wilderness is a place untouched, then few (if any) remnants are left in Europe. But at times the hills of Scotland feel close to that ideal. However, most of the remaining areas genuinely unaffected by human activity are found only above about 700m. Elsewhere the impression of wilderness is generally false. This is an environment degraded by deforestation and managed, in effect, as a giant deer farm.
But the feeling of Scotland’s wildness remains. When confronted with the vast, the untamed, the ancient and the other, our feelings may evade neat definition; but we know them when we feel them. The Highlands and Islands are a rarity in modern Europe – a place where such experiences remain the norm; a sparsely populated area of significant size left largely uncluttered and uncultivated, influenced more by the elements than by industry.
Ironically, even the emptiness is to some extent a man-made desolation. Most of today’s deserted glens once supported subsistence communities, and although it would be tedious to romanticise the bleakness of former times we should at the very least acknowledge the brutal economics that bled the uplands of their people during the Clearances of the 18th and 19th centuries. Born of past injustice it may have been, but its emptiness is now the area’s unique selling point, making it an exceptional resource for wilderness tourism and a boon to us all in an overused world.
Getting around
Public transport in the Highlands is patchy – in some parts reasonable, but elsewhere limited or non-existent. Hubs such as Fort William and Kyle of Lochalsh are linked to the cities of Scotland’s south and east by rail or long-distance bus route (sometimes both), making them accessible overland (given time) from places as exotic as Paris, Brussels or even London. Intermediate points along the main transport arteries are, of course, equally accessible, and those with hills on the doorstep make good bases for car-free walkers – such as Crianlarich, Glencoe or Aviemore. The ferry ports for the western isles are Ullapool, Oban and Uig on Skye (itself served by ferry from Mallaig and road from Kyle), while Rum and the other Small Isles are reached from Mallaig. In remoter parts of Scotland buses may be few and far between, especially in the northwest. Public transport information is provided in the box at the start of each walk in this book. See also Appendix 4 for details of the main transport providers.
On some approaches it’s ‘two wheels good, two legs bad’ – Sgurr na Lapaich (Walk 15) from Glen Strathfarrar (Walk 14)
The amphibious assault – Sgurr na Lapaich (Walk 15) from Loch Mullardoch on the approach to Walk 16
By car
Walkers generally drive to the hills. Given the freedom, flexibility and kit-carrying capacity of a car it’s easy to see why – particularly if the cost and carbon footprint is shared between several people. Many of the walks described in this book are simply inaccessible by public transport alone.
By bike
Quieter Highland roads are ideal for cycle touring, and this is a satisfying way to spend a holiday, ticking off a walk here or there along the way. A train/bike combination is also worth considering, as many hills are in easy cycling distance of rail-friendly centres. Drivers can also get in on the fun, as routes that involve significant tarmac walking can be made more convenient with a cunningly pre-stashed bike.
And biking doesn’t have to end at the road-head. The profusion (some would say excess) of 4WD estate tracks in Scotland makes a pedal-powered approach a realistic option for many of the walks described in this book, even for those averse to full-on mountain biking. Saddling up is arguably the most enjoyable way to negotiate long low-level track approaches such as Seana Bhraigh (Walk 6) and the end-of-day downhills can be particularly fun. The walk information box includes notes on approaches where two wheels are a good option.
High-spec full-suspension mountain bikes are unnecessary for the gentle variety of off-road cycling found in this book, but a sturdy frame, fat tyres, front suspension, mud guards and a rear pannier may all prove welcome on pedal-powered hill forays. Go armed with a basic tool kit, spare inner tubes and a pump. It’s better to carry all this and end up not needing it, than to take your irreparable steed for an unintended long walk.
Loch Quoich from Sgurr na Ciche, 4.20am (Walk 21)
By boat
Water makes up a large part of the Highland landscape, so it’s worth making practical use of it. Lochs – both salt and fresh – can serve as highways, stretching far into remote country to give access to the hills. Where possible, paddling is much more enjoyable than plodding along bulldozed tracks, and somehow it feels more adventurous than cycling too. To follow in the wake of Polynesian island-hoppers, Inuit hunters and Yukon pioneers – if only for a weekend – is the yarn from which dreams are braided.
Long journeys by paddle power are the aquatic equivalent of backpacking, the meditative dip of blades echoing the rhythm of a hiker’s footfall. Approach a big hill route by water and you should have the best of both worlds – a trip on which the first part of the journey is at least as memorable as the high-level destination at the end of it.
A handful of the walks in this book can be accessed amphibiously, and if a practical waterborne option exists this is noted in the walk information box. Although a boat on a loch might be more romantic than a slog through a bog, none of the paddles described are strictly necessary; there is always an alternative – in some cases taking more time and effort, and sometimes wetter. In most cases paddlers will want to make a weekend of it – and here’s where boats excel, since their generous load-carrying capacity permits more luxurious camping, from disposable barbecues to wine boxes (as long as you take them back out with you, of course).
The most suitable vessels are sea kayaks and open canoes, each of which have their adherents. Specialist equipment differs between them, but the two essential bits of kit common to both are dry bags in which to store all spare clothing and bedding, and a buoyancy aid. Boat-handling skills are different in each case too, and best learned on a course or with a club. Safe sea kayaking, for instance, requires a broad set of skills and a familiarity with currents, tides and other nautical mysteries. No open sea crossings are suggested in this book, and only a very few trips in salt water are mentioned at all. But even freshwater lochs can be unforgiving. Wind, waves and extremely cold water are all things to be wary of, and the best advice for the less experienced is go in a group and wait for ideal conditions. Even then be cautious.
Camps, bivvies, bothies and howffs
It was tempting to title this book ‘Great Mountain Days and Wild Nights Out’, since the latter are integral to a hill-walking life fully lived. The roar of rutting stags echoing through empty evening glens; ridges rolled out under a starry sky free of light pollution; dawn tinting frosted slopes pink and gold – walkers who habitually forsake hills for the nocturnal comfort of valleys miss out on so much.
To camp wild is to take temporary refuge from the everyday, deepening awareness of nature and landscape by making yourself at home within it. With silence and solitude comes freedom simply to be. From high cols and sheltered lochans to remote sea shores, potential camp sites are as diverse as Scotland’s wild landscapes. Thanks to liberal access legislation we are officially entitled to pitch up at will, although the usual caveats about responsibility and discretion still apply. Camping wild is an activity best conducted far from roads and houses.
Bivvying is more flexible than camping, as a reclining body needs a smaller floor space than even the most compact tent. Because less gear is generally involved,
