This had been a disappointing summer season for one reason or another. One reason being the weather (completing the Loch Mullardoch 12 over the jubilee bank holiday weekend should have been a highlight but it snowed constantly), and the other being my new boots. They were awful. The deep blisters and associated damage to my feet were visible six weeks after a minor jaunt in the Cairngorms.

To end the summer season then something special. The southern Glen Shiel seven. Weather on the saturday (hence the laboured title of this post) looked very good, new boots purchased and several tentative hours of stomping around northern Aberdeenshire gave me a glimmer of hope that my feet might not be flayed. However, with the price of diesel these days it would surely make sense to cram as much in as possible? Looking at the map I decided to tag on The Saddle and Sgurr na Sgine. I headed over the night before and stayed at one of those new fangled 'Youth Hostels' in Fort Agustus. I'm 48 years old. I was the youngest one there. I shared a dorm with an asthmatic rhinoceros which made sleep fleeting and I ultimately gave up at 0500 and headed west. Upon arriving at the parking adjacent to Cluanie Inn I stashed my bicycle hoping beyond hope it would still be there at the end of the day and moseyed on down to the start of the days trek.

The sun strted to break and I just got that feeling that today was going to be a special one. The new boots (Altbergs in case you were wondering boot fanatics) felt amazing and by the back of eight I was on the trig of the saddle sending smug pictures to all and sundry.


Sgurr na Sgine was next and bounding across to it like a wee spring lamb I was at the summit at 0920. Now the fun bit. Getting to the ridge proper from here. Being an extremely technical walker/climber/scambler I decided to use that oft overlooked technique of 'sliding down steep grass slopes on your bum'. Creag nan Damh looked comletely inaccessible from this direction but fortunately I decided to use tat oft overlooked technique of 'grabbing loading bearing tufts of grass and crawling up'. It was now 1123 and I was seriously wondering whether I had enough daylight to do this, Eating my chips by the lock in Fort Agustus the night before, I had clocked that any useful light had been lost by 2000. That gave me eight hours to do the rest of the ridge.

Och well, nothing ventured etc. Sgurr an Lochain followed at 1223, and Sgurr Doire Leathain at 1304. By now my biggest problem was water. In the mountains I can go long days without eating anything but I go through a lot of water. I had takenthree litres in hydropack but despite rationing was well into it. There was no a breath or wind and the temperature was low 20s. It was somewhere around here I heard a trickling sound, I parted the grass on the steep slope near the top of the ridge and there was a wee trickle of water - a tiny spring near the apex of the ridge. It smelled ok, so i drank the remainder of by hydro pack and refilled. It looked clear enough and I figured I could kill anything I ingested with Talisker when I got home later that night.

Maol Chinn-dearg (bald red head) was next at 1352 and you can write your own jokes for this one thank you very much.


Without the stress of worrying about water and, remarkably, no hot spots in the boots I ploughed on Aonach air Chrith at 1444 followed by Drum Shionnach at 1527.

That only left Creag a Mhaim. Look! there it is! Over there!


After reaching the summit, my smugness was soon wiped of my hot, salt encrusted face when I realised how far back the the bike (please let the bike still be there). Now with hindsight I should have utilised my well hone bum sliding skills and just headed north off the summit, however for some unknown reason I decided to follow the path. In the late afternoon heat this went on. And on. And on. In facr I reached the summit of the lat mountain at 1557 and it was nigh on two hours exactly until I reached the bridge and.........hallelujah!!


It took about 30 minutes to get back to the car where I peeled off the Altbergs for the moment of truth. 40 odd km walked. Nae blisters. Get in.

And that folks, was the best day I've had in the mountains for a long, long time.