Day three : the remarkable Dubh Loch we hopped between isles and headlands . The further we travelled , the more we became surrounded by hills , towering and complex mountains like Beinn Airigh Charr , Beinn Lair and Beinn a ’ Chaisgein Mor , made largely of billions-of-years-old Lewisian gneiss . As you approach the head of the loch , it is indeed like some ancient lost world .
A causeway crosses the waters near Carnmore , a hunting and fishing lodge named after an immense crag hulking above it . Beyond is the Dubh Loch , the Black Loch , a proper contrast to Fionn Loch , the Fair Loch . This awe-inspiring bowl is like somewhere out of Tolkein , huge slabs tumbling into the dark waters , mountains towering on all sides , with mighty A ’ Mhaighdean as the backdrop . This was our destination , somewhere on Dubh Loch we would camp , in this truly astonishing place .
First , a very short but annoyingly awkward lift and walk over the causeway , which was , of course , defended by rocks . Now we headed out onto the dark waters , feeling tiny beneath its massive flanks . I lingered , not wishing to rush , awed by the landscape soaring around me . At the back of the loch was a perfect flat meadow behind a gently shelving beach . This would be our campsite , a comfortable spot with a meandering burn and even a choice of different areas to pitch . The pirate kids set up their camp at one end of the beach and drew a line forbidding the crew to cross it . The rest of us chose either a flat section of the perfect soft meadow by the winding stream that became known as Oxfordshire or closer to the communal centre of the camp , i . e . where the food and drink were , by the beach . Liz ’ s bean chilli fed our hungry bodies as the waters became utterly still , and later I followed young Alex ’ s example and slipped out onto the water to paddle as the sunset .
A day of rest and exploration followed . Behind camp , a glen rose to Gorm Loch Mor , a hidden trough of water trapped in this magnificent , folded landscape . Most of us visited it , for it is a remarkable spot in its own right . Generally , though , we relaxed and ate almost continuously , culminating in Pete ’ s excellent soya curry with naan bread and mango chutney .
THE ASCENT OF ARMAGEDDON With its hard-to-pronounce Gaelic name of A ’ Mhaighdean , this remotest of British mountains is often known as Armageddon by those who reach it and its sister top of Ruadh Stac Mor . Rising immediately above camp , vast walls led to a ridge capped with Torridonian sandstone and then to the quartzite cap of the summit above . This was the target for half of the group on the following day , yet another day of sun . We chose to climb the northwest ridge , reached after a tough slog up steep slopes to the beautiful rocky corrie that houses Fuar Loch Beag . Above , after replenishing our rapidly diminishing water supplies and taking on as much as possible to avoid dehydration on a hot day , we wound our way on pathless terrain to the ridge proper . Here , the sandstone forms a series of broken , rotting towers that block progress along the ridgeline . A tortuous and insecure route dips in and out around these pinnacles before a final clamber reaches the summit slopes . This is a fantastic route up a mountain , by far the best way to reach the top of A ’ Mhaighdean , really doing it justice . And from the summit , perched right on the edge of a considerable drop , the views are simply magnificent , endless layers of remote hills laid out in all directions except for that looking to the sparkling , island-studded sea . We sat and pondered how many folks might have climbed this as their very first Munro other than 13-yearold Tobey and 10-year-old Ben . Looping round to the north to descend the hill allowed some of us to nip up Ruadh Stac Mor , a less impressive summit with more outstanding views . Eventually , we reached camp in the early evening after an unforgettable mountain day to find Liz had already started work on Lynne ’ s corn beef hash . This would be our last night in the mountains .
LEAVING THE DUBH LOCH BEHIND Paddling out the following day , I ’ m not sure any of us wanted to leave . It was a greyer day than we ’ d had , with moderate winds whistling down the glen to camp , and we wanted to press on . By now , we ’ d not had a good weather forecast for five days , and we didn ’ t want to push our luck , so we were leaving with a day in hand in case we had to stop halfway . We hoped to divert to Loch Maree for a night to use that day if we got a favourable forecast once back in mobile data range .
The Dubh Loch felt a little more threatening than it had done when we arrived , but still , it was sad to leave . That annoying short portage over the causeway was quickly behind us , and we were back on Fionn Loch . Here the wind funnelled from two glens was reaching the head of the loch , and the waves were only just within our safety zone ; no white caps , but not that far off them . We agreed to hug the end of the loch and then make our way parallel to the far shore to avoid crossing later on . It was a bit of a battle , especially for the time we were side on to the wind , and it seemed to be getting stronger . Once we reached the southwest shore , the wind was behind us , and concentration was required to keep canoes at the best angle to the waves and make sure we stayed in close contact . A bay or small point allowed us to tuck in and get a little respite every kilometre or so .
Day five : Tobey on the ascent
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