Moonwalker - Adventures of a Midnight Mountaineer

JUST back from four days in the North-west Highlands, four days that once again highlighted the folly of trying to second-guess our mercurial weather.

The forecasts were all over the place, shifting from hour to hour and always completely at odds with one another. It's fair to say that even in the dullest conditions in Scotland, there's never really a dull moment.

There was consistency at the start, the cloud sheet falling lower and lower with every mile on the road north to Assynt. I broke the journey with a short leg stretch up Little Wyvis. It promised little in the way of summit views and didn't disappoint, but at least it was dry.

My plan for the following day was to stay off the high tops and out of the clag, heading further north instead for a long, lower-level wander to a couple of remote bothies in supposedly better conditions. Doubts began to surface as I left the unexpected sights of glistening lochs and sunlit faces behind and was drawn deeper into an enveloping gloom. There were moments of sunshine during the 23-kilometre circuit but my more consistent companion for the day was drizzle.

A few miles south and the curtain lifted, every peak clear and proud, some with just the odd puff of white cloud sitting alongside for dramatic effect, a complete contrast to my destination, just as it had been for most of the day. The feeling that our base in Assynt was at the epicentre of a separate micro-climate to the rest of the country was driven home next morning during an ascent of the spectacular Quinag. 

The most optimistic forecasts had been for a cloudy morning with the possibility of the high tops clearing in the afternoon. What we got instead was brilliant sunshine and superb visibility from the off.

In an area where every mountain garners superlatives, Quinag still manages to stand head and shoulders above the crowd. It's actually more of a mini-mountain range than a lone hill, three Corbett peaks linked by fine paths slicing through crags and rocky terraces involving a lot of ups and downs.

It had been 16 years since my last acquaintance with this triple-crown behemoth and it was satisfying to experience a curious mix of revelation and recollection with every step. The first summit, Spidean Coinich, is the finest, its bold rocky face dominating the views from all angles, but there's much to be enjoyed on all three summits. 

Every rise brought a fresh perspective of the surrounding landscape, from seascapes and sparkling lochans to the outrageously shaped rock sculptures of the near neighbours especially the shape-shifting Suilven. Once again, however, the distant horizons north and south were buried under a sea of cloud, reinforcing the idea that we were in the eye of the norm, an oasis of sunshine standing out of the grey.

A day of sublime conditions on the hill always lifts the soul and with a similar forecast for the final day, I was already looking to taking care of some unfinished business.

For me, Cul Mor was an outstanding mountain in more ways than one. It was the one that got away, the only hill in this region on which I had yet been denied a summit view. The one defining image from a previous ascent many years ago was of a very cold and wet group of friends huddled beneath the shelter cairn waiting in hope for the gloom to clear. It didn't.

I had higher hopes this time, but I should have known better. The mist was right down to the road, Cul Mor a mythical beast lurking somewhere in the swirling grey. I debated whether it was worth making the effort or heading further down the road to try to to find some clarity. The idea of another sightless day at the summit didn't appeal.

Laziness rather than any sliver of optimism won through. I was here and it might not be any better anywhere else so I set off on the path into the great nothingness. I followed it across the hillside then across a boggier area and finally up stonier slopes marked by a line of cairns. And as I approached the highest of those piles of stones, I found myself rising through the cloud sheet.

Blue sky was now overhead, a straining sun fighting hard to take control. Then the twin peaks of Creag nan Calman and Cul Mor appeared. The mist swept in and out during the final climb but I arrived at the summit cairn to catch the highest tops resembling islands in a vast sea of white.

It wasn't the perfect view I had been looking for, but it was spectacular and my decision to push ahead despite early reservations had been vindicated. It also felt as though the weather had tipped its hat and saluted my defiance.