The road from Glengarry to Kinloch Hourn never fails to delight me, particularly the final couple of miles that drop steeply down a switchback towards the hamlet of houses at the head of Loch Hourn.
We all know the feeling. You’ve done a couple of days of hard hillwalking. You’re tired, and you really ought to go home and have a nice cup of tea and some cake, and relax with some quiet clerical work behind the computer.
Stob Coire Creagach lies close to that marvellous grouping of hills we know as the Arrochar Alps – it actually rises just north of Glen Kinglas and it has two fine rocky summits, the west one of which is called Binnein an Fhidhleir, the fiddler’s peak.
The best pub-to-pub crossing in Scotland? So many mountains, and so many fine pubs to come down off them to – but no disputes, for Irvine Butterfield, author of High Mountains of Britain and Ireland, has told us: the Inveroran Inn and the Kings House.
Ben Nevis is a magnificent mountain but many people who climb it never see its best side. The standard route isn’t as tedious as is sometimes made out but on its own it only shows one aspect of the mountain.
The Grey Corries: one of Scotland’s big ridges, peak to peak in grey-white splintery edges. Cross all three of the ridgeline Munros, unmemorably named as Big Mossy, Corrie of the Cows, and Corrie of the Loud Noises. That way you haven’t missed an inch of the ridge in its magnificence.
Even in winter sports season, Meall a’ Bhuiridh, home to the White Corries ski centre and all the commotion that goes with it, has a definite cachet. Despite the creaking lifts it has a superb outlook on the primordial Rannoch Moor and, from the summit, heart-lifting views to Clach Leathad.
It started as one of those hill days where our spirits dropped as soon as we stepped out of the car. The grim prospect of the rain-soaked task ahead was distinctly less appealing than that planned by the light of a fine malt the night before. But here we were. Again.
“Yes, there are two paths you can go by / But in the long run / There’s still time to change / The road you’re on.” Wise words, but from what hill-themed rock song?
It’s great to stride up Schiehallion, say, on a big clear path, over well-worn rocks, surrounded by friendly fellow walkers.
Glen Affric is a magical place. For me the name conjures up visions of vast remnants of Caledonian pine forest. Despite visiting the area in winter many moons ago I don’t recall the snow-speckled hills I climbed.
The South Glen Shiel Ridge has always been an obvious target for the serious Munro bagger. It’s one of the few places where you can stride out along the tops and grab yourself a whole clutch of Munros in one day.
After many years of using bits of it, looking down on it from the heights, and being amazed by the overnighters in Kinlochleven’s Tailrace Inn (they sing! they smoke!) I finally found myself doing it: the West Highland Way.
I had slobbered over the east ridge of Sron a’ Choire Ghairbh from the A82 a couple of days earlier, when I’d dreamed up a leisurely start along the South Laggan Forest track followed by a climb to the summit for early afternoon.
The classic day on Beinn Alligin takes in both its Munros and the scrambly Horns of Alligin. But Alligin means ‘jewel’ – and a jewel has many facets. On a day of low cloud, rather than revisit the Horns we decided to explore Alligin’s other side.
Credit goes to Sir Hugh Munro; but also to King Henry I of England (who standardised the length of his foot) and the ice age before last, which created an erosion surface at the 3,000ft and above level.
Cowal is a foreign country. Its hills, below the Corbett level of 762m, are hills you almost certainly haven’t heard of. Its views lead out along unfamiliar sea fjords to the stark surprising chimney at Wemyss Bay. To reach it, you’ll probably take an unfamiliar road through Renfrewshire and board a ferry for Dunoon.
No matter what direction you climb Beinn nan Aighenan from it is a remote hill with no easy approach.
The southern highlands lack vicious crags and savage scrambling. Still, the Cobbler does have rocks; indeed, the final minute and a half make it the hardest mainland summit.
The highest of the Western Mamores, the white quartzite cone of Sgurr a’ Mhaim dominates the view down Glen Nevis. It’s usually climbed directly from the glen via the north-west shoulder, an arduous unrelenting ascent, or else via a scramble along the Devil’s Ridge, an exciting and airy rocky arête that may be a little too exposed for some people, especially in strong winds.
Mealls Odhar, Coire Lochain and na Teanga coalesce into a compact group of grassy hills with the latter just taking Munro status.
There are very few occasions walking among the hills and mountains of Scotland when the clarity of the light is such that it transcends any expectations you may have regarding what a day in the mountains can do for mind, body, and soul.
A walk through Gleann Meran and Gleann Cailliche culminating in an ascent of the mighty Beinn Achaladair is a wonderful trek through some beautiful and remote countryside. But it is a long day in winter, at times through pathless terrain, and one that requires a certain degree of fitness.
Eleven Munros at once: is it really a good idea? Such Munro gluttony just devalues the other 272 of the things. Accordingly, the Scottish Mountaineering Club downrated Sgurr an Iubhair in 1997 to make the Mamores only count as 10.
