The north east ridge drops very steeply near the top, then continues more gently to a sharp nose above a boggy col. After negotiating the forest fence we climbed steeply through heather to the col between Mor Bheinn and Ben Halton, disturbing a large flock of goats en route. It was they perhaps, rather than walkers, who were responsible for the maze of paths on this hill although a persistent one led to the trig point, not a natural goal for goats presumably.
The Ordnance Survey have really gone to town over crags on Mor Bheinn although in fact heather is more in evidence than rock. We could not help feeling that some of them could advantageously be transferred to An Grianan on map 9, which we had climbed recently, on which the OS marks no rock whatsoever.
Ben Halton has too little reascent to qualify for the tables but forms a twin with Mor Bheinn with the same heathery character. It was easily incorporated into the circuit and its south ridge followed back to the bridge over Water of Ruchill.
The car park at the end of the road is marked as a picnic site but offers little scope for the average tourist who is warned off the steep ascent of Stobinian but is not provided with any simple trails as an alternative. This must explain why we met three couples on the forest roads alongside Stob Breac which must be singularly unsatisfying since they both end abruptly without having offered any particularly pleasing views en route. This was the first day this year that we had been able to wear shorts but we had walked no more than two minutes from the car park when a hungry cleg provided a painful reminder of the downside of the Scottish summer.
We followed the easterly road to its terminus from which it was not too bad a struggle through the fairly young trees onto the ridge. There are two grassy tops, the more northerly claiming supremacy and carrying a miniscule cairn. The ridge has many little crags on the western side, giving it the speckled appearance which gives the hill its name, however the col between the two tops is the key to a trouble free descent, at least until the trees grow large enough to block access from hill to track.
Unfortunately we did not wake as early as usual and it was nearly nine when we set out, going first, by stalker's track, to the foot of the east ridge of Beinn Clachach, up which we climbed to its pleasant summit with a little lochan, the highest of many knobbles on this rough hill.
A young skylark, almost fully fledged, was startled by my clumsy approach and belly-flopped into the lochan. Fortunately it managed to flap its way to the side where I pulled it out to dry in the sunshine. I hope it survived. Certainly it was cheeping loudly and parent birds were seen with beakfuls of food in the vicinity.
We descended into the northern corrie and thus joined the stalker's track which led us down into Glen Arnisdale. It was around five already so the sensible thing would have been to return through the glen, however on this perfect warm set fair day the very real prospect of benightion seemed less unpleasant than the thought of missing this glorious evening on Druim Fada. We made the conscious, rational decision to carry on and if necessary sit out the few hours of darkness in the survival bags.
It was an easy hour's pull up from the bridge. Thereafter illusions of striding an airy ridge were quickly shattered. Here is one of the toughest, roughest, wildest hills in Scotland. Here is one of the worst places in the world for weary walkers in a hurry. Let us not pretend that we actually enjoyed this torturous traverse. It looks rough and knobbly on the map but on the scale of 1 to 50,000 the OS have squeezed in only a fraction of the bumps and twists and crags and lochans. There is no track of course and the trig point, reached after much more effort than we anticipated, lies shattered and abandoned. Between here and the true summit the ups and downs intensify and the crags steepen. Three attractive lochans, marked on the map, measure our painfully slow progress.
The retrospective view of the sun sinking behind the Skye Cuillin and dizzy glimpses onto Loch Hourn and Barrisdale emphasise how far we have to travel. The walk out from Barrisdale to Kinloch Hourn is hard enough at the end of a long day. The same distance along the ridge of Druim Fada is daunting indeed. Yet it is magnificent; the ridges of Ladhar Bheinn etched clear by the low light of evening; the incomparable beauty of the western seascape of the western Highlands an excuse for a rest and a backward glance on every little hillock. Although Rowland rechristens the hill 'Hell's Ridge' it is certain that later we shall look back on this as one of the most memorable of our many Scottish mountains.
The summit was reached at last. Two small cairns mark a west and east top very close together. Eastwards the ridge continues to be more knobbly than the map suggests and it is almost certain that had we come up from Kinloch Hourn in mist we should have stopped short of the true summit at a large cairn between it and the 647 spot height. But what a dreadful mistake to climb this hill in mist! And what a mistake to peak-bag it from Kinloch Hourn! To fully appreciate 'Hell's Ridge' requires a complete traverse, better done as a circuit from Arnisdale perhaps.
The final top of the ridge, Carn nan Caorach, is guarded by steep cliffs on the west which we chickened out of in the fading light and escaped into the corrie to its north. We arrived back at the motor caravan twenty minutes after midnight yet still with enough dusky light to avoid using a torch, even for the stepping stones at Loch Coire Shubh.
Midges and very high temperatures proved to be a combination totally unconducive to sleep, leading to a 5.30am start. At the end of the forest we turned sharp left and made for the south-west shoulder of Beinn a'Chapuill which led up to the long lochan between its two west ridges, with Skye neatly positioned above it but rather too distant for a successful photo.
The summit too has a lochan and revealed a splendid eastwards panorama, a jumble of ridges brushed with streaks of early morning mist. We lingered here for a second breakfast, then made the steep descent to Loch Bealach na h-Oidhche.
Here we parted company. Rowland made straight for Beinn Mhialairigh while I went up the splendid curving ridge of Beinn Sgritheall. I have climbed many of the Munros twice but this was the one which I most wanted to do again. I had quite good conditions for my first ascent, when I also incorporated two Corbetts into the day, but the very top was in mist and so I missed what is reputed to be the finest panorama in Scotland.
Today I sought the shady side of the summit cairn to rest and enjoy the view. The sheer number of summits seen from this vantage point is astounding but either over expectation or the flat light from the midday sun, glaring in a cloudless sky, meant that it excited me less than the earlier prospect from Beinn a'Chapuill. Where the higher summit does score is in revealing the southwards view, from Ladhar Bheinn just across Loch Hourn to the distant hump of Ben Nevis. I gave as well a respectful glance at Druim Fada, now forgiven for the torture it had inflicted two days before.
The west ridge is very steep and craggy so I resorted to the western corrie, the way I had come up before. It has a subterranean river, running below boulders, which lower down surfaces to provide welcome refreshment on what was now an uncomfortably hot afternoon. Four walkers were struggling up, a reminder that this is a Munro and a moment to appreciate the unpopularity of Scotland's lesser hills. I read later that 40,000 copies of Munro's Tables have been sold, so there is little hope of enjoying solitude on anything over 3000 feet high.
Well a lesser hill now awaited me, one on which I was most unlikely to meet another soul. The slopes are grassy, deer fences being the only hazard. Hopes of a long rest and a cool breeze at the summit were in vain. There was no breath of wind and clouds of midges were in biting mood despite the brilliant sunshine. The west ridge of Beinn Mhialairigh is vague, rough and craggy. It might have been easier, but perhaps a mite less satisfying, to have cut back down the north-east ridge to the forest.
I have already sung the praises of Creag Dhubh Mhor as a viewpoint for the Torridon hills. Because they are quite distant from here it might be likened to the gallery in a theatre while the much nearer Beinn na h-Eaglaise would be the stalls. On this analogy Carn Breac is the most expensive seat in the house, the front row of the dress circle. Had this hill been constructed solely as a viewpoint for the Torridon giants its summit could not have been sited more perfectly, looking straight through Glen Coulin to Liathach and Beinn Eighe.
We left the car at the foot of the Allt Coire Crubaidh and covered the unpleasantly busy road back to Glencarron Lodge very fast on the bicycles with a strong east wind. We had spotted the track onto the hill and although it has vanished completely in the lower reaches and is rather overgrown higher up it was worth tracing to give an easier ascent than straight up through the heather. The great gash of a valley on this side of the hill is quite impressive from above and adds interest to this route which is very easy going once the ridge is attained.
We lingered long at the idyllically situated summit before walking on to Beinn na Feusaige which has a long flat top with a summit lochan. A direct descent from Beinn na Feusaige is prevented by both gradient and trees. It was necessary to retreat down the west ridge for some distance before struggling down through steep heather. A traverse to Lubmore would have been more rewarding if transport could have been arranged.
The bicycles were invaluable for the long run in to Leckie via Heights of Kinlochewe. Then an old stalker's track led to the foot of the grass. It was unbearably hot with the distant hills shimmering through a heat haze and there was no relief of shade or water on this ridge of unbroken tedium. The view behind us was the only redeeming feature, the Torridon hills again, with Slioch now particularly prominent, and Fionn Bheinn showing its best side to prove that, unlike Beinn nan Ramh, it does carry a few crags.
We stripped at the summit, trying to catch the slightest suspicion of a breeze on our bare skin. The probability of another party appearing to observe our nakedness seemed comparable with the chances of winning a million pounds on the lottery. Back down at the river we found welcome shade below a bank of peat. We plunged into the water and wearing a dripping t-shirt allowed me to continue in tolerable comfort. By the time we had reached the bikes it was dry again. I can only remember one other day as hot as this on a British hill, more than quarter of a century ago in the Brecon Beacons.
This is another hill, of course, which should have been done before. We did a long backpack from Poolewe to Braemore Junction, climbing all the wonderful Corbetts and Munros en route from strategically placed base camps. Thus we had been up Beinn Airgid Charr and Beinn Lair but omitted Meall Mheinnidh which lies between them, has very much the same character but happens to be a few metres less than 762. Well I'm glad we left it out, for this is an area too good to be polished off in a single visit.
We took the cycles in from Poolewe, riding them past two unlocked but lockable gates carrying no unauthorised vehicles signs. The third was more specific ... no bicycles whatsoever ...; a pretty mean restriction on a well made, boring to walk track like this. The landowner here is being held up as a model, having been party to an access agreement, however the notices are not entirely friendly, forbidding camping and exhorting walkers to stay on the tracks, thus effectively putting most of the summits out of bounds.
The track was very muddy in places, even after the long dry spell. We followed it into Strathan Buidhe and so onto the steep north-west ridge of Meall Mheinnidh with splendid retrospective views of the lochan strewn bog behind us. It was not quite so hot as yesterday. The summit offered a breeze and another aspect of the Torridon mountains beyond Loch Maree, the nearest hill being Beinn a'Chearcaill, another Graham and another summit which up to now has been neglected in favour of higher things.
We continued the traverse past a tiny lochan to the double bealach with Beinn Lair. The track runs through the more easterly col and we followed it, below the steep northern crags of Meall Mheinnidh, to rejoin our outward route near Loch an Doire Crionaich which provided a splendid foreground for a photo of our hill as well as refreshing water for our feet.
We back-tracked to our previous night's camping spot where we had been thrilled to see a pine marten which had come to raid the litter bin. This time we parked right alongside the bin and, like the animals of African gameparks, it completely ignored the vehicle. Rather sad in a way to think that it has learned to sponge off humans but exciting for us to get a close up view of this beautiful creature.
We walked up through sea mist as far as the waterfall draining the north end of the loch. As we encircled its western shore the sun broke through and the long climb up the north ridge, through alternating bog and rock, was a hot and sweaty one once again. The trig point is not quite at the highest point, which was occupied by a ptarmigan. Her reluctance to move was explained when a couple of chicks fluttered hesitantly away from under our feet as we bulldozed our way to the summit cairn.
It was another exceptional day and the panorama was exceptional to match, with the Skye Cuillin in the western haze above a persistent sea mist and An Teallach, Ben Dearg Bheag and Beinn Dearg Mor far more dramatically close in the east. The last two mountains are particular favourites of mine, having been my last Corbetts. Southwards, yesterdays peak, flanked by Beinn Lair and Beinn Airigh Charr, looked very striking against the sun but A'Mhaighdean and its neighbours were hidden behind the boring side of Beinn a'Chaisgein Mor.
We had planned to return by the track which our map showed along the west side of the Little Gruinard River, reckoning that this wide stream would be easily waded in the dry conditions and that this would give us the shortest road walk to return to the car. Several factors contributed to our change of mind. Firstly we were not enthusiastic about retracing our steps down the rough north ridge of the hill. Secondly we could see, only too clearly, that a hideously ugly bulldozed track had been gouged across the lovely lochan strewn landscape well above but parallel to the river. It was likely that this uninviting alternative would have superseded the walker's track. Thirdly the rough ridges to the east looked far more interesting. Fourthly on another scorchingly hot day we needed to reach water as soon as possible. So east it was, down to the stalker's track, now probably little used but still easily traceable. What a contrast between the modern track, heading to its goal like a bullet, and these skillfully routed paths which trace the natural line of the hill. I wonder if when they were first constructed there were protests from those who preferred their hills untouched.
This one is a gem, running elegantly beneath the cliffs of Creag na Sgoinne, but, just like a modern forest road, it ends abruptly and inexplicably in the middle of nowhere. A bit of rough trackless descent soon brought us down to a pleasant spot to bathe tired hot feet in the Allt Loch Ghiubhsachain which, fortunately, was easily crossed to the much easier going on its further bank.
It was rather pleasing, on returning home, to find Hamish Brown in the latest TGO magazine, describing Beinn a'Chaisgein Beag as a hill for the connoisseur.
I came down the same way, crossed the river and went straight up Beinn Mheadhoin where I had the unusual experience, for a Graham, of meeting another walker - my husband! The stalker's path southwards has been replaced by another landrover track but from the point where it crosses the stream an old made path, not shown on the map, winds up onto the north shoulder.
Although probably little visited by hillwalkers the upper reaches of the hill are liberally sprinkled with cairns, culminating in a very hoary one which crowns a rocky rib at the summit. It was the sort of windless morning when one could sit and listen to the silence, broken only by the persistent whistling of golden plovers calling to each other across the rock strewn plateau.
A track leads up to a couple of huts and then swings further east, crosses the ridge and runs out into the empty wilderness beyond. Here Gerard Manley Hopkins might well have written of wildness and wet although it is most unlikely that he ever visited this unfrequented area, beloved it would seem only by grouse shooters. I hate to see these ugly bulldozed tracks although one can rarely resist the temptation of utilising them.
The ridge has no track and is indeed wild and normally wet as well no doubt. There is no summit cairn, despite the name of the hill, but a trig point, marginally north of the highest tussock perhaps, reveals the view down onto Inverness and the Moray Firth. Eastwards the very similar Graham, Carn nan Tri-tighearnan, fills most of the skyline but it is surely westwards that the walker will gaze while consuming a well earned summit snack, especially if arriving fairly late in the day as we did. Ridge behind ridge drew our eyes to the real mountains, still flecked with late lying snow and backed by a stormy sky as the anticyclone, which had given us ten days of fantastic weather, finally drifted away eastwards.
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