Fisherfield in June - honeymoon trip to heaven

With some trips all we do is decide, drive, and do. There's no great preamble before we walk the walk, nor is any back-story needed before we tell the tell. With this trip it's a bit different. There is a backstory. If you don't want to bother with it that's fine, just scroll down to the photos and take a midsummer tour of the Fisherfield Six. (Yes, six - this was 2007, so we're talking Munros in old money.) But, if you've time, pour yourself a glass, or a cup if that's more appropriate, and settle down.

When I first met Caroline, about eight years ago, she had the worst head for heights of anyone I had ever met. Now, I know that vertigo and fear of heights are different things, but this was something else again: this was gentleinclinigo. Don't believe me? OK, how about this: our first trip up to Scotland together was Hogmanay in Braemar, and I tempted Caroline up Carn na Drochaide, the Corbett across the Dee. Can anyone think of a less-precipitous Scottish hill? Difficult, eh? Well, we got to the top, but there was audible whimpering, and trust me, it wasn't coming from the dog. The following New Year, in Inverie, there were tears on the lower slopes of Sgurr Coire Choinnichean: we didn't get as far as the ridge. Don't get me wrong, Caroline loved being up in Scotland, and was fit enough for the hill, but the trauma from a childhood rock-climbing course virtually paralysed her when she was on any kind of slope.

Then, just before our wedding, we went to the foothills of the Pyrenees for a long weekend. Next to where we were staying was a ten-mile long 1000ft limestone cliff, at the bottom of which was a forest. Looked nice down there, but… no way! Except there was a mule track which led diagonally down and across the cliff face. One evening we took a few tentative steps on it, and then a few more, and… ok, we had to get back for tea, but how about trying to go a bit further on it tomorrow? We did, and it was one of those airy tracks with zero objective danger. Before we knew where we were, we were at the bottom. A miracle! On the strength of that, Caroline agreed to my suggestion that we try for a round of the Munros - together. If you're wondering how realistic it was to be signing up for Skye on the strength of walking along a mule track, well I see your point. She seemed to mean it, though, as this shot from three years later suggests…

…which probably confused anyone scrolling down expecting to see a first pickie of the Shenavall track.

So C's head for heights was sorted. Just one phobia remained. Caroline said she'd now go up anything, but the one thing she wouldn't do was go in a tent. Another childhood trauma - this time running water in a tent.

Cut now to the following June, when we were on honeymoon in the campervan up in Ullapool. We'd done a couple of days out on the Fannaichs. The weather was set fair, and Caroline wanted to know what we could do next. The answer, of course, was that if she was serious about doing all the Munros, there'd never be a better time to do the Fisherfield hills. But, I explained, this would either involve two or three long trips in and out, or… I can act as Sherpa and we can camp half way round. Hm… now you put it like that… can we go tomorrow? And when I woke up the following morning Caroline was already wide awake - she said she felt like a kid on Christmas morning. Not a bad sentiment at the start of an expedition, eh?

Drive round to Corrie Hallie, then, packs out, sun cream very definitely ON, and away by about 8. A bit of shade as we made our way up Gleann Chaorachain, but out on the open moor it was plain hot. We had the view ahead to entice us, though…

…and over to our right, looking very alpine, a challenge for another day…

We headed on down the main track to the bend at the top of Strath na Sealga. Down there looked an oasis.

And in the other direction, the view down towards Loch na Sealga…

Down to the glen, and after we'd drunk the burn dry, and Sadie had topped up on her tan…

… we began the long slog up Beinn a' Chladheimh. And I'm afraid it was a slog - no breeze to speak of, the heat stuck in the heather, and the sun bouncing off the stones. At the top we met a nice couple who took our expedition photograph. Anyone recognize their rucksac here?

The main grind of the day was now over, and a high hazy cloud came over to take some of the sting out of the sun. But it was too late for one member of our party. Sadie sat down in the grass half way up Stob Ban, and that was that for her. Pooped. Into Caroline's pack she went - though she still seems to be enjoying the view…

Over Stob Ban, and up Mullach Choir Mhic Fhearchair. It's not every day that you're grateful for a bit of cloud cover, is it?

Round the skirty path under Meal Garbh to Beinn Tarsuinn, with atmospheric cloud effects wherever we looked.

It was getting on for 6 now, and once we got over Suidheachan Fhinn (sorry, but I can't think of it as the tennis court without thinking what a pain it would be to collect the balls) and off the Tarsuinn ridge I knew we could start looking for a camp.

And here it was. A perch above the Allt an Eas Dheirg - which after a succession of baking days was a very tired dribble. Mind you, so were we.

But hey, look what a decent rest can do! The dog is up and - well walking at least. As for the weather, not much had changed during the night, which meant that it was midgy round the tent. I suggested that if we were up for it, the best option would be to pack up and have breakfast on top of A' Mhaighdean. En route, someone had been out before us, thoughtfully pumping away with the dry-ice machine.

I do think it's fitting that the most hard-won of all the Munros should have probably the best summit. A spot like no other.

To be up there at 8 in the morning, enjoying breakfast, was an experience we won't forget in a hurry.

Down to the bealach, and a view out over Fuar Loch Mor…

…before dumping the packs for an up and down of Ruadh Stac Mor.

Now, my pc tells me that we were at this final summit of the trip before 10 in the morning. Caroline told me afterwards that she thought the trip was pretty-much done and dusted at this point - just the walk-out to do. Hm. My pc also tells me that we got back to Corrie Hallie seven hours later. We followed the stalkers paths down into Gleann na Muice Beag, where we noticed that Sadie was limping. Eek! - this time it was her pads that were bleeding! (I should say here that this trip was a learning curve for all of us, and Sadie has never needed a lift since.) Back into the pack for her.

Whatever it looks like in the photos, the weather was never threatening on this trip. And by the time we got back down to Gleann na Muice the cloud was breaking up again. I wonder when Fisherfield last looked this dry?

Over Strath na Sealga, and up to Shenavall, with its classic view back over to the Deargs.

One last pull up from behind the bothy, and we were back pretty-much where we came in. Hotter, more tired, but particularly to the woman with the dog - SOLD!

The irony for me, re-visiting this trip four years on, is that as wilderness trips go it really wasn't the cleverest of operations. The dog had forgiven and forgotten within an hour of being back in the van, but it can't have been her favourite: sorry, Sadie. And for us? Even before we added the dog to the load (so much for me acting as Sherpa) the packs we were lugging were unnecessarily clunky: my old gear and even older spares were due for retirment. And I can't claim that the high camp was really heaven: truth is, it was midgy outside the tent and sticky inside. But never mind all that, when we got home and I saw Caroline browsing decent sleeping bags on the net, I knew we were in business. Since then, hills with a camp have increasingly been our preference. The experience isn't always great, but it's always an experience.

I'm getting ahead of myself, though. Back at Corrie Hallie we we wound the windows down, whizzed back over Destitution Road to a camp by the shoreside in Ullapool. A shower, something cold in a glass, food and…

…which may well be the worst photograph ever to appear on this website, but it helps tell a tell.