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ОглавлениеINTRODUCTION
Demanding terrain from sea level to summit – Sgurr na Stri (Walk 47) from Elgol, Skye
Scottish hill walks offer some of the greatest mountain days of their type to be found anywhere. The Highlands and Islands make an exceptional destination – rugged and remote, yet conveniently compact. This is a small nation full of big country, with a diversity of precious landscapes. The Cairngorms’ sub-arctic magnificence; the lush green of the Southern Highlands; Sutherland’s mind-cleansing emptiness; the western seaboard and islands, a dazzling interlocking of mountain and water – all these are part of Scotland’s natural heritage, and each one is unique. Spanning the whole of the country, this book seeks out quality walks from every upland area, a collection that shows off Scotland’s mountains in all their variety.
Scottish hills are notable for their uncompromising character, if not their height, and however straightforward they may be in climbing terms (via the easier routes at least) they may demand a lot from walkers. Summit elevations look modest compared to the Alps or the Rockies, but this can be misleading, particularly on the west coast, where tough terrain generally starts at sea level. Maritime position and northerly latitude combine to give the landscape a distinctive harshness.
When rain hoses horizontally or the winter plateaux are engulfed in ‘white noise’, the Scottish hills are no soft option, but the weather is also one of the country’s great assets. If landscape is a visual spectacle, then it is climate that gives it kinetic energy, turning snapshot into movie. Clear northern light plays across rock and water, its sun spears and cloud shadows adding tension and a sense of movement.
With the sea’s dominant influence, mercurial changeability is the one climatic constant, and no two days’ weather are ever likely to seem quite the same. Although at times a curse, such unpredictability is also a source of endless novelty. Downpour, sunshine, wind and snow can come in rapid succession – or all at once. Moist air means copious cloud – often curling in tatters around the peaks or blotting out the world in an all-pervasive fuzzy dampness; sometimes sinking into the glens to leave the hills standing proud like islands.
This rigorous environment offers an earthy, authentic brand of walking that demands a certain level of self-reliance. In contrast to the situation typical on the European mainland there are no manned huts linked by waymarked trails here, and no hot meals and warm beds are laid on in the hills. Roads are few and far between, and towns, ski centres and other developments thin on the (generally boggy) ground.
The scale of the country makes it ideally suited to long testing journeys on foot, strenuous peak-bagging missions over all the major tops in a range, or forays far into the backcountry to climb an isolated mountain. Great Mountain Days is built around such big ventures. Popular challenge walks, such as the Cairngorms 4000-ers and the Lochaber Traverse, are described alongside others less widely known but of similar merit; the common thread is size and toughness. Despite their demands these walks are aimed at a broad hill-going demographic, from superfit fell runners racing the clock to overnight backpackers in search of solitude, and from fair-weather summer walkers to seasoned winter mountaineers.
Backpacking on Beinn Dearg Beag (Walk 9) – hard work, but worth the effort
The author makes no apologies for the emphasis on difficulty and distance, but the desire to challenge should not be confused with exclusivity or elitism. With a little determination and a following wind these routes are achievable by any reasonably experienced and averagely robust hillwalker, and there’s no imperative to run around them with your head down, ignoring the scenery. If it ever looks a bit much, most routes can be shortened or broken into separate smaller chunks, and there are suggestions for short cuts in the walk chapters.
The rewards of going the extra kilometre are many. A quick there-and-back summit dash may fill a spare afternoon, but why climb one peak when you can do several? If the half-day quickie is a three-minute pop song – over before you’ve got stuck in – then the epic slog is more like a symphony – daunting, hard work, but richly complex and of deeper, longer-lasting significance. The cares of daily life tend to diminish when considered from a great height and distance, so the further we travel and the longer we go for the better.
The route to a truly great mountain day is through extended effort, with mud, sweat and maybe even a few tears along the way. The more improbable something may look on paper, the greater the satisfaction on completion; the harder and more prolonged the exercise, the bigger the buzz. Scotland’s mountaineering and hillwalking pioneers understood all this. The distances casually covered by doughty Victorians and Edwardians such as Naismith (of Naismith’s rule fame) might dwarf a typical 21st-century hill day – and all without the benefit of lightweight gear and nutritionally balanced (if barely edible) energy gels. It’s amazing how far a little grit will go.
Following a cross-country through-route is a fulfilling way to travel among mountains, but it’s not what this book is about. These routes are hill walks, wedded to the high ground and mostly circular (with one or two exceptions); they are not extended journeys from A to B. Any of the walks described in this book can be knocked off in a single (if in some cases rather stretching) day, but they might equally be spread over two or three – a change in pace, weight and emphasis that brings its own rewards. The divide between day trips and overnight backpacking routes is porous, and can be passed through at will. The information box at the start of each walk includes notes on wild camping and bothies.
Bigger might be better in some cases, but a key premise of this book is that the pleasure that a hill can offer is not proportional to its altitude, and that neither Munros (peaks over 3000ft) nor Corbetts (2500ft–2999ft) have cornered the market in quality. Among the chosen 50 walks, worthwhile trips at lesser elevations include the edge-of-the-world Uig hills of Lewis (Walk 50) and Skye’s uniquely eccentric Trotternish Ridge (Walk 48), both in a different league from any number of duller Munros.
The Scottish guidebook canon is already well loaded with tomes on the popular hill lists. This guide is not another to add to the pile. Although you would accrue many Munro scalps (and Corbetts, and the rest) working through this book, scores of them are omitted too. The aim is not to tick through lists, but rather to present coherent and satisfying walks on the ‘best’ mountain groups, letting topography call the shots and adding a minimum of contrived wiggles. In some cases the neatest big route on a massif will just happen to miss a couple of peripheral Munros; those who feel obliged to climb every mountain can then choose to follow the relevant detours.
Writing a selective guidebook means making hard choices, distilling the finest quality of hills and routes out of the baffling number of possible candidates to produce a blend with a fair flavour of the country as a whole. The collection is a personal ‘best of’. Not everyone will agree with all the choices, and inevitably some fantastic and popular hills have been omitted. For instance, neither Stac Pollaidh nor Schiehallion are overlooked through any fault of their own, but simply because they aren’t ideally incorporated into a round of sufficient scale. A collection of big walks needs a bottom line, however arbitrary, and in this book it’s roughly 20km. There is no particular upper limit placed on distance, although things have been kept within the bounds of challenging-but-achievable in one day.
Cloud-pleasing atmospherics over Glen Nevis, from Stob Bàn (Walk 27)
A sense of wilderness
Britain is an urban island tethered to a teeming continent, its landscapes and ecology shaped in large part by human hand. If wilderness is a place untouched, then few (if any) remnants are left in Europe. But at times the hills of Scotland feel close to that ideal. However, most of the remaining areas genuinely unaffected by human activity are found only above about 700m. Elsewhere the impression of wilderness is generally false. This is an environment degraded by deforestation and managed, in effect, as a giant deer farm.
But the feeling of Scotland’s wildness remains. When confronted with the vast, the untamed, the ancient and the other, our feelings may evade neat definition; but we know them when we feel them. The Highlands and Islands are a rarity in modern Europe – a place where such experiences remain the norm; a sparsely populated area of significant size left largely uncluttered and uncultivated, influenced more by the elements than by industry.
Ironically, even the emptiness is to some extent a man-made desolation. Most of today’s deserted glens once supported subsistence communities, and although it would be tedious to romanticise the bleakness of former times we should at the very least acknowledge the brutal economics that bled the uplands of their people during the Clearances of the 18th and 19th centuries. Born of past injustice it may have been, but its emptiness is now the area’s unique selling point, making it an exceptional resource for wilderness tourism and a boon to us all in an overused world.
Getting around
Public transport in the Highlands is patchy – in some parts reasonable, but elsewhere limited or non-existent. Hubs such as Fort William and Kyle of Lochalsh are linked to the cities of Scotland’s south and east by rail or long-distance bus route (sometimes both), making them accessible overland (given time) from places as exotic as Paris, Brussels or even London. Intermediate points along the main transport arteries are, of course, equally accessible, and those with hills on the doorstep make good bases for car-free walkers – such as Crianlarich, Glencoe or Aviemore. The ferry ports for the western isles are Ullapool, Oban and Uig on Skye (itself served by ferry from Mallaig and road from Kyle), while Rum and the other Small Isles are reached from Mallaig. In remoter parts of Scotland buses may be few and far between, especially in the northwest. Public transport information is provided in the box at the start of each walk in this book. See also Appendix 4 for details of the main transport providers.
On some approaches it’s ‘two wheels good, two legs bad’ – Sgurr na Lapaich (Walk 15) from Glen Strathfarrar (Walk 14)
The amphibious assault – Sgurr na Lapaich (Walk 15) from Loch Mullardoch on the approach to Walk 16
By car
Walkers generally drive to the hills. Given the freedom, flexibility and kit-carrying capacity of a car it’s easy to see why – particularly if the cost and carbon footprint is shared between several people. Many of the walks described in this book are simply inaccessible by public transport alone.
By bike
Quieter Highland roads are ideal for cycle touring, and this is a satisfying way to spend a holiday, ticking off a walk here or there along the way. A train/bike combination is also worth considering, as many hills are in easy cycling distance of rail-friendly centres. Drivers can also get in on the fun, as routes that involve significant tarmac walking can be made more convenient with a cunningly pre-stashed bike.
And biking doesn’t have to end at the road-head. The profusion (some would say excess) of 4WD estate tracks in Scotland makes a pedal-powered approach a realistic option for many of the walks described in this book, even for those averse to full-on mountain biking. Saddling up is arguably the most enjoyable way to negotiate long low-level track approaches such as Seana Bhraigh (Walk 6) and the end-of-day downhills can be particularly fun. The walk information box includes notes on approaches where two wheels are a good option.
High-spec full-suspension mountain bikes are unnecessary for the gentle variety of off-road cycling found in this book, but a sturdy frame, fat tyres, front suspension, mud guards and a rear pannier may all prove welcome on pedal-powered hill forays. Go armed with a basic tool kit, spare inner tubes and a pump. It’s better to carry all this and end up not needing it, than to take your irreparable steed for an unintended long walk.
Loch Quoich from Sgurr na Ciche, 4.20am (Walk 21)
By boat
Water makes up a large part of the Highland landscape, so it’s worth making practical use of it. Lochs – both salt and fresh – can serve as highways, stretching far into remote country to give access to the hills. Where possible, paddling is much more enjoyable than plodding along bulldozed tracks, and somehow it feels more adventurous than cycling too. To follow in the wake of Polynesian island-hoppers, Inuit hunters and Yukon pioneers – if only for a weekend – is the yarn from which dreams are braided.
Long journeys by paddle power are the aquatic equivalent of backpacking, the meditative dip of blades echoing the rhythm of a hiker’s footfall. Approach a big hill route by water and you should have the best of both worlds – a trip on which the first part of the journey is at least as memorable as the high-level destination at the end of it.
A handful of the walks in this book can be accessed amphibiously, and if a practical waterborne option exists this is noted in the walk information box. Although a boat on a loch might be more romantic than a slog through a bog, none of the paddles described are strictly necessary; there is always an alternative – in some cases taking more time and effort, and sometimes wetter. In most cases paddlers will want to make a weekend of it – and here’s where boats excel, since their generous load-carrying capacity permits more luxurious camping, from disposable barbecues to wine boxes (as long as you take them back out with you, of course).
The most suitable vessels are sea kayaks and open canoes, each of which have their adherents. Specialist equipment differs between them, but the two essential bits of kit common to both are dry bags in which to store all spare clothing and bedding, and a buoyancy aid. Boat-handling skills are different in each case too, and best learned on a course or with a club. Safe sea kayaking, for instance, requires a broad set of skills and a familiarity with currents, tides and other nautical mysteries. No open sea crossings are suggested in this book, and only a very few trips in salt water are mentioned at all. But even freshwater lochs can be unforgiving. Wind, waves and extremely cold water are all things to be wary of, and the best advice for the less experienced is go in a group and wait for ideal conditions. Even then be cautious.
Camps, bivvies, bothies and howffs
It was tempting to title this book ‘Great Mountain Days and Wild Nights Out’, since the latter are integral to a hill-walking life fully lived. The roar of rutting stags echoing through empty evening glens; ridges rolled out under a starry sky free of light pollution; dawn tinting frosted slopes pink and gold – walkers who habitually forsake hills for the nocturnal comfort of valleys miss out on so much.
To camp wild is to take temporary refuge from the everyday, deepening awareness of nature and landscape by making yourself at home within it. With silence and solitude comes freedom simply to be. From high cols and sheltered lochans to remote sea shores, potential camp sites are as diverse as Scotland’s wild landscapes. Thanks to liberal access legislation we are officially entitled to pitch up at will, although the usual caveats about responsibility and discretion still apply. Camping wild is an activity best conducted far from roads and houses.
Bivvying is more flexible than camping, as a reclining body needs a smaller floor space than even the most compact tent. Because less gear is generally involved, the bivvy is a true lightweight option. With a roof of sky instead of nylon there’s a sense of unmediated immersion in the environment; isn’t this what we go to the hills for? However, the two biggest drawbacks of going tent-less are rain and midges, and too much immersion in either is miserable. Hooped bivvies and tarps are a middle ground between tent and bag, but as with most such compromises there are disadvantages – less comfort than camping, and less of the specialness of lying outside on a starry night that is bivvying’s strongest draw.
Tent-free walkers often resort to some kind of shelter, be that a laboriously excavated snowhole or a cave-like howff secreted under boulders. Snowholes are an excellent winter option, but constructing them properly and using them safely takes more time and knowledge than might be supposed. The best howffs have generally been improved by hand to afford a relatively salubrious, moderately weatherproof residence. The location of some is a closely guarded secret, while others – such as Loch Avon’s Shelter Stone – are part of hillwalking folklore and rarely without a weekend occupant.
If a damp cranny under a boulder or a camp in a storm sound rather too close to nature, then consider something with four solid walls and a (more or less watertight) roof. While not entirely unique to Scotland, bothies are a big part of the country’s hillwalking scene. Dotted across the land, these remote huts range from the most spartan mud-floored biers to well-appointed cottages with such mod cons as glazed windows, bunk platforms and fireplaces. There are even a couple of bothies with sit-down toilets, although facilities more typically consist of a bog and a spade.
Tent versus bothy – Corrour (Walk 40), dwarfed by the Devil’s Point
Bothies are free to use and open to all comers, an admirably inclusive ethos, but with the downside that well-known huts in popular areas may fill to capacity (and beyond) at peak times. Bothy culture is very accepting of high spirits (generally lubricated with spirits of the liquid kind), so those seeking guaranteed peace in busy locations such as Shenavall (Walks 9 and 10) or Culra (Walk 25) probably ought to consider camping instead.
Many Scottish bothies are maintained by volunteers from the Mountain Bothies Association (MBA) (see Appendix 4), a charity that exists to look after remote buildings for which estate owners typically have little use, but which remain important to walkers. Although they are keen to point out that there are no actual rules, the MBA does offer guidelines for visitors. In essence the Bothy Code is to keep the building and its surroundings clean and tidy, extinguish fires before leaving, respect other users and restrict groups to six or fewer.
Maps and guidebooks
Even GPS users should carry a map and compass (and know how to use them) in case of electronic gremlins or battery failure. The Ordnance Survey (OS) produce comprehensive mapping of the whole country in a range of scales, the most useful for walkers being Explorer maps at 1:25,000 and Landranger sheets at 1:50,000. The latter are generally better for long hill walks since they cover more ground per sheet at sufficient (but not excessive) detail. Popular mountain areas are also covered by the small independent cartographer Harvey, their Superwalker (1:25,000) and British Mountain Map (1:40,000) series having been designed to contain only information pertinent to outdoor users. The relevant maps are given in the information box for each walk.
Scotland’s hills must be among the best documented anywhere, covered by a library of guidebooks in a thriving ‘literary’ tradition dating back to the 19th century. Activity-specific guides are available for every mainstream outdoor activity – post-lunch glen strolls, long-distance hikes, serious hill walks, scrambling, climbing, paddling, and cycling in its various sub-genres. Regional guides provide detail on a given area; national guides take a broad-brush approach or (like this book) they cherry pick. There are too many books to list, but for some specific recommendations see Appendix 3.
Ben Loyal from a tarp bivi on Ben Hope (Walk 1)
Dramatic – and unavoidable – scrambling on the east ridge of Lurg Mhòr (Walk 14)
Scrambles
This book does not go out of its way to find steep rock, and none of the walks involves graded climbing (in summer at least). For this reason the traverse of Skye’s Cuillin ridge has been omitted, although it is the greatest of all Scottish hill challenges. But in these rugged mountains scrambling can’t always be entirely avoided. In some cases the best walker’s route to a summit happens to involve some gentle clambering, such as the famous Carn Mòr Dearg (CMD) Arête onto Ben Nevis (Walk 26) or the prow of The Stuic on Lochnagar (Walk 42).
For easy grade 1 scrambles such as these rock climbing skills and gear are unnecessary, but a head for heights is essential. Even the simplest scrambles need respect in wet, windy or icy conditions. Despite the non-climbing caveat, there are a few walks in this book that err towards mountaineering. After all, no collection of great Scottish mountain walks would be complete without the traverse of Aonach Eagach (grade 2), Liathach (grade 2) or the formidable An Teallach (grade 3). If there is a way to avoid the harder hands-on sections of a walk (and there usually is), then the description will mention it.
Scrambling grades are expressed numerically in ascending order of difficulty.
Grade 1
Where hillwalking gets hands-on. In good weather these are routes that walkers with no scrambling experience should be capable of, given a reasonable tolerance for heights. Very limited technical difficulty in climbing terms, although there will be some exposure and a fall could be nasty.
Grade 2
Steeper rock, generally bigger drops, less easily escaped from and perhaps with less intuitive route finding. The harder steps may feel extremely daunting, although they’ll usually be short lived. Potentially very unpleasant in poor weather. Prior scrambling experience highly advised.
Grade 3
Committing, serious and technically challenging, routes of this grade are tantamount to climbing proper. Best left to competent and suitably equipped mountaineers.
Summer scrambles become winter mountaineering routes (Aonach Eagach, Walk 28)
Seasonal variations
Hillwalking is a year-round activity. The chief advantages of late spring or early summer are almost endless daylight – at the best, over 18hrs a day in the far north – and relatively few midges. Mid-summer may be less ideal than expected, being high season for both crowds and midges. The weather, too, is often wet and humid at mid-summer; but don’t let that spoil things. Early autumn can be lovely on the hills, but November is often the opposite.
The approaching tread of winter brings dwindling daylight and worsening weather, and big hill routes are correspondingly harder to pull off. Summer seems a distant memory in the chill gloom of mid-winter. Life was once cheerily described by Nabokov as ‘a crack of light between two eternities of darkness’; he could as easily have been talking about a Scottish winter day. Around the winter solstice in the far north, daylight hours dwindle to a little over 6 in 24. During this period hill walks routinely start and finish in the dark, and a determined pace is needed for tricky ground to be safely negotiated before sunset.
Winter walking is an activity defined not by the calendar, but by the state of the ground. If a January thaw has stripped snow cover to the grass, then the hills may feel barely more challenging than in June; but, conversely, full-on ‘winter’ conditions can often be encountered in spring and autumn. Blame it on Scotland’s unpredictable temperate maritime climate.
In whatever month snow and ice are encountered, they transform Scotland’s mountains, giving them a serious arctic/alpine edge and placing big demands on a walker’s skills, fitness and equipment. If winter conditions are expected, then an ice axe and crampons should be considered essential – and they’re naturally no good without the ability to use them safely. Other winter must-haves include ski goggles, headtorch and spare batteries, spare hat and gloves, and a bivvi bag or group shelter.
Climbing into the sun on the north ridge of Ben Starav (Walk 30), with the peaks of Buachaille Etive Mòr (Walk 28) prominent behind
Meall nan Tarmachan from Beinn Ghlas (Walk 37)
Midsummer moisture – Croit Bheinn (right) and the Beinn Odhar hills from Druim Fiaclach (Walk 23)
There’s a hoary old cliché that winter hillwalking is actually a branch of mountaineering. In snow, scrambly summer ridge walks certainly become exciting mountaineering routes, genuine climbs with their own grading system (expressed in Roman numerals), for which climbing equipment and skills are essential. Non-climbers should avoid any of the walks in this book given a winter grade of I or II in the Seasonal notes section of the information box. On even the least craggy peaks walkers might encounter steep icy slopes, cornices and the lurking threat of avalanche (see Avalanches, below). Ploughing through deep snow is slow and tiring, and in such conditions big walks might stretch from day trips into rigorous overnighters. Skis or snowshoes sometimes prove handy to cover meaningful distances, and occasionally verge on essential in a really snowy spell. Even driving to your chosen route can become an adventure; check road conditions before departure, and consider investing in snow chains or winter tyres.
At its worst winter weather is ferocious, with any combination of crippling wind speeds, stinging hail and rain, blizzards, spindrift and thick mist reducing visibility to as little as a few metres. When there’s less margin for error navigation has to be that bit sharper, an ability that is only developed through repeated practice. Could you navigate confidently across a featureless snowy plateau in a white-out, with invisible cornices out there somewhere and darkness fast approaching? In the heaviest conditions even basic mobility on exposed ground may be reduced to a crawl, and it’s a struggle just to get off the hill. When the weather forecast is bad consider downgrading your ambitions; if it’s really horrendous, then the sofa might be a better place to be.
But all this extra effort brings proportionate rewards – and while winter’s lows are cavernous, the highs are correspondingly stratospheric. On any true adventure success must occasionally be in doubt; there are certainly few guarantees in the Scottish winter hills. Here we are thrown onto our own resources, and plans made in the comfort of the pub may have to be adapted on the hoof to suit the changing demands of the day.
Stob Coire nan Lochan, Aonach Eagach and distant Ben Nevis from Bidean nam Bian (Walk 28)
Winter hills are a world apart from the ordinary, so harsh and so elementally beautiful that their existence on an overdeveloped island can at times seem barely credible – ranks of white-capped peaks jostling to the horizon; wind-carved abstractions on the snow’s crust, each shadow stretched in the low-slung mid-day sun; dark clouds boiling in ice-streaked corries; Gothic gloom and moments of uplifting joy. Winter trips are the most rigorous of all hill walks, and arguably the most memorable. Just take nothing for granted.
Hazards
Avalanches
Walkers disregard the possibility of avalanches at their peril, and avoidable accidents sadly occur. Daily avalanche forecasts for five popular mountain areas are provided by the sportScotland Avalanche Information Service (SAIS) www.sais.gov.uk. Although a handy weapon in the hill-going armoury, these forecasts are a supplement to knowledge, not a substitute for it. Snow can fall outside the SAIS forecast season, and many mountain areas are not covered by the service at all. Besides, even the best forecasts are only a rough guide. Personal responsibility is integral to all mountain activities, so it pays to learn a little about avalanches and to cultivate a weather eye for likely trouble spots.
The necessary preconditions for an avalanche are simply sufficient snow cover and an incline. The snowpack builds in layers over time, each of which may have different properties depending on the weather when it was laid and subsequently. Contact between layers of different consistency can be a point of weakness – windslab lying on ice, for instance. In such a situation a ‘surface avalanche’ may be an accident waiting to happen, just wanting an appropriate trigger to release – perhaps a passing walker. In the hairiest conditions avalanches don’t even need an identifiable trigger. Slides may also occur to the full depth of the snowpack, and here the underlying ground surface may be implicated – smooth grass or rock slabs, perhaps.
Consider the weather. Rapid thaws are obviously risky. Be vigilant during heavy snowfall, too, and for a day or two afterwards while things settle. All loaded snow slopes may be considered suspect, but there will always be particular danger areas. Winds scour lying snow from windward slopes, depositing it on sheltered leeward aspects to build as cornices at the tops of gullies and corrie headwalls and as windslab on the slopes below; either may mean trouble. Wise walkers scan the weather for several days before a trip, noting both the amount of snowfall and the strength and general direction of the wind. A route can then be planned that avoids likely lee slopes, always bearing in mind, of course, that topography may channel winds in unpredictable directions.
Here are a few more general rules. Slopes between about 25° and 45° are the most at risk – precisely the sort of angles that walkers tend to encounter. Stress fractures occur more readily where the underlying ground is convex. Ridge crests are generally safer than open slopes, although they might carry substantial cornices, the possible fracture line for which may be surprisingly far from the edge.
These brief paragraphs inevitably raise more questions than they answer. If there’s no choice but to travel a suspect slope, how should you proceed? How might a victim increase their survival chances while falling with hundreds of tons of snow? In a Scottish context, what are the pros and cons of transceivers, probes and shovels? As a bare minimum some further reading is highly recommended – see Appendix 3; better still would be to take a course on avalanche awareness.
Cold
Continental mountains may be much colder than Scottish ones in absolute terms, but they tend to be drier too. The combination of wind and wet for which Scotland is renowned can drain body heat very rapidly, creating a felt temperature far lower than the actual thermometer value. Walkers who are inadequately dressed, soaking wet, tired, hungry or slowed by disorientating weather may risk hypothermia, and not just in winter.
Shivering is an early danger sign. With a drop in core body temperature of only a couple of degrees from the optimum average 37°C the blood begins to drain from the extremities to conserve heat in the core, making manual tasks difficult and exposing hands and feet to the possibility of frostnip (or even in, extreme cases, frostbite). Coordination and brain function begin to be impaired, resulting in slower progress and poorer decision making. If heat loss is unchecked a downward spiral may set in, eventually leading to unconsciousness and ultimately death. As ever, prevention is better than cure, so eat plenty through the day and carry a spare warm layer and a bivvy bag or group shelter for unforeseen stationary periods.
River crossing
Runoff from large areas of high ground may channel into a single water course lower down. As the hills drain during thaws or heavy rainfall, the level of burns and rivers can rise dramatically. After a rainy day’s walk a trickle that was crossed with a simple hop from rock to rock that morning might have risen to a torrent. On meeting a swollen river, a long tiring detour to a safer crossing point is preferable to an accident.
Treat fast-flowing water greater than knee depth with circumspection. If you’re intent on crossing, never do so immediately upstream of waterfalls or boulders into which you might be swept. Ensure that spare dry clothes and other essentials are sealed in a waterproof bag; undo hip and chest straps so that your rucksack doesn’t drag you under. Wear boots or shoes to protect feet from rolling rocks (a pair of ‘Crocs’ or lightweight trainers can be carried for this purpose). Crossing tactics vary, from linking arms in a mutually supportive team shuffle (largest body upstream) to a no-holds-barred diagonal downstream dash (not recommended). A rope can in theory be used, although done badly it’s a sure way to drown your friends. If things have got to this stage, it’s probably better to think again.
Crossing the Abhainn Gleann na Muice below An Teallach (Walks 9 and 10) – the following day this was waist deep and impassable
Biting beasties
Midges (midgies) are the bane of the Highlands. In season these blood-sucking pests swarm wherever there are bogs and lush vegetation (in other words, most places), their tininess more than compensated for by strength in inconceivable numbers. Some people react worse than others to their bites, which can itch for days, but nobody reacts well to the maddening onslaught, the skin-crawling torment of being relentlessly feasted upon en masse. Who could stand still and stoic in the face of a midge cloud? Perhaps this explains the origin of the Highland fling.
Summer is midge high season, with a spike in July and August, but it is the weather that really dictates their numbers. Warm wet conditions suit them best, while strong sunlight or a slight breeze both tend to keep them at bay. Sheltered hollows in the hours around dawn and dusk are to be avoided at all costs. Lotions and potions may have a placebo effect on the wearer, but nothing short of napalm can really quell a midge’s fervour. Invest in a head net, tuck trousers into socks, and think twice before camping in the glens in summer.
Horse flies (clegs) may be less numerous, but they inflict more painful bites. On balance these vicious delinquents are perhaps preferable to the midge hordes, but only just.
When walking through vegetation, particularly in steamy summer glens in areas with high sheep or deer numbers, consider the tick. These tiny crab-like blood suckers are hard to spot, and their bites painless. They latch onto a human or animal host by burrowing into the skin and may remain attached for many days slowly feeding and expanding.
While their parasitic tendencies are a cause of squeamishness, the major concern is that ticks can carry and transmit Lyme Disease, among other nasties. This debilitating condition may go unrecognised and untreated, although it is thought that cases are increasing in the UK. Early symptoms that may develop within weeks include tiredness, fever, muscle or joint pain and a characteristic bull’s-eye rash at the site of the bite. Long-term effects are nastier still – recurrent arthritis, nervous system disorders, memory problems, meningitis and heart arrhythmia.
Lyme Disease can be treated, but only if identified early. But here’s the catch. Knowledge of tick-borne diseases is not generally good in medical circles, so if there’s reason to suspect a case you may have to be proactive about getting tested and treated.
Avoidance is the best cure. Try not to loll about in thick vegetation; walk in the middle of paths to avoid brushing past bushes; tuck trousers into socks or wear gaiters; consider treating your clothing with insect repellent. After a day out it’s worth having a rummage through clothing (ticks show up best against light colours), and thoroughly examining yourself – particularly armpits, neck, head and groin. Once engorged with blood their presence is more likely to be felt, but removing a well-established tick takes some deftness (see Lyme Disease Action, Appendix 4).
Access – the legal situation
Scotland enjoys some of the most liberal access legislation in the world. Since the Land Reform (Scotland) Act 2003 a principle of unfettered public access to the countryside has been enshrined in law, but that right comes bound up with responsibility. The Scottish Outdoor Access Code provides guidance both for those exercising their rights and for land managers. Provided walkers behave responsibly they are free to roam at will over all open ground, forests, rivers and lochs, at any time of day or night, while pre-established public rights of way continue to exist as before.
However walkers cannot just trample absolutely everywhere. While the grounds or ‘policies’ of large estate houses are generally accessible, the garden immediately adjacent to any private house is quite reasonably deemed off limits; so too are farmyards, industrial sites, paying visitor attractions and fields planted with crops. ‘Responsible behaviour’ means, among other things, treating the environment and wildlife with care, leaving no litter, respecting the needs and privacy of those who live and work on the land, taking pains not to obstruct activities such as farming and stalking, damaging no fences or walls, abiding by reasonable detours suggested by those felling trees or shooting things, and keeping dogs under strict control near livestock or ground-nesting birds.
The Skye Cuillin (Walk 47) from Loch Scresort, Rum (Walk 46) – Rum’s midges are renowned for their ferocity
Left to right – Beinn Eighe (Walk 11) and Spidean a’ Choire Leith from Mullach an Rathain (Walk 12). Torridon has not (yet) been deemed worthy of National Park status.
If carried out in the spirit of the law wild camping is permitted more or less everywhere, except one small area beside Loch Lomond, where at the time of going to print local seasonal bylaws are in force. There are no rights to hunt, fish or use motorised vehicles under access legislation. In other words, common sense and courtesy go a long way.
The annual red deer stag stalking season runs from 1 July to 20 October, generally increasing in intensity as the season progresses. Stalking activities rarely if ever encompass an entire range at once, and estates should be able to suggest alternative routes that avoid areas of activity. In many cases estates post details of their movements at popular access points to the hills, while the most enlightened are members of the Hillphones scheme, which provides daily pre-recorded telephone messages (see Appendix 4). Often, however, it is necessary to phone an individual estate in person (the Hillphones service is the best source for contact numbers) – either that or take pot luck on the day.
The hill environment
The big issues
Scotland’s uplands are a priceless resource that few European countries are fortunate to match – places of great symbolic, recreational and (dare I say it) spiritual significance that can be enjoyed by all. But the industrialisation of this environment continues apace. The preservation of wild places lies further down the political agenda than the rush to renewables, a policy imbalance that can have regrettable results. According to Scottish Natural Heritage the area in Scotland unaffected by visual intrusion from built development decreased from 41 to 31 per cent between 2002 and 2008, an ongoing trend for which wind farm development is largely responsible.
An insensitively sited wind farm will damage large areas of peat bog (a carbon store if left undisturbed), but wider than the physical footprint is its visual impact, a long-range intrusion that can reach far into otherwise unspoilt mountains. The value of wild land decreases in inverse proportion to the spread of industry, and wind farms now feature in the views from many of our most iconic peaks. In each case a little something has been lost. It seems likely that the current extent of development represents only a fraction of what’s to come.
Under a more responsible planning regime renewable energy and conservation of our best landscapes could coexist, but at present Scotland’s statutory landscape protection is a patchwork of inadequate designations, with only two national parks in the entire country (compare that to England’s ten). Strategy is needed at the national level for zoning industrial development, the presumption being to minimise its impact on core hill areas. No amount of ‘green’ energy will compensate for their continued degradation.
Industrialisation is just one conservation issue among many; another is vehicle tracks. Track construction with heavy machinery leaves scars miles long, damages peat, affects hydrology and compromises long term the wild quality of entire ranges. The spread of new tracks is effectively unchecked thanks to a planning loophole. Outside protected sites tracks can currently be built without planning consent or notification to the local authority if they are claimed to be for agricultural or forestry purposes. However, in many cases sporting estates seem to have other uses in mind, namely vehicle access for deer stalking and grouse shooting. It may be difficult for councils to distinguish between stated and actual purpose, and many tracks are so remote that the temptation may exist to ignore the issue. Left largely unchallenged, estates, self-styled custodians of the land, currently remain free to damage swathes of countryside that ought to be protected for the nation.
Only a minority of Scotland’s wild landscape is protected – the Cairngorms National Park is one of just two in the entire country; Carn Etchachan and Beinn Meadhoin from Coire an t-Sneachda (Walk 40)
A still more serious charge is often levelled against Scotland’s sporting estates – that they obstruct the regeneration of natural woodland. The reasoning is straightforward. Most estates are managed to maximise return from commercial stalking, and this requires plenty of deer. Dense deer populations mean overgrazing, the result being the traditional denuded Highland habitat or ‘green desert’. In contrast, public opinion increasingly favours the restoration of thriving natural habitats. Where deer are tightly controlled or excluded, native trees soon return – and with them biodiversity. Case closed?
Personal environmental impact
It would be hypocritical to rail about big issues without also examining the personal.
How should we travel to the hills, for instance, for minimum impact? Although little use for many hill areas, public transport remains a viable way to access some, and it’s worth considering by anyone serious about reducing their personal tyre print. Some walks in this book have been tailored with public transport in mind; see Getting Around, above, for more ideas.
Obligations don’t come to an end once we set foot on the hill; every walker has a small but significant impact on their treasured environment. Soil erosion is an ongoing problem in many areas, particularly on the popular Munros, where thousands of footfalls are concentrated on a few key paths. As overused path surfaces are reduced over time to rubble or deep mud the natural inclination is for walkers to follow firmer ground along the edges, trampling delicate upland vegetation that binds the soil. Where everyone does this, busy paths can spread into broad scars that become channels for surface runoff, further compounding the damage.
Seana Bhraigh from the Creag an Duine ridge (Walk 6)
Hallival and the Skye Cuillin (Walk 47) from Askival (Walk 46)
The most eroded paths are a chore to walk on and visible from afar. Short of restricting access, the long-term solution is to engineer a new path surface, an expensive and labour-intensive process favoured only by conservation-minded landowners. If the work is done intrusively, there can be something over-manicured and park-like about these snaking trails of gravel or flagstone steps; but sensitive methods do exist, and on the crowded hills these may be the least bad option. Where paths are still in a more ‘natural’ (messy) state, damage can be minimised by sticking to the middle of the trail and avoiding cutting corners at zigzags.
It seems barely credible that litter on remote mountains is an issue worth mentioning, but sadly even the hillwalking community has its idiots. Large visitor numbers inevitably mean more rubbish, with pride of place going to Ben Nevis, the highest dustbin in Scotland. But discarded beer cans, cigarette butts and food packaging can be found almost anywhere in the hills. The responsible course is to pack out everything that you’ve carried in, including fruit peel that does not readily biodegrade in the hilltop environment; bonus ‘greenie’ points for anyone willing to pick up other people’s rubbish (I draw the line at bog roll).
Toilet waste is another problematic environmental issue. No one wants to encounter human leftovers halfway up their scramble or next to the summit cairn at which they’ve sat for lunch (this really happens). The most responsible course is to carry out everything you produce in a biodegradable flushable bag enclosed in an airtight, waterproof canister; in some wilderness areas in the United States this is now compulsory. Next best is to bury solid waste at least 15cm deep, for which a trowel comes in handy. This can be hard to achieve in snowy conditions, but simply hiding the evidence in the snow to be revealed at the next thaw is a loathsome ruse. Never defecate close to burns and lochs – an exclusion zone of 30m is a bare minimum – and ensure you are downstream of anywhere people are likely to collect drinking water, close to bothies for instance. Used toilet paper should be packed out or carefully burned, although note that the environmental benefit of doing the latter is cancelled out if you inadvertently start a forest fire. Female sanitary products are not biodegradable and should always be carried home.
North Goatfell from a camp on The Saddle (Walk 45)
Using this guide
All the walks in this book require a degree of fitness and the endurance to maintain a steady – if not necessarily athletic – pace from dawn to dusk (or beyond). The walk times are loose suggestions only, indicating roughly how long an experienced hillwalker of normal ability might expect to take in favourable weather. Committed fell runners could conceivably halve the time estimates, although they are not primarily intended as performance targets to foster competitive or inadequate feelings (delete as applicable). Timings do not allow for mid-route siestas or the progress-slowing properties of heavy loads, high wind, poor visibility or deep snow. If a given walk is quoted as 16hrs, that means 16hrs of solid walking; whether to do the lot in a single rigorous day or spread it over a more leisurely two is up to you. Obvious places to break for the night are mentioned in every walk description.
Overall ascent and distance figures are provided in the information box at the start of each walk. These have been measured from OS maps, so it is worth remembering that they may not fully reflect the intricate ins and outs walked on rough ground, nor those little zigzags on steep slopes, nor the cumulative height gain of the many ups and downs too slight to be represented by contour lines at 10m intervals. In the walk description distance is further subdivided to give figures for the approach, on the hill and the return (where such a division is applicable). Approaches and walk-outs are usually at a low level and tend to follow clear paths. While these legs might be done sensibly in darkness or poor weather, the harder ground on the hill itself will usually be better left for daylight. Knowing the length of each stage should help with route planning at times of year when light is in short supply.
Major points at which the nature of a walk might significantly change in winter conditions or very wet weather are mentioned in the information box under Seasonal notes.
The more obvious points at which a walk can be curtailed are listed under Short cuts in the information box. These are get-out options for bad weather or tiredness, and in some cases can also be used to split the single long day’s walk described into two more manageable separate trips.
In walk descriptions ‘left’ and ‘right’ are relative to the direction of travel, while compass directions (NE, SW and so on) are always approximate unless precise numerical bearings are given. Key navigational features along the route that appear on the map in the guide are shown in the walk description in bold. The maps throughout this guide are adapted for the book from Ordnance Survey data and are at a scale of 1:100,000 (1cm = 1km). For navigation on the routes, it is recommended that you use the relevant Ordnance Survey or Harvey maps, details of which are given in the introduction box for each route.
