I have a confession to make: I find great, some might think perverse, pleasure at times in bypassing Munro summits. It is the source of profound liberation – once the need to ‘bag’ is overcome, a whole new world opens up in the hills, endless possibilities for exploring, leading to all kinds of interesting and unexpected places. Plans laid out in advance become mere sketches, to be refined and adjusted on the go and on a whim.

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The Mamores offer some exceptionally good running. The landscape is stunning, the natural lines are first rate, and the surface is generally runner-friendly. The famed (and now even raced) Ring of Steal provides an obvious half day outing, but I dare to say the Mamores have a lot more to offer! On the western end it is well worth venturing all the way to Meall a’Chaorain for the remarkable change in geology and the unique views of Ben Nevis, but it is the dramatic ‘loch and mountain’ type of scenery (of a quality rare this far south) of the eastern end that is the Mamore’s true crown jewel.

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My gran married young, and was widowed young, my current age. I have a very few regrets in life, but not getting to know grandpa is one of them. He was a great lover of nature, a working man with little spare time, escaping into the woods with binoculars and a camera whenever he could. A passion borne out by countless strips of film left behind. As I am getting older I too am drawn into the woods, increasingly not for ‘adventure’, but for the tranquility and the sense of awe it invariably brings. I sense we were kindred spirits, but I can only imagine, he died before my third birthday and I have no memories of him at all.

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I agree with David Lintern that we (urgently) need a debate about the making of fires in our wild spaces, and I am grateful that he took the plunge and voiced that need. But while I think David’s is, by far, the most sensible take on the matter among some of the other advice dished out recently, I want to argue that we, the anonymous multitude of outdoor folk, need to go a step further and make the use of open fire in UK wild places socially unacceptable. Not making a fire is the only responsible option available to us. Not convinced? Here is my case.

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The south ridge of Ben More Assynt has been on my mind for a while, ever since I laid eyes on it a few years back from the summit. It’s a fine line. Today is perhaps not the ideal day for it, it’s fairly windy and likely to rain for a bit, but at least for now the cloud base is, just, above the Conival summit. I dither whether to take the waterproof jacket, it will definitely rain, but it’s not looking very threatening just now, and it’s not so cold. In the end common sense prevails and I add it to the bag, then set off from Inchnadamph up along Traligill river.

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Today I walked through one of my favourite Assynt places, off the path well trodden, just me, birds, deer … and ash from a recent wild fire. I couldn’t but think of MacCaig’s frogs and toads, always abundant around here, yet today conspicuous by their absence.

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The hills on the west side of Glen Creran will be particularly appreciated by those searching for some peace and quiet. None of them reach the magic 3,000ft mark, and so are of no interest to the Munroist, while the relatively small numbers of Corbettistas follow the advice of the SMC guidebook and approach their target from Ballachuilish. Yet, the lower part of Glen Creran, with its lovely deciduous woodland, deserves a visit, and the east ridge of Fraochaidh offers excellent running.

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TL;DR: ~440 hours of running, 3,000km travelled, 118km ascended, an FKT set on the Assynt Traverse. Yet, the numbers don’t even begin to tell the story …

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It’s that time of the year again when the white stuff is covering the hills. This year it’s come early and without a warning, one day still running in shorts, next day rummaging for the winter gear (and, typically, by the time I have finished writing this, much of the snow is gone again). Winter hill running is bit of an acquired taste, but taking on the extra challenges is, often, worth it.

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The mountain bike is a great iteration in the evolution of the bicycle, opening a whole new world of possibilities as well as challenges. There are places where this is undoubtedly more true than others, and Scotland is, unquestionably, such a place. Not simply because of our long standing tradition of access, but because much of our spectacular landscape lends itself well to what the mountain bike has to offer.

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The Lochness Marathon is approaching fast, and with it my turn to be the support crew. Because of the race logistics there is a fair bit of hanging around … but Glen Affric being just down the road, I know the perfect way to ‘kill’ the time – the Carn Eighe loop is just the right length to be back at the finish line in a good time! A run along a great natural line, without any significant technical or navigational challenges, yet offering stunning views, on the edge of one of the more remote feeling parts of Scotland.

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Bothies are, in my mind at least, a national treasure, capturing something of the very essence of the Scottish character and generous attitude to strangers. They are more than shelters, they provide for chance encounters of likeminded folk, to share stories (and drams) the old fashioned way, their logbooks testimony to whatever it is that drives us out of our sterile urban existences. And for the runner, they are an excellent resource for multi day trips, cutting on the amount of kit required, as well as extending the window of opportunity beyond the summer months.

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I have a thing about hills. It goes back a long way. Aged five, my granny took me on a holiday in the mountains, and I have been drawn back ever since. Forty-plus years later, out there on the high ground, the inner child comes out just as wide-eyed as when during those two weeks I listened to tales of mountain creatures, real and mythical alike, and imagined the fairies and elfs coming out after dark.

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The Coigach hills provide perhaps the single best short run in the entire Coigach / Assynt area. The running is easy on excellent ground (if at places exposed – not recommended on a windy day!), the views are magnificent in all directions, and the caffe in the Achiltibuie Piping School provides excellent post-run cakes!

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It’s 2:55am and the day, which is supposed to be a culmination of a three year long dream, is being (un)ceremonially drummed in by rain on a skylight window in Inchnadamph Lodge Hostel.

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Every time I pass through the grassy bowl north of Beinn an Fhurain, a shiver runs down my spine. Here a temporal singularity is created by the intersection of the merciless nature of these ‘wee hills’ of ours with the brokenness of the world we have created for ourselves on the one hand, and the cruelty of fate on the other.

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