"The Fisherfield Six" may sound like some long-lost gospel vocal group... but are in fact one of the most sought-after prizes in Scottish hillwalking. These mountains are not only stunningly beautiful, but are amongst the hardest hills to reach anywhere in the country. The six peaks that form this impressive range are not approached by any roads, and are surrounded by other hills which protect them from the gaze of the many motorists on Scotland's NC500. The massive bulk of Slioch guards the south of Fisherfield, while mighty An Teallach, stands between them and the North. Their reputation for inaccessibility is enhanced by the fact the mountains themselves - when you finally reach them - are skirted by deep rivers and treacherous bogs. I tried to get into Fisherfield once before, but was beaten back by appalling weather.
Andy and I reached the Corrie Hallie carpark by mid-afternoon and lifted our monstrously heavy packs onto our backs and climbed the southbound track through attractive woodland, alongside a lovely river. Day one was cool, cloudy and ideal for the hard walk in. The mountains were all in cloud, so as we descended into Strath na Sealga, Fisherfield's secrets were hidden. This added a tantalising element of mystery to our rising sense of anticipation fuelled both by the sense of challenge ahead - and the great weather forecast.
We took the left hand track southwards, not the southwesterly one which forked to the right and Shenavall Bothy. The previous month has been very wet, and fearing that the Abhainn Strath na Sealga and the Abhainn Gleann na Muice rivers might be impassable, we planned a route that could avoid them if required. There is a delightful wood around 57.759873, -5.214479 which makes perfect wild camping site, with fresh water, wood, and soft grass for pitching. We looked at various potential pitches we'd spotted as we descended into the glen - but none of them were as good as this idyllic little spot. Tents pitched, coffee brewed and meals eaten we packed for the big day ahead. Drifting to sleep to the sound of the river was lovely- but it was a very, very cold night in the glen.
After a good feed, and plenty of hot coffee, we made a very early start southwards along the river, looking for a place to ford. Eventually we found somewhere that looked as if it offered at least the chance of a day with dry boots - and made it across. There is no path up Beinn a Chlaidheimh, whose demotion from Munro status does not indicate that it is any easy climb. Wet, steep and slippery eastern faces of the mountain with craggy obstacles to negotiate offer plenty of resistance -and a gruelling start to the day. We aimed for the ridge to the right of the summit and turned south and reached the icy-cold summit in cloud. 90% chance of cloud-free Munros, promised the usually pessimistic MWIS... Then Andy shouted,,, "Brocken Spectre!" and there sure enough, the sunlight refracting around us projected onto the cloud below. Absolutely magic and something I have never seen before in three decades of Scottish walking.
The surrounding mountains then poked their rocky summits up through the clouds below. It was like flying.
The southbound ridge to Sgurr Ban took us down into the cloud again, to a couple of lochans at the bealach. The climb up Sgurr Ban itself required a little navigation in the cloud and is a steep rocky affair which warmed us up, and as we reached the summit we burst out through the cloud again, cruising at a little over 3,000 feet!
South again, down the descent ridge caused no problems and the bealach lead directly on to the steep climb up Mullach Coire Mhic Fhearchair- the highest point of the day. Again, although the sun was blazing above us in blue sky - below was solid cloud, we couldn't see these great mountains much. Following the compass round the the SW corner of the little flat summit ridge, we struck south in the cloud and soon found something of a path which lead down towards Meall Garbh - a great 851m high lump, blocking the ridge. From the bealach however, an obvious bypass path to the right helped us to avoid this obstacle and brought us to the Bealach Odhar.
Beinn Teallach is hill of two halves. The ascent of its western ridge was memorable mostly because the sun finally burnt through the mist and the rest of our day was marked by mesmerising views. The view from the top was incredible as not only could we see the amazing mountains which he had already climbed, but the west coast opened up before us. Tarsuinn itself is a complex thing on it's western side, with a rocky pinnacled ridge, topped with a strange flat-topped lump about the size of a tennis court. After a rest and a good feed, we took the descent track westwards into a very boggy bealach.
Tired now, the ascent of A'Mhaighdean was gruelling and felt a lot more than it's mere 450 or so metres. Counting fifty paces at a time, and checking the altimeter on my phone.. (200 metres to go, 150.... 100) we got to the top - to be met by a view for which no words seem adequate. .... The sheer beauty and vastness of it all...
The descent off this hill was difficult though - a loose boulder field over which we made slow progress. Looming into view as we descended was the fearsome looking prospect of Ruadh Stac Mor - which looked impenetrable! In fact a small cairn in the bealach marks the start of a steep ascent route, whcih swings initially left then tracks over boulders under a cliff face to a steep scrambling pitch and up onto scree over which a scratchy path picked an improbable route up to the airy summit.
The long walk out is .... very, very long! We struck north between two distinctive lochans where we filled our water bottles, before heading westwards until we intersected a stalker path which took out towards Shenavall bothy - in blazing sunshine and intense humidity. Before Shanavall, near the newly rebuilt hut at Larachinivore we waded the river (our feet were now soaking) and slowly navigated the horrendous bog before wading the second river in front of Shenavall. The bogs contain slimy pits which could easily drown someone.... Had the rivers been impassible, we would have picked our way back along the south bank, but the sight of a good path back to the tent encouraged us to wade - and then to trudge back to the tent, the food, the fire, and sleep!
That is a walk I will never forget. The exhaustion, the camping, the bogs, the scenery, the ridges, the company, the sense of achievement, and the overwhelming sense of thankfulness to God for the beauty of the world, and the strength for today to enjoy it.
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