The Great Mixed Climbs of Scotland, co-authored by Hamish Frost and Guy Robertson, is the first time so many historic Scottish winter routes have been compiled and captured in story and imagery. “There were relatively few images of many of the routes, so it was a great motivator to get some strong photos that did justice to both the quality of the climbs and the stories behind them,” says Frost.
An excerpt from the book is featured in Summit Journal 325, under the title The High Lonesome. The Great Mixed Climbs of Scotland was released last year by Scottish Mountaineering Press
In today’s Q&A, we talk with Frost about the logistics of shooting in such burly environments and some of the stories from the book.
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Hamish Frost is an adventure and mountain sports photographer based in Scotland. He thrives in cold, wet, and challenging conditions. Adopting a fast and light approach to his photography, Hamish takes pride in his ability to move around the mountains quickly, keeping pace with his subjects whilst documenting the stories behind their endeavours.
You can follow him on Instagram @hamishfrost
Capturing The Spirit of Scottish Winter Climbing: Q&A with Hamish Frost
Summit Journal: Your name is well-suited to your work as you have an affinity for winter climbing. Was it destiny?
Hamish Frost: I don’t know about that, but it does seem to be a good example of nominative determinism! I grew up down in Cambridge, where there isn’t much in the way of hills, but fortunately we had a really active scout unit attached to our school. Through that, I got lots of early exposure to the outdoors, learnt to navigate and to how to look after myself in the mountains.
When I moved up to Scotland for university (where I’ve remained since), I was more of a skier and spent a few winters getting out ski touring as much as possible. That's where I started carrying a camera, trying to bring back decent images from the days out. As I started to take the photography more seriously, I started winter climbing and quickly got hooked on it
In The High Lonesome in SJ 325, we feature an excerpt from your book, The Great Mixed Climbs of Scotland (Scottish Mountaineering Press, 2025). Guy Robertson, your co-author, writes, “There’s something deeply nourishing about the physical and psychological freedoms of Scottish winter climbing.” How would you describe the experience of Scottish winter climbing?
HF: A big feeling of adventure distilled into a single day.
There’s so much to Scottish winter climbing that isn’t actually about the climbing itself. The planning and tactics, pouring over weather forecasts trying to decide which cliffs might be in condition, setting out in the cold and dark for a long walk in weighed down by a heavy bag.
Because of the ephemeral nature of winter conditions here, it’s often the case that a route might just be in winter condition for a single day before thawing again, so it’s about being in the right place at the right time to take that opportunity and try and climb it, which makes it feel even more special when you do succeed. Whilst on the route itself, it’s about trying to keep yourself warm and dry enough to be able to climb in often mad weather, whilst making long, slow leads where every piece of protection, hook and small upward movement is often hard-won. It almost feels like going on a mini expedition, but without being encumbered by cold bivys or loads of extra kit.
Most of all though, I love the places it takes you. Climbing is a great vehicle to go and spend time in lots of wild and beautiful places, and the Scottish Highlands absolutely delivers on that front. I’m lucky enough to have climbed in some pretty spectacular places around the world now, but Scotland in the winter months is up there with the best of them.
Tim Miller pulling into the flake crack on the second pitch of Time Traveller (VII 7) on Carn Etchachan. / Photo: Hamish Frost
SJ: Continuing the quote from above, Robertson writes, “... It holds tremendous spiritual appeal in an increasingly sterile, risk-averse world, where children no longer play unsupervised, and mountain safety is locked into your mobile phone.” These lines open the second paragraph. Why did you both feel it was important to convey this point early on, to set the tone this way?
HF: Because it’s such a big part of the draw of it all. I guess to non-climbers the idea of going out in the depths of winter and going and trying to climb a frozen cliff in the middle of nowhere is something that might look like unnecessary risk-taking, when in some ways it’s the opposite. A lot of it is attempting to de-risk the activity, and using judgement and skill to make occasional calculated risk. When you’re in what can feel like a slightly hostile and potentially risky environment, there’s nothing more rewarding and satisfying than making good decisions, using your own judgement and skill to safely navigate your way through that environment and getting up routes (at least sometimes).
SJ: You’ve climbed remote 6,000+ meter peaks in the Himalaya and extensively explored the Highlands, among other places. As a photographer, let’s talk about specifics: how does your kit (camera gear, rigging, etc.) differ for winter climbing from rock? How do your considerations for shooting change?
HF: It depends so much on the route and how I’ve decided I want to shoot it. Fortunately, most of the routes in Scotland are generally quite short and there’s usually fairly easy access to the top of the cliff. So most of the time I’ll take a 50 or 100m static rope and rig in from the top to shoot.
There’s no bolts in Scotland so one of the trickiest bits of the day is often digging out some good anchors at the top, and also making sure you’re actually abbing into the right line as you can’t normally see in so easily from the top (it sounds straightforward but it’s something I have got wrong enough times before). On these days, as I’m not actually climbing, I can usually afford to carry a bit more camera gear so I’ll take two bodies, one with a wide angle and one with a longer zoom so I don’t have to go changing lenses on the rope and can switch between the two quickly.
For longer routes (either in Scotland or bigger routes in the Alps, etc.) or where there’s perhaps a pitch I want to shoot low down (and therefore rigging in from the top might be too complex), it might make more sense for me to climb it too. For this I’ve used a range of tactics, from climbing as two teams (with me in the front team so I can photograph the team below), to climbing as a three and me leading the pitch in question, belaying with a short length of static and then dropping the climbing ropes so I can photograph someone releading the pitch. For those days I’d probably go lighter on the camera gear, just taking a single body and one or maybe two lighter lenses. Drones can be useful too, but it’s often tricky getting calm and dry enough conditions to fly them. You often get a lot of moisture in the air in Scotland and I’ve had a few occasions where the props have iced up and they’ve fallen out of the sky.
Greg Boswell on the first ascent of Fear of the Unknown (VIII,9), Coire an Lochain. / Photo: Hamish Frost
SJ: By the nature of the photos you take, you’re climbing and photographing. How does dangling for hours waiting for the shot, in frigid and tenuous conditions, affect your relationship to the routes and the mountains you’re in?
HF: From a practical point of view, it’s probably helped me become better at finding and placing gear. There’s strong ethics in Scotland around a route having to appear wintery in condition or be suitably frozen (if involving turf or ice), in order for it to be considered fair game to climb with axes and crampons. Being able to find and place adequate protection when a route is coated in snow or rime ice is therefore one of the most valuable skills in winter climbing.
When rigging into routes to shoot, I’m often spending a lot of time finding rebelays so the rope isn’t weighted over sharp edges, and with more time available to do this versus when leading a pitch, it’s probably got me a lot better at knowing where to look to find placements that I might previously have missed.
Aside from that, it’s definitely taught me a level of patience I didn’t know I had.
SJ: Why did you want to produce this book?
HF: There’s a huge amount of history to the routes in the book and the progression of hard mixed climbing in Scotland, so it plays an important part in recording that.
From the photography side, I was excited as there were relatively few images of many of the routes, so it was a great opportunity and motivator to go and get some strong photos that did justice to both the quality of the climbs and the stories behind them. It was important to both of us that the book would be something that people would flick through and get inspired by, so filling it with photos that had the capacity to get people psyched and showcased everything that makes Scottish winter climbing brilliant was a priority.
SJ: What are you most excited about for people to see inside it?
HF: There’s so much great writing and so many amazing stories in there that it’s hard to pick favourites, but I guess from a slightly personal point of view, Malcolm Bass, Simon Yearsley and Tim Miller’s chapter about Pobble (Direct) is a highlight.
Malcolm is a good friend who I met through a trip to India a number of years back when he made the first ascent of Janhukot. Both Malcolm and Simon had their winter climbing careers cut short a few years ago, Simon due to injury and Malcolm due to a life-changing stroke, leaving them with an unfinished list of projects they’d hoped to climb together. They subsequently made the generous decision to pass on this list to various friends in the community, one of which was a direct finish to a route they’d made the first ascent of on the remote cliffs of Foinaven in the far north, which they decided to pass on to Tim. Tim picks up the second half of the chapter with his account of our attempt to finish the project, on a day that encapsulated all the uncertainty and adventure of a perfect day out winter climbing.
From a photography point of view, Ryan Balharry’s images of Sundance on Beinn Eighe are a standout for me — incredible action shots with a huge sense of scale to them, really showcasing Beinn Eighe as one of the most spectacular winter climbing venues in the Highlands. Of my own, perhaps Hung, Drawn & Quartered on Am Basteir on the Isle of Skye. After photographing it, I knew it was one I wanted to go back and have a go at myself. When I finally did a year later, it turned out to be one of the highest quality mixed routes I’ve climbed.
Title page of the article in Summit Journal 325.
SJ: Anything else you’d like to share?
HF: Just to say a big thanks to everyone who contributed to the book and made it what it is. It was a real community effort to pull it all together in the few years we spent working on it, from all the various writers to all the photographers who were happy to contribute photos (a particular nod to Ryan, who I mentioned earlier, who got out and photographed a good number of the routes just for the book). Most of all to Guy, whose idea the whole thing was and who brought so much passion and energy to the project. It would never have happened without him.
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Feature Image: Matt Pavitt on the second pitch of Fallout Corner (VI,7). / Photo: Hamish Frost