It wasn't a great choice for my last Munro, A,Mhaighdean, in the Fisherfield Forest in the far North West. Arguably, the most remote of them all, and October wasn't the best month with fewer hours of daylight. Also, the forecast was for storms coming in a few days later. However, I was determined to have a go as I wanted to complete the round before my sixtieth birthday in a few weeks. But as this was a last-minute decision, I was struggling to find someone to come with me, and I usually climb with my climbing club pals. However, I didn't want to miss the weather window, and I did manage to find a friend to accompany me.
Driving north under darkening skies, I was looking at the rivers and burns as we passed them, and all looked to be in spate. Our route would involve two river crossings after we left Shenavall bothy, where we would spend the night after walking in from Corrie Haillie, which is where we would leave our car. Via the Munro, we would then walk out to Poolewe and get a taxi back to the car from there the next day.
The bothy was empty but there were three sleeping bags laid out upstairs. This is when I realised it was Halloween and maybe the sleeping bags were for Macbeth's three witches. We both walked down to the Abhainn Strath Sealga before it was too dark, and I just knew the water was too high for us to cross safely. We headed back up to the bothy expecting to be tracing our steps back to the car. I was glad not to be on my own in this remote bothy.
The next morning came, and no witches or anyone else appeared. We went back down to the river and amazingly, the level had dropped at least a foot and was now crossable with care. So after breakfast, we crossed the first river and headed over the bog towards the private bothy of Larachantivore. Halfway across the second river, a stalker appeared with his rifle over his shoulder. I shouted to him if he was going to let us cross, and then say we couldn't go further. But he was friendly enough, and although it was not the stalking season, they were culling the hinds in poor condition. It turned out we were not going in his direction, but he did say we might meet another stalker further on this morning.
We stopped at Lochan Feith Mhic Illean with ominous clouds above us for lunch. We then walked up to the bealach between Ruadh Stac Mor and A'Mhaighdean. Soon after, and in strong winds, we both stood on the summit, and I managed to get the last Munro photograph and flew a wee Saltire flag. So mission accomplished, we were now heading to Poolewe and our accommodation before the coming storm.
About two miles down the stalker's path, there were big dollops of fresh blood, which I couldn't figure out until I saw in the distance the stalker with a dead hind over his pony. Still, unsettling seeing blood on the trail, and a sad sight seeing a dead animal,. Eventually, they turned off our track, and we lost sight of them
We were moving fast to try and beat the weather, and looking down on the Dubh Loch, I could hardly see the causeway we had to cross for the waves. At one point, I thought it was completely underwater and maybe not passable. Before we descended, the rain started, light at first but increasingly heavy, and by the time we were following the Alt an Creige and into the darkness of the pine woods, it was pouring and looked even worse in the light of my headtorch.
Out of the woods eventually and onto tarmac, we came across a split in the road which wasn't on my map, and I was sure we had turned left. As we passed a keeper's cottage, I did something I have never done in my life and went and knocked on the door. It only opened a cautious few inches, and I explained we were heading to Poolewe, and if we turned left, the female voice said yes, that we would be in Poolewe in fifteen minutes. That cheered me up.
It was only after half an hour that I realised that the woman at the keeper's cottage must have thought we had a car! So we had a few miles to go before we saw the yellow sodium lights of Poolewe. We entered the hotel and were shown into the bar with a couple of towels. We must have looked soaked to the skin. The friendly barmaid asked where we had been, and I explained we had walked from Shenavall. She then asked if my dog was a Gordon Setter. I said yes, and she is now my best friend!