It is impossible to visit this part of Scotland and escape views of the iconic mountains that dominate the landscape. Suilven, Stac Pollaidh and Canisp rise steeply from rolling moors of heather and gorse, casting considerable shadows over the many lochs of Assynt. Frequently shrouded in cloud, they are unforgiving environments shaped by thousands of harsh winters and the relentless energy of wind, rain, snow and ice. Walkers and climbers are drawn to the endless views afforded from their summits.For me though, there was something more appealing about another mountain, Quinag. I liked the changing aspect of its three buttresses, some sheer and others almost gentle. I liked the way the character of the mountain seemed to change as you drove around it; mysterious, inviting, forbidding and aloof. I even liked its name, pronounced Koon-yag in the local Highlands accent. It sounded like a villain from Macbeth, but is in fact a derivative of Cuinneag, the Gaelic word for milking pail (!).
When I asked Andy Somers, a ranger at the Lochinver Visitor Information Centre, about which mountain in the area I should climb, he suggested Quinag. It was his favourite, he said. He shared a story how rustlers once hid an entire herd of cattle in the great bowl of land lying between the peaks of Sail Gharbh and Spidean Coinich. That anecdote sold it for me. With a favourable weather report, I would go the next day.
Rather than a single mountain, Quinag is actually a Y-shaped range of three Corbetts (a Corbett being a Scottish peak between 2,500 and 3,000 feet high). My plan was reach the highest point, the summit of Sail Gharbh at 808m, and then see what else I could cover in the time I had left, weather permitting.
On the day of my walk, Adam dropped me on the eastern side of the mountain and I set off for Lochan Bealach Cornaidh, a small lake at the foot of Quinag (we have plotted this lochan on our research website, visit http://www.assynt.anglingresearch.org.uk/?q=ptf_top30_29). I savoured an hour of solo walking in bright sunshine, first passing the lochan and then ascending to the boulder-strewn heights of Sail Gharbh. The photo below shows the view from Sail Gharbh, looking down toward Lochan Bealach and the ridgeline of Spidean Coinich.
The wind strengthened considerably at this point of the walk, prompting me to wonder how long it would be before bad weather was blown my way. Conditions can change quickly at exposed summits like this, particularly in Scotland. A very strong gust surprised me with its intensity and knocked me to my knees, tearing a hole in my waterproof trousers. It was time to get down off this mountain, I thought, before I ended up halfway to Iceland.
Lurching back down toward the lochan, I had a sudden a change of heart. Now I could see two other walkers up on the wind-blasted ridgeline Spidean Coinich, scrambling along a precarious track that I had written off as being far too dangerous in these conditions. My male Ego suddenly reappeared from whatever distant, dark place that my Logic had banished it to : if those walkers were up there doing it, then I bloody well should too!
It proved to be one of my Ego's better interventions. The wind was manageable, and the scenery was incredibly beautiful. Assynt stretched out below me like a wrinkled green carpet. I even had time to eat my packed sandwiches and swill coffee in the lee of a large stone cairn. There were many of these cairns scattered about the hillside - presumably to assist walkers on those occasions when low cloud rolls in. As a parting gesture, Quinag offered up a pair of superbly camouflaged Rock Ptarmigans. This mountain is indeed a special place, and I can now appreciate why the John Muir Trust paid £600,000 for the right to conserve it (http://www.jmt.org/cuineag-quinag-estate.asp).
