Climbing Ben Hope the hard way

A much more interesting approach, but longer, rougher and largely pathless, is from the Kyle of Tongue and this was my route on a recent day of mixed September weather.

With rising wind and rain forecast for the afternoon, I set off early along the estate track from the road. By using the correct tracks, it is possible to bypass Kinloch Lodge and reach the hills without disturbing gamekeepers or dogs.

Thank goodness the days when you could virtually be thrown off the land have gone and the responsible walker’s right of access is guaranteed by law. Nevertheless, the memories of unfriendly keep-out estates remain, and I prefer not to be seen.

Neil Gunn describes well how the unseen presence of the keeper overshadowed the Dunbeath strath, and I still have that feeling in places like this, like a fly on a wall in full view of any Land Rover or quad-bike that chose to drive up that stony track below as I made my way up steepening slopes towards the rugged outlier of Meallan Liath.

Just when I thought I was safely out of sight, I came across a stretch of hillside scarred by multiple quad-bike tracks and hurried on up, hoping not to hear that ominous ‘put-put-put’ of the keeper about on his business.

There are two rocky tops here and some quite awkward scrambling over and around piled boulders, rock ledges and little vertical faces to reach them both.

The wind had been picking up and funnelled across the first top in a blast of 60 or so mph, the distant summit of Ben Hope was thickly enveloped in cloud and tatters of mist rushed past. It didn’t bode well as I fought my way onto the higher top, expecting to have to retreat and maybe walk round Loch an Dherue instead.

But then – as happens – the wind died down as quickly as it had got up, the cloud continued to lift and in just a fresh breeze, I could carry on across the high, bare, stony landscape towards the steep slopes ahead. East of Ben Hope lies a plateau with half a dozen large lochans cradled in heathery basins surrounded by extremely rough country of piled boulders and peat. Always a wonderful place, remote and unvisited, but you need to give yourself plenty of time to pick your way across it.

There’s a choice of steep ridges leading the last 1500 feet to the top of Ben Hope. Just remember that the most northerly of these has an impassable (for walkers) ‘bad step’ which needs to be bypassed by a stony gully. Don’t try coming down that way.

I chose the ridge above Loch a’ Ghobha-Dhubh, a steep climb, and picked my way along deer-tracks through crags and more piled boulders. Ptarmigan live on these eastern slopes and corries, always very handsome birds but remarkably well camouflaged, being the colour of grey rock flecked with white at this time of year.

A last scramble took me onto a wide ridge where gentle bouldery slopes led on to the summit. In spite of grey skies, the air was clear, with views as far as the Cairngorms and Ben Alder, nearly 100 miles away. All the stony Sutherland peaks were spread out, stark and bare, while along the north coast lay the dot of Dounreay and Dunnet Head beyond, with the lumpy hills of Hoy on the northern horizon. Lewis and Skye, which I’ve seen before from here, were hidden by approaching rain.

Two other walkers had come up by the usual tourist route and reached the top ahead of me. They took some quick photos, then headed off down again, without bothering to detour a couple of hundred yards to the north where a small cairn marks the most dramatic view from the mountain. Seemingly straight below at the foot of immense crags lies long Loch Hope with Loch Eriboll beyond and, to the north, the Kyle of Tongue backed by the diminutive Rabbit Islands and Eilean nan Ron.

Rain and wind were encroaching fast. A relatively easy ridge descends due west of the summit, though care is needed crossing those steeply piled boulders. I stopped for a snack after descending a couple of hundred feet, accidentally letting go of the lid from my sandwich box which the wind grabbed, tumbling it upwards at 50 miles an hour to disappear over the crest of the ridge. The rain came on and I picked my way carefully downwards through this roughest of country to where a huge boulder near the loch gave shelter for the rest of my lunch.

The rain came and went during the rest of the afternoon, sometimes blowing across in spectacular sheets, sometimes drying up completely. With the wind mostly from behind, it wasn’t a hard walk back, crossing the southern slopes of Meallan Liath to pick up an old stalkers’ path which descends from a col west of Carn a Mhadaidh.

A fine group of stags cantered across, well antlered in readiness for the rut. In the next few weeks the groups will break up as the stags vie and fight for the attention of the hinds.

Nobody uses these old paths any more, ponies have long gone and guests ride to the hills for the stalking in Land Rovers and quad-bikes. The path, which has probably not been maintained for 100 years, has largely gone to seed but at least showed a good route through rough country. Not one footprint, other than those of the deer. Few folk climb Ben Hope from the east.

Far below, through the sheeting rain, a Land Rover was making its way down the track from Loch an Dherue. It stopped and I could feel the binoculars trained on me. Then in the distance I could see through the mists what looked like two vehicles parked on the track which I had to follow to reach the road.

Memories of being challenged so many times on the hills surfaced… Where have you been? Where are you going? I had every right to be there and was not poaching, or even disturbing the stalking, but still rehearsed my arguments in advance.

To my relief, the vehicles turned out to be a large rock and a small tree, and I reached the road without being seen or stopped. Down here the weather was quite different, warm, a little blowing drizzle. Clouds of flies and midges appeared whenever the wind dropped briefly. I drove back north to the Tongue causeway, the hills still swept by rain but here it had been almost dry.

In spite of the low spring tide and a strong offshore wind, the sandspit from the mainland to the Rabbit Isles remained covered. Thirty years ago it would clear at every spring tide but I doubt it ever does nowadays.

A new development in the Kyle is a large oyster farm west of the old pier, scheduled to take up some 15 hectares of the sea bed. Workers were harvesting at low tide but I was a little worried at the offputting nature of some notices posted by the shore as this is a favourite sea-kayak launching place.

All estates, fish-farms, farmers, salmon-river owners and whatever, please remember the enshrined right of responsible access by anybody on foot, bike, horseback, kayak, boat to all of our wonderful Scottish countryside. Provided we behave sensibly and follow the countryside codes, then nobody can keep you or me out.

So next time you climb Ben Hope, try the route from the east.

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