THE GREAT WHITE NORTH
THE ART OF JUST ENOUGH: that’s one way of thinking about backpacking. Over years of experience and fine-tuning I’ve honed my packing skills to such an extent that there’s rarely an item in my bag that doesn’t get used during a trip. The benefit is obvious: the lighter the pack, the easier and more enjoyable the walking. The downside, of course, is that if you forget something, you notice. This weekend the missing item was a small, fine mesh bag designed to be worn over the head that would barely register on a set of scales. Dear reader, I noticed its absence!
David, Mick and I had taken advantage of the long summer days to head north – almost as far north as you can go on the Scottish mainland. We were bound for the last great range of high hills before Cape Wrath, centred on the magnificent ridge complex of Foinaven (Foinne Bhein in its unanglicised form). Pronounced with the emphasis on the first syllable, this is a mountain name freighted with romance and mystery, somewhat betrayed by its probable English translation to ‘warty mountain’. The name probably refers to the series of peaks along the main ridge. Foinaven’s highest summit, Ganu
