In reply to John Burns: A great, cathartic thread! Thanks everyone.
Some years ago I worked in Inverness for the winter. I had finished a night shift and it was such a beautiful snowy day I drove down to Aviemore and then up to Coire Cas and the car park (this was >15 years ago, long before any funicular). A monday in march probably: not the busiest.
I put the big boots on and wandered across the base of Coire an Sneachda, up the Fiacaill ridge and up to the plateau, heading for Ben Macdui. Given that I'd been awake for about 24hrs and it was starting to catch up with me a bit, I sat propped up against the rocks just below the top, put a big duvet on and had some soup from my flask. Lovely. Aaah, and breathe out. Quite sheltered here, with some pale sunlight to warm me...
A few hours later I awoke, very cold, and quite disorientated. It was now snowing reasonably although I was well sheltered from the wind. At least it was still daytime - this was a bonus as a few years previously I had fallen asleep after a long shift on Dartmoor and woke in the dark because it had started to rain, but that's another story.
Well the soup was pretty cold by now too, but I had my map and... oh. Compass was in the drawer at home rather than in the top pocket of my pack. I creaked out from my sheltered spot and could see not a footprint. It wasn't a particularly malevolent day thankfully - just that eerie flat greyness of the winter Cairngorms. I could see about 20m in any one direction. And I did have a map, and a watch; no coal, but a bivvy bag and a duvet plus some food so I wasn't going to die or anything - provided i didn't fall off anything.
I'm not sure I have ever concentrated quite so much on navigation in my life as I did for the next couple of hours. Everything was done on pacings and timings, estimation of slopes, and a good slice of luck. A compass would have been lovely; despite my disdain for GPS, I would have sold my granny for one there & then. If I didn't concentrate on the map all I could think of was the shame of being found, compass-less, wandering the plateau.
Eventually I hit the flat neck above the top of the goat track, but under the circumstances I thought I might avoid the sketchy bit at the top for the safe but steeper Fiacaill which could be readily downclimbed to pick up the track back to the car. As I scraped my way down in the fading light I met the first person I had seen all day: he looked pretty alarmed when I greeted him like a long lost brother. Frankly I could have kissed him. The walk out was one of those suffused with relief, and the chips & curry sauce from the guy by the station in Aviemore was like nectar.
I now have my compass tied in to the zip of the top pocket
b