There was something very different about leaving the Glenbrittle campsite this time around. I had only experienced the place through a haze of rain and midges on our last visit and when we had set off up the track that time we had no real prospect or intention of completing the ridge at all. We had been back in the tent and trying to dry out in less than two hours. This time the sky was completely cloudless, there was a paramotor flying overhead to see us off and we were absolutely determined to complete the Cuillin Ridge. My glimpses of the ridge from atop the summit of the Saddle over in Glenshiel earlier that day and then from the roadside on the way down from Sligachan had given me the feeling that in setting out on the traverse, we were in for something grand, tough and unforgettable.

Above: A good beginning - clear blue skies and a paramotor flyover at Glenbrittle.
Below: Coire a Chruidh as seen on the ascent of Gars-bheinn.

Our late evening start came from our decision to bivvy up at the beginning of the ridge proper on Gars-bheinn and then set out on the traverse at dawn the next morning. Initially the path from Glenbrittle wandered uphill fairly gradually and brought us under some of the spectacular valleys and peaks of the Cuillins whose names I actually didn’t want to know yet. We had a map of course but we were determined not to use the description of the ridge in the guidebook that seemed to tell you what to do and which way to turn at every difficulty. We were going to climb this ridge as we found it. The deer that crossed our path, the birds that soared overhead, the views out to the isles of Rhum and Soay and the endless sea behind them, kept us distracted enough until we were faced with the last tough ascent up the scree strewn slopes on to Gars-bheinn. On the top it was cool and quiet and magic. The ridge looked impossibly long. It was a perfect evening to be high on a mountain.

Above: Looking down on the isles of Rhum, Eigg and Muck from Gars-bheinn.
Below: Approaching the summit of Gars-bheinn with the inlet of Loch Brittle in the background.

Planned or unplanned, bivvying out is always something that is very memorable. Just as the sun set over the ridge, we found a good spot overlooking Loch Coruisk. All night I waited for it to get dark but it never did and all night I waited for the unveiling of a spectacular sky of stars and just one showed up. I also assumed that the sun would rise one hundred and eighty degrees away from where it had set and again I was surprised, the difference being about forty five. We had agreed on a four a.m. start the next morning but Aidan, in a warmer sleeping bag and in a real bivvy bag, seemed just a little surprised when I shook him awake. Initially the going was easy and the growing daylight reflected on the ridge was fascinating enough to make us forget how early it actually was. We traversed over the top of the unusual rocky outcrop of Caisteal a’Garbh-choire and took an abseil down from the top, making me wonder that if the ridge was all as easy as this, then what was all the fuss about?

Above: Sunset over the Cuillin Ridge.
Below: Loch Coruisk and Loch Slapin in the distance as seen at dawn from the Cuillin Ridge.

As we raced along the top of the harsh sounding Coir a Ghrunnda we passed another pair of bivvyers who were obviously so cosy that they couldn’t drag themselves away from their rock shelter. From there, the outlying Sgurr Dubh Mor lies quite a bit off the main ridge but the scrambling up to its summit was well worth the diversion and I could feel myself getting into a rhythm. With little fuss we found our way back on to the main ridge and were a little disappointed to see thin cloud floating up from the corries below and starting to hover around the peaks ahead of us. I came upon the Thearlaich Dubh gap unexpectedly and looking across at the climb out of it was a bit worrying. It looked hard and as we abseiled into the gap, we were blasted by a strong wind which was being whisked up from the corrie below. Fortunately the crack looked a lot easier standing underneath it and although we only had a very small rack, it was more than enough to get us up. Now I was enjoying myself.

Above: Descending from Sgurr Dubh na da Bheinn to the Thearlaich Dubh Gap.
Below: Aidan waiting in the Thearlaich Dubh Gap.

We were moving quickly and I made the mistake of running to the top of Sgurr Thearlaich before taking in the ridge’s highest peak and its neighbour Sgurr Alasdair. From both peaks you could now see the whole ridge including the blade of the Inaccessible Pinnacle which still seemed quite a long way off. The day had finally decided that it was going to be a bit overcast but once it stayed dry we didn’t mind and as we were carrying only two litres of water we certainly didn’t want it to get too hot. We also seemed to be the only pair undertaking the full ridge traverse that day, despite the internet being littered with accounts of queues and bottlenecks at the more difficult sections. With no one in front or behind us, we kept going.

Above: Sgurr Alasdair and Sgurr Thearlaich as seen while ascending Sgurr na da Bheinn.
Below: The Inaccessible Pinnacle with Sgurr na Banachdich just behind the cloud.

The rough gabbro was excellent for the huge amount of scrambling involved in the next section of the ridge which kept changing and seemed like it would never stop coming at us. We down climbed slabs, bridged up corners and pushed our way through more and more dramatic rock architecture. From Sgurr Mhic Choinnich, the blade of the Inn Pinn finally seemed to be getting close and we were quickly at its base. We roped up for what turned out to be very easy climbing up the staircase of the east ridge. It was however climbing in such an incredible position and on such a unique mountain feature that it didn’t feel right that it was so effortless. The sun was out as we reached the top and it was already ten minutes to nine. It was going to be a long day.

Above: Looking up the east ridge of the Inaccessible Pinnacle.
Below: Approaching its summit.

The section from Sgurr Dearg to the sixth munro peak of Sgurr na Banachdich was straightforward. I had been counting the peaks down in my mind and it felt good to be over the half way mark. The expanse of the ridge still in front of us made sure we didn’t feel comfortable for too long however and I knew that this route wasn’t definitely in the bag until we were opening the door of the tent back in Sligachan. The narrow ridge across to Sgurr a Ghreadaidh was excellent and from there we prepared ourselves for the infamous four tops of Mhadaidh. Their celebrity comes mostly from them being a point of failure for many groups. Traversing them involves lots of tricky and exposed scrambling and down climbing. Your mind longs for a break, preferably a nice gentle grassy track for a while. There’s no hope of that, you have to keep your head down and keep moving as fast as you can.

Above: Ascending the narrow ridge to Sgurr a'Ghreadaidh
Below: Loch Coruisk as seen from Sgurr a'Ghreadaidh.

I can’t say that I was relieved to reach the top of Bidein Druim nan Ramh as I have no memory of being there at all. What sticks out in my mind from that section is the precarious down leaping with one great jump across an exposed narrow gap standing out as particularly wild. There were endless route choices with some leading to dead ends and resulting in tedious backtracking but most kept us moving if not quite hurtling along the ridge. By Bruach na Frithe the cloud had finally closed in around us but in my mind the terrain appeared to change and ease and soon after, a short burst of scrambling seemed to bring us to the top of the Bhasteir Tooth. We needed a bearing from there to find Bealach Bhasteir and I don’t know why I was so surprised to find that the warnings were true and that the magnetic properties of the gabbro rock do indeed make your compass completely useless. Never mind, I set off down the ridge into the thick mist, determined that we would make good time onto Sgurr nan Gillean. After a few minutes I emerged from the cloud and came face to face with a huge dark tower of rock. For a moment, my mind couldn’t figure out what this ridiculous obstacle which had just shot out of the ridge could be. In all the time I have spent in the mountains, this was the first time I was completely taken by surprise by a piece of a mountain. Perhaps this was actually the Bhasteir Tooth. The Executioner.

Above: Weaving through the rock towers on the Cuillin Ridge.
Below: Ascending Sgurr Mhic Choinnich.

In the absence of the guide, we hadn’t the faintest idea how to get up this rock creation. I traversed around to the right of the tower but it became a bit too exposed so I made my way back. It certainly wasn’t straight up the overhanging front of the Tooth, was it out to the left? There were voices above us and out of the mist appeared a rope and then three climbers. I asked straight out how we were supposed to get to the top and we were brought back in around to the right and pointed in the direction of Naismith’s Route. As one of the climbers retrieved the sling they had used for the belay at the start of their own ascent, he promised that the route was a V Diff, but their rock shoes, big rack and the swirling mist weren’t inspiring confidence in me. There was a possibility of us trying to go round the whole obstacle but I tied in. If those three could get up there, so could I.

Above: Looking back on Sgurr Dubh Mor and Sgurr Dubh na da Bheinn.
Below: A steep descent on the Cuillin Ridge.

There was an initial traverse out right, which was easy, but the next crack looked a bit tricky in big boots. I looked down. The protection would have been good had I been carrying anything of use. I launched myself up, finally placing a decent runner near the top before the last final, hurried and surprisingly awkward move. We were on top of the tooth. Next we had to get on to the summit of Am Bhasteir itself so I headed off into the mist. I quickly found myself floundering around on a steep face that had enough grass and loose rock to assure me that I was the first person to be messing around right there for quite some time. I tried further to the right and wasted even more time before stomping back down to the belay. In frustration, the evil guidebook was resurrected from the furthest depths of Aidan’s bag and we duly followed the instructions and took the now very obvious basalt chimney over a barrier and on up to the summit of Am Bhasteir.

Above: The final peak of Sgurr nan Gillean (centre) as seen from Sgurr Thearlaich.

We descended down to the Bealach with only Sgurr nan Gillean left to go. The mist had eased and we scrambled quickly, slipping through the rock eye and finally reaching the top of the summit cone. It was coming up to six p.m. and we had finished the ridge in thirteen and a half hours. There was a small sense of relief but my strongest feeling was that incomparable exhilaration that comes only from having been on and completed a perfect journey in a wild and mountainous place. The descent in to Coire Riabhach was slow until we finally picked up the cairns and then the track. On the long walk across the moor, the Sligachan Hotel teasingly popped its head up over a rise every now and again and more than once seemed be getting further away and not closer. As I finally stepped onto the road, I took a last glimpse up at the ridge. Nicely done.

Above: The northern peaks of the Cuillin (L-R: Sgurr nan Gillean, Am Bhasteir and Sgurr a'Bhasteir)
from the Sligachan campsite.

Having completed the ridge from south to north, a real mountaineer would have headed off on the north to south the next morning or a real fell runner would at least have had a crack at the Glamaig run record. Initially though you say to yourself that you wouldn’t put yourself through that again in any direction but now I definitely would and surely the only thing to top your first summer traverse would be your first winter traverse or perhaps even the Greater Traverse including Cloch Glas and Bla Bheinn. What is certain, is that there is no route anywhere quite like the Cuillin Ridge. It’s just high enough, hard enough and long enough and it keeps changing, surprising and thrilling you. It’s in such an incredible place and is in itself so stunning, that I know that I will never forget, that one long day on the Cuillin Ridge.

Above: The Cuillin Ridge as seen from Sgurr Alasdair.
Below: The morning after - the graceful cone of Glamaig as seen from the Sligachan campsite.