Wednesday, 11th. August, 1982:
My brother Nick and I had set out from Lochluichart on the preceding Monday (09.08.1982.) and, having tramped over the Fannichs on the Tuesday, we had camped at the head of Loch Fannich in readiness for heading south the next day. We knew that today was going to be easier than the seven Munros that we had managed on the previous day and so set off at a relaxed hour, trundling along first the western and then the south western shore of the loch on increasingly good tracks. After ninety minutes or so, we reached a lonely spot on the south shore where a pipeline had churned up the earth and we turned right, heading west, away from the loch. We then traversed the northern shoulder of Fionn Bheinn before a bit of a prolonged grassy trudge brought us to the summit in drizzle and mist. It was, though, an easy descent to a deserted Achnasheen from the summit (where we found a phone box and called home to tell everyone that we were still alive) and then we were off along the main road for a mile or so until, in brightening weather, we spotted what seemed like an idyllic campsite on a peninsular at the north east end of Loch Gowan. We had soon pitched our little Vango Force Ten, put on a brew and even managed to light a small fire of drift wood on the small beach... idyllic! Unfortunately, just as we were about to turn in, we spotted a squall line heading in down the length of the loch and, about fifteen seconds later, we were struck by a hammer blow - a wall of rain and spray from the loch which slammed into the tent and battered us for the next six or seven hours. We could do little other than sit in our sleeping bags, hang on to the poles, reflect that our choice of campsite had been a little exposed and wait for the morning..... When it arrived, it would be time to head south into the big, empty glens of the Central Highlands.
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