The five munros of Fisherfield are highly prized amongst munro-baggers for many reasons. They are situated in the most remote of ground, and A'Mhaighdean has the distinction of being the furthest from a public road of all munros. The area is know as the Great Wilderness, and a foray into this area soon re-affirms why it is know as such. The full round used to be six munros, but due to re-measuring, Beinn a'Chlaidheimh has been demoted to a Corbett. It is still a splendid hill of course, and usually included in people's plans, but with a weather forecast as challenging as the one we had, discretion had the better part of valour.
Our main issue was that any route from the North North East, from the traditional starting point of Corriehallie on the Dundonnell road, involves various river crossings of the Abhainn Strath na Sealga and /or the Abhainn Gleann na Muice. In dry conditions these can just be a splash across in a pair of sandals. In spate, they are simply impossible, being wide and with strong flows. Andrew needed these munros to leave him with only three left before his 'compleation', and having had three previous attempts cancelled, flexibility and determination was key to achieving our objective.
I had read about an approach to the hills from the South, along a very good estate track from Incheril. The recent work on one of the now ubiquitous small hydro schemes had the added benefit of even more mitigation work on the track and path, and finally it's main attraction was that although in the wet conditions forecast there would be a number of smaller burn crossings, none of them should be a game-changer.
The forecasts of late have been unreliable even by normal British standards, and MWIS even pointed that out on their synopsis. We had moved the days back accordingly, but eventually realised that we would simply have to go for it, so met at Incheril at 4pm on the Tuesday afternoon. There was sufficient shelter from the trees in car park to encourage the midges to make a pre-emptive attack as we donned water proofs, so we wasted no time in setting off.
The plan was to walk in to the end of Loch Fada and make camp. It had the benefit of being open ground, so with sufficient wind to remove the midge scourge, but unfortunately has a dearth of dry flat ground, and indeed, we needed to tuck in behind a hillock to avoid the worst of the wind. You can't win eh!? We had both travelled comparatively lightly, and had made good time, so once dinner had been consumed with a cup of tea, it was really just a case of hunkering down. Both tents coped admirably with the conditions, and the wind wasn't too bad over night, though it rained on and off.
The route the next day was only 21k, but with over 2200m of ascent. The main challenge however was the terrain. We would be pretty much pathless all day, over tussocky, bouldery, wet ground. It promised to be tiring, and accordingly we set off at 05:45am, giving us plenty of time to move at a pace that was comfortable. The visibility was never good, and although the cloud did eventually lift a little at the end of the day, most of it was spent in the murk of drizzly rain, and the compass was out on more than one occasion.
First there was a long rising traverse under Beinn Tarsuinn to reach the open bealach of Pollan na Muice. There are a lot of Muices in this story, and Google tells me that it is Scots Gaelic for pig, so it could be either from the shape of the topography, as per Badenoch, or indeed pigs were reared here in centuries past. If it was the latter, they would surely have needed those wee corrugated sheds, as it's a wild old place! ;)
A'Mhaighdean, (The Maiden), the most remote munro, and the one with one of most wonderful views refused to reveal her charms, so after a brief cup of tea in the howff at the bealach, we carefully ascended Ruadh Stac Mor, being ever aware of the loose rock on the eroded path. (A howff is a rudimentary shelter, usually just an enhanced cave or in this case, a space under a big rock with space for 3 or 4 folks). After ticking that summit, we re-traced our steps, and from then on went 'off-piste'. We picked a line just NE of Stac a'Chaorrainn, between the two burns, finally swinging S as the slabs steepened. It was really pleasant, and would have been a joy in clear conditions. The cloud lifted a shade, enabling us to see the grassy treadmill facing us on the ascent to Loch a'Bhrisidh from the glen. 
We crossed the burn in Gleann na Muice as high as practicable, as there was still a prodigious amount of water draining off, and had a tricky little crossing of the largest burn just West of the marked waterfalls on the OS 1:50k. It cascades in a serious of slabby shelves, tempting to just paddle, but slippery with a consequential fall. A little casting about found a reasonable one, and after that, it was just a slog, and a long one at that.
I always find the ascent of Sgurr Ban a pull, but this one seemed to pass relatively quickly as we chatted and did random quizzes to distract the mind from the toil. Again, the summit was heavily clagged in, so we immediately set off for Mullach Coire Mhic Fhearchair on a bearing. There is a faint path through the boulders, but I still started up it a few metres too far West, but quickly rectified that, gaining the loose but efficient zig-zag path to the summit. I won't rattle on again about what views we didn't have of Beinn Tarsuinn's ridge etc, as it was the story of the day I suppose, so without further ado, we set off down. 
On the descent we met the only folks we saw all day, a chap and his dad making a steady ascent of our hill after doing Beinn Tarsuinn from the same direction as our walk-in. They had seen our tents, so we knew they were still stoically facing up to the wind. There is a good little bypass path that skirts Meall Garbh, and deposits you at the bealach before Beinn Tarsuinn. It can be tricky in winter conditions, but today was no problem. We had a final snack to give some energy for the final big pull, and then went for it. I like the summit of Beinn Tasuinn as it has a great photogenic slab from which you can get the shot with An Teallach behind you, and most of the 'normal' route. But today...... :(
So that was that. Five munros done. Okay, we had not had the best of views, and the route was esoteric and tiring, but a good alternative in the conditions, with a much higher chance of success than dicing with the rivers farther NE. It was very atmospheric in its defence, in the swirling, brooding cloud. The descent was done rapidly, as there is a boggy path that runs to the E of the burn draining the Bealach Odhar, and we were back at the tents by 17:00. 
We realised that if we ate and then went to bed, it would be a very long night, and of course didn't really have an updated forecast (for what it was worth!). We therefore took the decision to make a hot meal of our remaining dehydrated packets, (which always taste soooo good after a long day on the hill), pack up, and walk out. Okay, it would mean that we had been on our feet for the best part for 14 hours, but the palpable sense of satisfaction carried us through.
We bid a rapid farewell at the car park as the midges moved in rapidly again, and both set off to our respective accommodation for a shower and some welcome dry clothes. Job done.
Thank you to Andrew for allowing me to explore a new route, and for the company as we slogged the kilometres away through the bog. Good luck on your final summits!

So here we are, almost a week since the five mile travel restrictions were lifted in Scotland. I wondered what effect Nicola Sturgeon's request for us to holiday at home rather than travel abroad would have as I planned a little Munro bagging foray to Glen Affric? Last weekend up in Strathcarron, we only saw one chap on the hill, and one other camper the whole weekend, and the drive up suggested a similarly quiet highlands.
We had booked a static caravan in Cannich, at the excellent Cannich Holiday Caravans, where Matt and his son can't be more helpful. The van was spotlessly clean, midge-free and cosy, with all linen etc included. The site was very, very quiet though, despite the time of year, with only one motorhome on site and a few statics occupied. In the village, the Spar was open, but the pub was still closed. I suspect some people are waiting until the 15th July when places can open indoors, but there needs to be a balance struck between enough visitors to enable some of the local tourist economy to prosper, and too much that will inundate what few establishments are open, (irrespective of, and notwithstanding Covid concerns). We hardly had opportunity to speak to anyone, but there was an odd, subdued atmosphere.
But all that aside, we had a good, dry forecast, with little wind, so despite our post-lockdown corpulence, we settled on an anti-clockwise round of Carn Eighe, Beinn Fhionnlaidh and Mam Sodhail. I had wanted to check out the descent route which takes in the demoted Munro Sgurr na Lapaich, (no, not that one, another one!), so decided that an ascent up the boggy Gleann nam Fiadh, along the splendid East ridge onto Carn Eighe, the brutal and demoralising there-and-back on Beinn Fhionnlaidh and finally up onto Mam Sodhail before taking the ESE ridge off.
There is a new car park 200m before the old one at Chisholm bridge, all part of the hydro scheme mitigation I suspect, and this has a splendid new path that deposits you out on the improved track into the glen. There was evidence of disturbed earth everywhere, and I correctly assumed that this was to bury the new pipe from an intake somewhere near the outflow of the Allt Toll Easa. It had replaced an altogether rougher old track, so all things considered, it isn't an additional eyesore, and in my opinion preferable to wind turbines.
The continuation up the glen got ever prettier as we walked, the bell and cross-leaved heath heather both blooming purple, and the clouds gradually lifting. The bog is and was as ever, tedious, until we started to ascend on the surprising but altogether too short-lived stalkers path into the garbh coire, where we gained the eponymous bealach, and picked our way up the loose and steep path onto P1131. At one point there is what's left of a staircase of natural slabs arranged no doubt by a Victorian stalker for his laird, and still most welcome today. Paul spent much of the day questioning Sir Hugh's methodology as he scanned around at the demoted munro and the what appeared tiny Beinn Fhionnlaidh from this high eyrie, where so many 'tops' and summits are well above 3000ft, yet hardly get a mention. He was also dismayed at the large loss of height necessary after summiting Carn Eighe, in order to tick off Beinn Fhionnlaidh. It certainly is a head-game, as you have to come back the way you went, but we just 'got on with it', aided by a sandwich and some pain killers, which improved the mood.
On the return, you can make a traverse of Carn Eighe's Western flank to avoid a lot of effort, but this is best done from a flattening at the 1050m contour. This time we took a faint trace which started lower, and although we ended up on the main 'path' eventually, I still think it would have been easier to make the direct ascent to the pre-requisite height first, as we spent a fair while 'off-piste' as it were. That said, Paul's drugs had taken effect, and we marched steadily to the ostentatious summit cairn of Mam Sodhail in good order. 
The cairn is hollow, and most grand, testament to its importance to the OS during their survey. There we met the only other folks of the day, a couple and a young stalker out for a walk from their cottage on Loch Affric. We tugged our forlocks and pressed on. The views were great in the clean light, with Skye on the horizon, Rum, Torridon, Kintail, Knoydart, Lochaber and Ben Nevis easy to make out amongst the myriad hills.
The descent along the ridge was a treat, well, at least as far as the boggy ground at the foot of Sgurr na Lapaich, but we were tiring. There are a few steep little bluffs on the descent through the rocks, and the wet and eroded ground demanded concentration to add to our physical fatigue. We made it down to the track and Affric Lodge eventually, and tried to console ourselves along the long 3.5k road tramp that we had made a good time at just over 10 hours for the 30k and 1800m of ascent, but it was still a drag at the end of the day. We passed some optimistic loch-side campers on the way, and winced at the bare legs and arms as the midges sharpened their teeth in the encroaching evening light...I suspect they were first timers!
An absolutely fabulous day, with three highly prized munro ticks, views to die for and only one rain shower in the whole day. If only the Slater's Arms in Cannich had been open, we would have gladly put some funds into the local economy, but instead had to make do with a visit to the Spar and a cosy caravan. Still, you can't have everything.

So hopefully this will be one of my last enforced local walks, as the Scottish Government allows us to travel from this Friday, the 3rd July. Mind, it was an unexpected cracker, to which my photos on the gloomy day do little justice. I had intended to nip up Stronend from Fintry, a rocky escarpment which has caught my eye for many a year, but when I got to Carronbridge, the road was closed for repairs to the telephone lines. Grrrr!
So in a huff, I turned and drove towards the Ochils. Problem is, I have walked them so often and in so many ways that I just didn't want to go somewhere old hat as it were. As I drove, I remembered Dollar Glen, which I have cycled past a good few times during the 'incarceration', and settled on that. I seemed to recall walking up there with the kids many years ago, but I was sure we hadn't gone as high as King's Seat Hill, at 648m, so that was the objective.
I parked at the bottom of West Burnside, a delightful road on one side of the emotively named Burn Of Sorrow which rolls down from the high hills, originally powering mills, similar to so many of the Hillfoots glens. The houses tell of Dollar's Victorian opulence from this industry, as well as the classy Dollar Academy, set back in Academy place. Even the wee fountain was built with 'excess funds from an exhibition', illustrating the prosperity.
Walking up past the golf clubhouse and up Mill Green, I passed a few families and dog walkers enjoying the park-like nature of the green, reclaimed as it was by various local projects to cut back the undergrowth and establish an area for picnics and the like. Princess Anne opened it originally, and very nice it is too. Then it is into the steep-sided glen itself.
If you take the West path, it rises in a series of wooden steps and walk ways that keep kids from falling into the burn far below. It was here that I remembered for definite toiling up here with my wife and three young kids, initially aiming for the high hill, but realising at Bank Hill that it was far enough! It's a steep pull. The woodland has an abundance of mature oaks amongst the more run-of-the-mill beech, birch, alder, rowan and aspen, and it is a joy to take your time on the sharp switchback path above the tumbling water. There is an easier track which takes the more direct East bank towards the castle, nestled as it is at the confluence of the burns. It was originally called 'Castle Gloum', or Gloom, which rather than be derived from the darkness of the woods on this overcast day, is more likely from the Gaelic meaning 'chasm', which certainly abound. It was built in the early 15th Century, and is a splendid example of that era's Scottish architecture.
I took the path West, out onto the open hillside, cutting up steeply through the bracken. It really is a sharp pull onto Bank Hill at 346m, where there is a cairn. As you are coming up from pretty much sea level, the views open out immediately; the Firth of Forth, the industry at Grangemouth, Edinburgh, Fife and even far away Bass Rock. I pressed on, following an easy trace, through what I surmise were ancient land slips that have created some devious defiles in the hillside. I made mental note of them as excellent snow-holing locations in times of lowish level winter conditions!
​The onward slog up to King's Seat Hill at 648m is pretty unremarkable, apart from the lovingly tended memorial cairn to three young Canadian Spitfire pilots who crashed into the hill in January 1943, all aged 22 years old. You can only imagine the carnage, as each plane plunged one by one into the hillside in zero visibility. Despite the impact, one pilot survived, yet spent 2 days on the hill in full winter conditions before being found and rescued. So near to warmth and succour, yet so far.
After pausing there for a while, I made the summit, happy in the cool, breezy conditions that kept me comfortable and insect-free. So the plan was a there-and-back... but wait, what about those two inviting hills to the North East? Tarmangie and Whitewhisp Hills. They look so inviting. I could make a wide traverse via the bealach at Andrew Gannel Hill, and cross the Maddy Moss. Let's do it.
And so I did. Okay, so maybe the Maddy Moss idea was a little off-piste, but it was relatively dry underfoot despite the torrential rain of the day before, (when I ascended Earls Seat Hill, the highest in the Campsie Fells, getting sodden through....lots of seats these aristocracy had eh!?), so I made good progress. There were one or two deep re-entrants to negotiate, and I did wonder whether the more direct up and down route would not have been better as I toiled upwards, but where's the adventure?
The traverse of the two hills followed an old wall, with great views North to the Creiff and Comrie hills, the munros at Lochearnhead, the Lomond Hills in Fife and beyond to the Firth of Tay. I was loving it. What made it better were the cloudbursts all round, over Stirling, Falkirk and Auchterarder, but I stayed dry all day.
I made a steep grassy descent South East off the col of Saddle Hill, through the sheep fank and picked up the track back down the the castle. I should have taken the Eastern track for an easier descent, but ended up back on the Western one, so had some re-ascent before the wooded walkway back down to Mill Green. Pretty though it was, I could have done without the effort!
What a great way to spend an afternoon that started so inauspiciously, but boy was I looking forward to my tea. 
I have little positive to say about the effects of the Covid crisis, but as I mentioned in a previous blog, getting to know my local area more intimately has been a small consolation. If you haven't been there, do go, it's well worth it.

Blimey, it has been since February that I have added a blog. Well, due to the lockdown, there has been little to tell.

Since the middle of March, I have only driven once to a hill at all, Meikle Bin, which is local to me, and just past my old house on the Touch Hills. Despite crawling the walls with repeated walks around North Third and Lewis Hill crags, apart from a little cycling, I have not ventured any more than walking distance from my house, as per the restrictions. Whether or not I agree with them, and/or how they have been implemented, especially with Scotland enduring it longer, is academic, as I feel it is important to comply with the government.

So they have been lifted a little, and we can do a little more in the outdoors, like fishing, bowls etc. Yet the hills still seem 'off-limits', and guidance on how far you can travel in order to exercise or recreate is still mixed - 'A reasonable distance', 'a distance that takes less time than the activity', 'not needing to use a toilet' and finally, 'preferably 5 miles'. 

How many folks have more than parkland within 5 miles of their house? How busy does this therefore get, on the likes of canal towpaths, country walks through pasture etc. How much harder to distance on the narrow paths involved than up in the hills?

Anyway, with all that said and done, I decided a 15 minute drive to hills visible from my window was both preferable and justifiable, and judging by the amount of folks out, so did a good few others. Yet it was still simple to avoid each other etc.

I walked to the summit of Ben Cleugh, the highest hill in the Ochil hills which stand above Clackmannashire and the hillfoot villages of Mentrie, Alva, Tillicoultry and Dollar. I chose the traversing path that takes you to the high bealach between King's Seat hill and Andrew Gannel hill, and making sharp progress,  I passed maybe half a dozen folk as I sweated upwards. There was one chap a couple of hundred metres ahead, yet try as I might, I could not catch him, despite his relaxed gait. I think his long legs gave him the edge, (let alone his youth)! ;)

When I did finally catch up with him as he rested on Andrew Gannel hill 670m, we chatted a little. Jean-Marc was a young Frenchman, working a contract at one of the Grangemouth petro-chemical companies, and he was ruing the fact he was locked down with all this lovely weather and his chance to see Scotland. I suggested some routes once we do get to travel further afield as we walked together, (but distanced!) to the summit of Ben Cleugh, 721m. The weather was wonderfully warm, but with a cooling Easterly breeze. The views were unfortunately hazy, but you could just make out Ben More and Stob Binnien still carrying a little snow, as well as the Lawers range to the North.  

We parted there, and I descended quickly over Ben Ever and down towards Wood hill and the path around the top of Mill Glen, resplendent yellow with the broom fully in bloom. I always enjoy the contrast of the wild moorland up high, then the abrupt change to gardens, the golf course and lowland pasture as you drop down the glen. The stabilisation work on the paths is welcome, but evidence of the industrial history is still apparent if you look around, when the power of water and gravity drove the machinery of the mills along the hillfoots, and led to the establishment of the villages.

I passed the time of day with some very pleasant ladies who were resting on one of the bridges, the exertion being rather a lot for them in the warmth, and in their extra winter coat as it were ;) Lower down, another nice couple were from Bulgaria and Hungary respectively, and I was able to surprise them that I have climbed to the highest points in both of their countries, neither being particularly well known of course.

I have mentioned on Facebook that one of the few benefits of this lockdown has been really getting intimate with my local paths and walks, and really, this is a walk I do regularly. Today however, it seemed extra enjoyable for it being just that bit higher, just that bit wilder, just that bit more special. Not Torridon I grant you, not Glencoe or Lochaber, not Skye or Fisherfield, and certainly not Corsica or the Alps, but as a small consolation, it was very welcome.

Andy and I had been exchanging Emails for many months about a winter skills weekend, and we had settled on last weekend as our date. It is always a punt for folks coming up from the South of England, hiring kit, booking accommodation and gambling on the weather. Of course, if you are imaginative and keep your options open, I believe there is 'always something you can do'. but this winter of incessant rain, howling gales, oscillating temperatures and in England awful flooding has tested even the most resilient and optimistic. When we have had freezing conditions and snow, the wind has made it nigh on impossible to get on to the high summits, and as this weekend approached it looked depressingly familiar.
We met in the Coylumbridge Hilton on Friday evening, and in the warm and with a pint discussed our plans. It is always nice and far more comfortable to be able to do this beforehand if possible and you can issue/check kit, fit crampons etc without shivering and loosing gloves to the wind! We could see that the torrential rain was forecast to turn to snow at last, but that the gale force winds would continue, albeit with breaks in the cloud occasionally. We resolved to try a lower route, which would give us an element of protection from the wind, but which would hopefully be frozen enough to give us some usable conditions.
The Burma Road is a track rising from Lynwilg, just across the A9 from Aviemore. It is not totally clear why it has been named thus, and my take on it is that the labourers who built it may well have likened the arduous nature of the work to its infamous namesake, built by allied POWs in the Second World War. It is unlikely that any Axis POWs would have named it so I feel, had they built it, as it would not have been known at the time. Anyway, whatever the reason, it gives an easy ascent into the hills above the strath, with great views between the squalls.
The weather was a mix of violent squalls of driving snow, interspersed with beautiful sunny spells. We had to don goggles early on, as progress was impossible without them, and they helped to counter the stinging spindrift even when it wasn't snowing. Due to the warmth in the ground and the heavy recent rainfall, the burn was flowing hard, so I didn't fancy an early crossing, and we continued as far as the bridge over the Allt Dubh, the Black Burn. There we had a snack in a lull, and I showed the principles of a rudimentary emergency shelter. The snow didn't allow for it to be as well-engineered as I would have liked, but the relative comfort out of the wind was experienced by all as they took it in turns to have a wee sit down.
After covering some of the basics of bootwork on some rather too crusty snow, we succumbed to a particularly violent squall, and decided to capitalise on a break and make our way over the summit of Creag Gleannain and onto its Easterly slopes. The wind was gusting 55-60mph, and I held on to Katy as she was the slightest built to prevent her being blown over. As I guessed, there was nice slope of windslab which we were able to cover self-belay techniques and a little ice-axe arrest, albeit in rather soft snow. The guys were absolutely up for everything, and literally threw themselves into it with gusto.
Presently it was time to descend, and after an interesting little burn crossing (with only a couple of damp feet), we found some shelter for a drink, snack and some photos.
The weather had gotten more clear with fewer snow showers, and the walk down was pleasant, planning for the next day. This was forecast to be clearer, (not so in actuality), but still 55+ on the summits. The ski area was to open, which would have allowed us a chance at higher terrain, but we opted for a more sure option. It always pays to be pragmatic when choosing your day - You MAY be able to cope with the ultra-challenging conditions, and you MAY find that it is better than forecast....but equally, it may NOT, and then you have an issue. By choosing our more benign option, we knew we would be able to relax, knowing it was do-able.
We parked at Glenmore and walked to Ryvoan through the Narnia-like wood. The shelter afforded was lovely, and we had to be careful to not over-heat. At Ryvoan bothy we stopped for a snack and a cuppa, chatting to a folks about to start a 5 day RAF Winter Foundation course, before making our ascent of Meall a'Bhuachaille, 810m. It got progressively windier as we climbed, but never too much so as to unbalance us, and we coped in sunglasses rather than goggles. We played leap-frog with the RAF group, and the importance of pacing the ascent was discussed, the leader maybe going a little too quickly initially, (oops!).
At the summit the wind was biting, and the cloud level dropped to envelop us in one last squall of snow as we descended. It was easier to be off the path to avoid the icy trodden terrain, and with care we got down to the wood without mishaps. Crampons would have been both awkward and useful in equal measure, but we elected to just use our boots and balance.
We finished the long morning's walk with a welcome pint and a chat at the Pinemarten pub. Andy and the team, Katy, Phil, Richard and Ilawi (forgive the spelling, I couldn't find it even in Google's Top 20 Jordanian Boy's Names!) were great company, asking all the right questions and keen to absorb the skills. Their attitude to the conditions was commendable, and I feel we have inspired them to more mad Scottish adventures. 

In the bleak pre-Christmas midwinter, there are few folks wanting to get out into the hills, as they are all focused on work's dos, presents and such like. Especially on the shortest day of the year. I mean, what can you feasibly get done? Maybe a short, hit and run kind of day, with a modest objective, getting down just around 3pm for a festive mince pie and a low alcohol beer before the drive home?
So what if you are trying to tick off those last few pesky munros on your second round, and they are gnawing at your very soul? The weather is looking cloudy, but dry. The freezing level has lifted a little. You are stir-crazy having had a big job cancelled.
But you only have two to do in the East where the weather is OK, Carn Fhidhleir and An Sgarsoch. They entail a 42k day, with at least a cycle in along a rough track to even get close. Madness surely?
​
But maybe not?

OK, you will need everything to go your way -

1) The drive up will need to be early Sunday AM, so the roads need to be amenable to that, arriving at the Linn of Dee for 08:00 ready for first light at 08:30
2) The track needs to be free of ice....remember the last attempt to cycle to Derry Lodge in the ice with Sean? Ouch!
3) The river crossings at the Allt Dhuaidh Mor and especially the Geldie Burn need to be safe, and preferably doable in boots. 
4) The stalker's path that takes you on a long traverse towards Carn an Fhidhleir (or Ealar, as it is alternatively known), needs to be relatively free of snow drifts.
5) The snow needs to not be so deep that it makes progress on the flanks of the hill, already boggy, rough, heathery and peat hagged, nigh on impossible.
6) The cloud doesn't want to be so thick that whiteout makes the navigation on the featureless terrain more difficult, eating into the time
7) You want to be off the hill proper and back at the track by dark
8) You are fit enough to do 42k in no more than 8hrs

Surely all of those stars cannot align at once, can they?

Well, yes, they can, and did. What a day I had. There is little of interest on these two hills other that their wild and remote location, the possible views of the South West Cairngorms and big feeling of satisfaction in getting them ticked. I noted in my log that it was 13 years since I last did them, in summer conditions, and that it was a 'tough day', so I knew that I was in for a challenge.

But it all fell into place. I was perfectly prepared to turn back if necessary, despite how much effort I would have put in to get to wherever I had gotten to. 'Prudence' as always. But I am quite hill fit right now, and whilst it was indeed a slog at times, and I was really working hard, every section was met, was seen to be doable, and was 'enjoyed' with a real determination. I made it back to the bike just as it got dark, found my head-torch had managed to drain its batteries, but as you always should have I had spares, and bumped and jolted back down the track and to the car by 16:30.

Absolutely pleased as punch I am :) 

​The weather may have been a complicated set of low pressure systems of late, but up here in Scotland the last few days have benefitted from being sat plumb in the middle of one, giving light winds, some good visibility and nice crispy low temperatures. There was a good fall of snow up high on Monday night which gave us a challenge, but the conditions were too tempting to ignore.
 
Hayley, her husband Stew, Kerry and myself set off very early Monday morning for the drive North, and apart from seeing one idiot almost come off the road after swerving all over on the A9, no doubt on his phone, we had an uneventful, if very salty journey. The plan was to make use of the low temperatures by making an ascent of Am Faochagach from the A835 Ullapool road. It is a particularly boggy hill, so having the ground frozen is by far the best way to have it. It also has a challenging burn crossing over the Abhainn a'Gharbhrain. In spate, it would be nigh on impossible, in low water conditions, the boulders are slimy and well spaced, and in icy conditions, they carry a sheen of verglas that make them treacherous.
 
Stew suggested putting our crampons on, which he and I did, and with some careful route choice, got across easily enough on the boulders, using our poles to balance us, the crampons biting really well. The ladies decided otherwise, and elected to paddle or wade. It was way too cold for me to do that, and we watched amused as they stripped or rolled up trousers, and used a spare pair of socks for grip on the slimy rounded boulders. It made my feet ache just watching them! Oddly, there was a pair of old boots and also a pair of what can only be described as winkle picker shoes on the far bank, which folks must have used to cross.....but why leave them on the far bank? They were frozen solid, and useless now, but we noted them for the return just in case. They could be of use. Loki the dog just saw them as an ideal chewing opportunity.
 
Once dried and with some blood back in the feet, we then made our way steadily up the open hillside. It was predominantly frozen, and we had some trail breaking to do in some drifts, but it wasn't too arduous, the views keeping us interested.
 
All day the views just kept getting better. Back to the Fannaichs, to An Teallach looking fantastic in its winter coat, Beinn Dearg and Cona' Mheall close by. Then, as we made the summit, we could see Stac Pollaidh and particularly Suilven, distinctive and black against the white of the horizon. Finally, we were interested to see the very distinctive weather front slowly encroach from the West, and feel the light breeze veer as it encircled us, never really pushing the clearer conditions away.
 
The descent was straightforward, and after a little giggle as the ladies again splashed across, it was back to the car by night fall, and the warmth and hospitality of Ullapool.
 
The next day was forecast for hill fog all day, but Kerry and I went for two of the Inverlael munros, Meall nan Ceapraichean and Eididh nan Clach Geala. It was an icy approach up the long Glen Squaib path, and soon we got into deeper snow. I was thankful for one solitary set of footprints that had obviously made their way up Beinn Dearg the day before, and with the light wind, they had not been too erased. Otherwise, we had to take it in turns to break trail, the snow over the basalt boulders making it strenuous.
 
We had zero visibility, and challenging navigation on the complicated terrain, particularly on the descent between the two munros. It was absorbing stuff though, and always nice to be able to confirm your map and compass work with a mapping app on my phone. Of course, we were bang on track always, but it is nice to be able to check! Indeed, on reading back in my log, I see I had some challenge there the last time I did it in winter.
 
We did feel some pressure to be off the steeper, more bouldery ground by dark, and so didn't linger on any summit, there being nothing to see anyway. We worked our way down on various compass bearings to where the descent path should have been (under the snow), and eventually broke through under the cloud for an atmospheric view of An Teallach in the gloaming.
 
The head torches came out for the last hour of the descent, and finally the lights of the road came into view. A very satisfying couple of hard-earned winter munro ticks.
 
You so often question your own sanity when slogging up the A9 for such a short visit to these Northern hills, and ditto when you are battling to find your way in a whiteout. But once you are down, showered, dry clothes on had a meal and with a pint in your hand, the memories make it all worthwhile. And have done for years.

This is a link to a blog I wrote recently for Wilderness Scotland, one of the companies I regularly work for. Not a lot of mountain walking, but a variation of things to keep you interested 

​My, I hadn't realised how long it was since I had last blogged. Most lax of me! Actually, the main reason is that I have been out of the country, (in Nepal mainly), working for one of the providers that prefers that I don't blog. I have also found myself with a little free time due to a trip to New Zealand being cancelled at the last minute, so it has been a case of admin, kit cleaning/sorting, homely chores and a few walks in my beautiful locale of Stirling.
 
My daughter Alex, who as a younger child was relatively reluctant to drag herself up windy, cold hills with her persistent father, has shown a little more interest in recent months. So first we went up Ben Vane from Inveruglas, allowing me to check out the progress on the new path. Patchy is all I can say, though I suppose I shouldn't criticise a half-finished job. Alex gave her new boots a good work out, and given her relative inexperience, was fit enough to get up and down in a reasonably quick time, and enjoyed the little bit of easy scrambling near the summit
 
We also had a very pleasant couple of hours around the wonderfully named Whangie, west of Strathblane. It is a striking cleft in the rock, 100m long and up to 10m high, and was apparently caused by glacial 'plucking', whereby the glacier pulled the rock away from the main mass as it receded. You park at the Queen's View car park, and it is a boggy old walk along what would otherwise be a very nice, relatively benign path that skirts Auchineden hill to the North. I had wanted to get around to this walk for years, intrigued by the name, so Alex gave me the excuse.
 
We followed the path west, but veered upwards, and so summited the hill at 357m before the main event as it were. It was lovely clear day, with superlative views of Loch Lomond and nearby hills, the Trossachs, the carse of Stirling and south to Glasgow. Auchineden hill punches well above its weight for views on a late autumn day like that. To find the Whangie itself, you have to descend the hill, and skirt NW along a drier but more feint path, until wow! The crack appears up to the right, and is most unexpected in the grassy hillside. You make an easy scramble upwards, then enter the chasm. It is most Tolkein-esque. We had it to ourselves in the late afternoon sun, and it was easy to envisage a summer's evening picnic as the sun set on the rock of the outside of the feature. That is in striking contrast to the inner, dank chasm, and it is said many an early rock climber scuffed their boots on its flanks. I didn't fancy it myself, it looking quite gnarly and relatively unprotected, and the comments in UKC seem to back that up. Definitely worth a walk though.
 
Yesterday I visited one of my regular haunts, Ben Ledi, 879m, just above Callendar. It is a shapely hill, rising as it does pretty much straight out of the flat Carse of Stirling, and is often mistaken for its higher and more esteemed neighbours of Ben Lomond or Ben Vorlich, due to its relatively similar shape, and particularly the fact it appears larger due to its proximity to Stirling. It is a justifiably popular hill, with easy access up the newly enhanced path from the car parks just NW of the Pass of Leny. This path was once horrendously eroded, but is all the better for the work, which though obvious, is immeasurably better than the erosion.
 
I like to do a circular trip, and to avoid the crowds, the Stank glen offers a nice if occasionally boggy route. I can find no explanations of the name other than the past participle of stink, though I have never noticed anything untoward whilst there! I took the 'trade route' up from the car park, but turned right at the first forestry road to the next junction, then sharp left back on myself, which climbs along the east flank of the hill for approx. 2k. Another alternative is to follow the road through the forest lodges, then make a steeper ascent through the trees to the same point, but I find the former more pleasant, and the recent felling has opened up nice views of Loch Lubnaig and Glen Ample.
 
As the track turns sharp right, there is a now eroded path that heads up the glen as far as the loop at the head of the burn, whereby it turns back SE. Here you take a more eroded path W, over a battered stile on onto the hillside. The path here is badly eroded, and takes the form of many a rivulet and boggy section. Under the fresh, deep and drifted snow it was torture! I post-holed and toiled slowly upwards, sometimes trying to take to the snow-filled trough of the 'path', but more often trying to use the exposed ends of the bog grass to denote shallower areas. It always amuses me how the appearance of the grass seems to suggest easy, shallow snow, yet experience tells you that it is just relative. You try though. It is hard work!
 
As I gained height, the drifts got ever deeper, the prevailing wind having been NW, and me on the E aspect. There was no danger of avalanche at all due to the slope angle of course, but there was plenty of evidence of cornice build and drifting, so it was nice to 'get my eye in' for conditions on higher hills as the winter progresses. As I took one of many rests, cursing the effort, I noticed two folks happily making use of my work. It is funny how that rankles....I mean, if they weren't there, I would still have to do the work alone, so why not let them use your trail!?
 
It is so tempting to just stand and wait, and then suggest that you work together, but they were so fit and moving so well, I didn't need to, they soon caught me. At one point they paused, and I jokingly shouted for them to hurry up, so they could take their turn! It was a very nice couple from Edinburgh, Tessa and Euan, young, fit, and capable of setting a blistering pace even though they were in front. I enjoyed the relative rest at the back.
 
Actually, within a short time we made the broad ridge, where the snow was much more scoured and frozen, so their efforts were made much easier, (said the old man, jealous of their youth and vigour!). The views were grand, with the usual rimed-up fence posts to photograph. I held on to their coat tails to the top, where we parted company. I wanted a tea and butty stop, and found a sheltered scoop in the sun and out of the wind, and just soaked it all in.
 
On the descent, I chatted to a couple of folks who wanted to do the Stank descent, but who were worried about the conditions. No, it's no problem I said, wondering why they would think such a thing. Actually, I soon realised why. The Southerly 'normal' ascent route was much icier than my route up, and I suppose it was due to the slightly more exposed easterly aspect too, but I must admit I didn't expect it. We didn't need crampons, but it wouldn't have taken much more ice build to have needed them for more safe passage. It just shows how conditions can vary so in winter.
 
The rest of the descent was a joy, the contrasting views from the wintery hillside to the verdant carse towards Stirling and onwards to Edinburgh striking. You could also make out both the Firth of Forth and Clyde, shining as they were in the low sun. I say it many times, but I always feel so lucky to have such beauty and opportunity to get amongst it on my doorstep, yet be so relatively urban in Stirling.
 
A great start to the winter's walking, and I promise to blog a bit more.....honest I do ;)

​I have been busy recently with jobs on the Outer Hebrides, in Russia where I climbed Elbrus twice, and various other locations where I have been both blessed with sunshine and soaked and midged in equal proportions. Also, I finished my first West Highland Way on Sunday. Yesterday it felt like more 'business as usual' with an ascent of Schoolhouse Ridge on Beinn a'Bhethir at the Western end of Glencoe with Orion. He has only 18 munros to go now.
One of the features of walking with Orion is that he likes to bag the Tops (summits over 3000ft, but not designated Munros in Sir Hugh's Tables), and so taking in Sgorr Bhan was always on the cards. Shame we couldn't see anything due to the mist, as there are normally spectacular views from there, of Bidean in Glencoe, the Mamores, the Ben, Ardgour, Mull, Lismore etc.
The midges were persistent in the lower reaches of the ridge, and with it being damp and clammy, I was soon covered in a rather unpleasant midge paste. Ugh! They got less as we ascended, and once the scrambling started, they were obviously too fearty (Scottish for scaredy-cat) to come any higher.
Orion is not the most confident of scramblers, and a judicious confidence rope helped to calm nerves on the crux, and we both enjoyed it immensely.
After a quick clag-ridden break on the summit of Sgorr Dearg, the descent to the bealach takes no time, and we were soon ascending Sgorr Dhonuill, or Donald's Peak. It is a straightforward walk until the last few metres, where there is a choice of a rather exposed few moves onto a narrow arete, or a more enclosed chimney. I chose the latter in the wet conditions.
At the summit, we met Dave, a lone walker from England. He was having a rest having come up the scree slopes necessitated by the 'normal' route being closed due to forestry operations, and was studying his map. We passed pleasantries, and he enquired about the onward route. I advise about not descending Schoolhouse Ridge, and to go on to Beinn Bhan. I showed him on the map, and discussed his compass bearings. He didn't have one.....but don't worry, he 'had a good sense of direction, and had read all about the Wainrights'. Oh, that's alright then!!!
Orion and I decided to escort him down the steep bit onto the path, and also exchanged mobile numbers just in case. As it turned out, the cloud cleared enough both for us to see his progress, and for him to see the route....but it might not have done. I called him several times to check his progress, and as it transpired, he got down fine, and long before us.....but that is another story isn't it?!
Orion's idea was to do a full horseshoe, and descend the Western hills of the cirque, Creag Gorm. I had often thought about it, but the wiggly contours, many knolls and ups and downs and steep descent had suggested a gnarly and strenuous end to the day, so I had always thought the better of it. But, we were going well, and I allowed my natural curiosity get the better of my common hill sense and we went for it. It was hard. It was gnarly, more Knoydart than Glencoe. It was steep. It was endless ups and downs. Surprise, surprise! ;)
But, and it's a big but, the views from such a different angle were superb. We were able to 'manage' Dave from the high vantage point, and it cleared up as we toiled. What's not to like? OK, my legs weren't awfully happy having just walked 96 miles, but hey, get on with it legs, that's yer job!
Thanks to Orion for being so endlessly optimistic and great company, and for suggesting the route.....sort of.