very inviting. White, white everywhere. Is that Antarctica or what. Nope, just Cairngorms. I think about April 2009 when I first found out that different rules apply to the Cairngorms.
On the other hand, the deer have finished their winter business and are roaming the hills in huge herds. I stumble upon a group of about twenty stag with antlers and everything. One of them, huge horns, looks back at me in anger. Evening of the same day: An army of female deer, many of them childish and immature, settle for dinner on the huge meadow just underneath the summit of Gabhar, directly adjacent to the loch. I count 130, plus minus 10. I count them again. And again. The error is statistically sound. Counting so many deers is not trivial. The herd is shapeshifting around the features of the landscape.
The moors are dry these days. Only trickles come down from the hills. The grass resembles straw. Only the best campsite in the world is green, as usual. Something is happening here.