SUBLIME VIEWS HIDE THE REAL NATURE OF SUMMER HILLS

IT'S said that every picture tells a story, but I've always believed that depends on who is taking the photo and who is telling the story.

The narrative driven by the images presents only one facet of the whole and the back story can often offer a completely different perspective.

For example, our recent five-day mountain trip out west produced a superb series of images: iconic summits framed by glorious sunshine and blue skies lined with towering cotton wool clouds, perfect clarity providing views to distant horizons.

No surprise then that these photos were well received with lots of misty-eyed 'wish I was there' messages. But after all the oohing and aahing, it's only fair to offer a more down to earth critique of this long hot summer: this is my least favourite time of year in Scotland.

I don't mind the heat and settled conditions when travelling abroad. After all, that's why you go. But it just doesn't seem right here – we are not made for these conditions. And that especially applies in the mountains.

At the first sign of the sun, the hills are alive – and not always in a good way. Suddenly there are hordes of tents in inappropriate locations, over-sized camper vans clogging the roads, cars parked haphazardly and sometimes dangerously, illegal fires and the stomach-churning smell of barbecue, rubbish strewn everywhere. Add the midges, ticks, horse flies, deer keds plus many, many more annoying, biting, stinging, blood-sucking beasties – we were even attacked by flying ants this year – and it's easy to see how summer can be less than attractive.

Roll on autumn. Roll on winter. Then roll on spring. Summer? It can do one. Every other season provides a superior mountain experience.

I largely concur with the philosophy: Summer is not for boys like me, I belong in the rain. Okay, maybe that's taking it a bit too far, but you get the gist. I'm definitely not a fan of July and August.

That's not to say we didn't have a great week. Any time spent in the hills is infinitely better than the alternative, no matter the season or conditions. Our base was Inbhirfhaolain, the Grampian Club hut halfway down Glen Etive, a handy gateway to so many iconic mountains.

It did get off to a slow start when I decided to give the ascent of Beinn Fhionnlaidh in temperatures touching 28C a miss, instead spending time chilling in the middle of a stream while my walking partner Andy nipped up to get his Munro tick.

That opt-out proved a wise choice as we were up at 4am next morning for the drive to Mallaig and the first ferry to Knoydart. The welcome breeze of the crossing was soon left behind, the wall of heat hitting us as we soon we set foot on shore.

We started off together, then parted ways at a split in the track, Andy heading for a circuit of Ladhar Bheinn while I took the path into Gleann Meadail to tackle Beinn Buidhe, that sprawling, rugged, multi-topped Corbett which dominates the skyline to the east. This had been my final summit on the first round, another day of heat, toil and midges.

There were others heading for the same destination but while they cut off halfway up the track to start picking their way up the slopes, I stayed on the path to reach the Mam Meadail, the high pass which provides the perfect frame for Sgurr na Ciche.

The reward for this extra effort is one of the finest views in the west. It's always a delight but there was an added bonus this time: the brawny pyramid wreathed in layers of stationary cloud lending it a sublime dreamlike quality. The lively breeze coming across the col was another plus, the sudden cooling making the push up on to the rocky ridge a much easier affair. The main summit soon came into sight, but there was a lot of up and down, including over the deep cut of the Mam Uchd, before I finally reached the trig pillar.

With good visibility, the drop off the final top, Sgurr Coire nan Gobhar, was trouble-free although care was needed on the initial passage through the crags. I was aiming for the recently installed hydro track thinking it would make for a fast descent but its steepness and loose stones meant most of the time was spent with the brakes on. Not an option to make your knees happy.

Andy arrived back at around the same time, and we joined the crowds relaxing outside the Old Forge in the sunshine. It was good to see the pub flourishing after years of uncertainty and challenge. The recent renovations have transformed the building while keeping the character intact: the main bar has shifted slightly on an angle to the right, the new counter top adorned with wooden 'bricks' decorated with the names of those who contributed to the community buy-out; there's a second, smaller bar now to the right of the main pub; and the kitchen and the toilets have been massively upgraded. Life seems to be good.

Knoydart is a special place and leaving on the ferry always brings a slight feeling of melancholy: the row of white buildings receding until fading to nothing, the horizon of the big peaks standing like a guard of honour, saluting your departure while dangling the lure that will inevitably tempt you back.

Our return to our Glen Etive base was delayed by timed road closures, and with another big journey to Arkaig to come we decided to stay local the following day. This also enabled a welcome later start, the run down the glen a mere ten minutes to the start point for the Ben Starav group.

The extensive run-of-river work here over the past few years has meant regular changes in the path and track network, and while the scars are still fresh there are encouraging signs that time may heal many of these wounds. In some cases, the situation is already improved.

For instance, the track by the river now bypasses the house at Coileitir which means there is no longer any need to use the quagmire 'path' which used to go round the fence line of the house grounds. It also suggests a more definitive line south by the Allt nam Meirleach with stepping stones and regular signage to encourage keeping to the path to aid regeneration. There's still a mess of rubble and severe erosion at the end of this section but it is looking more hopeful that this will recover eventually.

With big mountain days either side, we decided not to attempt the full round of five Munros this time, instead focussing on the awkward outlier Beinn nan Aighenan which requires an out-and-back from the main ridge.

Its solitary position and the emptiness of the glen in front of you suggests a wilder journey out than the reality, but that individuality also provides superb views of the peaks along the main ridge, Ben Starav in particular looking resplendent.

Sitting at the summit, I was happy to have been here for the fifth and final time and had no desire to continue on to any other tops, but I encouraged Andy to at least take in Glas Bheinn Mhor so that his next visit would only require the remaining pair Stob Coir'an Albannaich and Meall nan Eun to sweep up, a much easier day out.

We were joined that evening by another Andy, attracted by the travel share option for the long and winding road along Loch Arkaig – a single-track rollercoaster more suited to Mr Toad's driving skills – planned for the next day.

At least I would be going with the AA, two Andys. Or should the plural be Andes? Considering the mountainous nature of the trip, I think I prefer the latter.

The road didn't seem quite as bad as memory served, no flashbacks, no ruined tyres, but it still takes a fair amount of time and patience. The bigger problem came when we reached the parking area at the road end.

As we pulled into a space and turned off the engine we suddenly became aware of the dark clouds gathering at the windows. Midges, millions of them. Andy No.1 was heading for the three Munros traverse to Sgurr na Ciche, myself and Andy No.2 were tackling the two Corbetts pair Sgurr Mhurlagain and Fraoch Bheinn.

Most of our gear was thankfully inside the car but even then we knew it would be a case of getting dressed on the move. Andy No.1 had to get going, we could afford to wait a bit longer. He had the look of a condemned man. Then he bit the bullet and sprang from the car, pulling on his rucksack and adjusting straps as he fled west.

We gave it another ten minutes or so, trying to get our timing right to try and take the little beggars by surprise, even though we knew it would be futile. Anyway, there was enough of them now inside the car to make it unpleasant so no point waiting much longer.

We were liberally smeared with Smidge and wearing mosquito patches – they had recently proved to be a big success in Croatia and Italy – but even with every weapon at our disposal it felt they were still getting through.

Our ascent was fast but every time we felt they had been left behind, any short stop proved us wrong, hence the fast approach time to the bealach. We did manage to lose them on the steady stride up the ridge but although the midges appeared to have clocked off, we then encountered the next shift of annoying beasties – deer keds. Otherwise known as louse flies, they are parasites that feed off members of the deer family. They look like little flying spiders and are mainly an irritant to humans, although they can bite and cause illness, especially to the likes of stalkers and estate workers who are exposed to deer blood and carcasses. They also seem to be indestructible, bouncing back and reforming after you think you have squashed them between your fingers. Feeling them crawling through your hair is particularly creepy.

The summit view from Sgurr Mhurlagain drew the eyes down the full length of Loch Arkaig in one direction and over to a jumble of magnificent summits in the other but it didn't do to hang around too long with the constant aerial assault.

The continuation to Fraoch Bheinn looked a long way down and a long way up again with no obvious line of attack. I had no recollection of these two as an excessively tough outing back in 2006, and that was in early morning darkness and a good covering of snow with little visibility at height. Looking at them now, I started to have nagging doubts as to whether I had actually been here before. It was a relief to later see the pictorial evidence confirming I had, though it also made me once again question my mindset and the sanity of a solo winter ascent at this lonely location.

We bobbed and weaved to find a way through the craggy terrain, a constant uphill push but one which delivered us at the little cairn in good time. So far we had been pathless on this pair, but we found a decent one for a while on the way down the south-west ridge before it too petered out leaving us drop down a grassy corrie.

We had been dreading the return to the car but arrived to find that the midge swarms had vanished due to a combination of sunlight and wind. Andy No.1 turned up about an hour later having made speedy progress on the seemingly never-ending trek back from his triple Munros success. One thing you realise when you hit the summit of Sgurr na Ciche: you have been getting further and further away with every step along the ridge, and it's an awful long way back.

The final day was a lazy one. Well, as lazy as doing two Munros can be. We made a later start for the short jaunt round to the Glencoe ski centre for the ascent of Meall a' Bhuiridh and Creise, batted away the midges at ground level and made it round at a leisurely pace in just under five hours.

We had survived a week of excessive heat, busy roads and mass insect assaults, enjoyed visiting a wide variety of special places and racking up a healthy tally of big hills, but I couldn't help wondering how much better it would have been in fine autumn conditions. Or winter. Or spring.