As with the previous morning, the planning the night before had been vociferous and passionate, reasoned and sound. Until the cold light of day and lack of whisky meant the mission was clear. It was a decent day and I was a mile from the start of a track up a hill that's been on my radar ever since I first started looking at books about Scottish hills.  I don;t need a map for this one, I don't need to look up pronounciations or routes, no need for tips and hints. I've been looking at this for a couple of decades or more and now it was time. 
They prepared for the Corbett Creag Rainich whilst I got dropped off at the Dundonnell Hotel and sat there in the early morning sunshine, putting on my boots. 
Across the hillside behind the JMSC hut where I stayed 11 years ago with Bob, a plan to conquer Fisherfield that fell foul of heavy rain; not that we were afraid of getting wet, more that the river crossing at Shenival was head high and not suitable for crossing!
A grand day; and almost ashamed to do it the quickest / easiest way. But we all wanted to be home by evening; and so a quickie was better than nothing. 
The first hour was good, considering. We'd gone to bed in dribs and drabs; Macca first, understandibly. Not in the best form and with a teething baby at home, the prospect of an uninterupted night's sleep had him away first. Barry next, not a drinker, really. Dave drank himself to sleep, before suddenly standign bolt upright, then stoated past the cooker and off to his bunk. Me and Geo traded songs for a bit, but at the back of my mind I had small nips, knowing the possibility of An Teallach lay ahead.
The middle section is dull; a gradient not quite easy enough to fly up, but not tricky enough to engage your mind. 

And then your crest the first bealach. The space beyond this wall of a mountain stretches off to the sea; blue as blue can be. Sail Mhor and the outliers of An Teallach dominate; but mostly the periphery of the Great Wilderness abounds. 

Onto the scree and round, a quick peer into the first corrie; there is a path down it, but not one I think I'd care for. So on across the scree, edging around the back of Bidien a Glas Thuil, in shade but blue skies above promising heat if I can get into it. The cool westerly means I'm happed up hard.

And then. That moment. As you edge past the crag and Sgurr Fiona is there; Lord Berkeley's Seat, Corrag Buidhe, Sail Liath... imoressive, glistening wet; there's the merest hint of snow across the summit; adding a surreal twist to an all too familiar view. I briefly contemplate giving up mountaineering; it'll never be this good again. 
But still the small matter of a u turn back up to the first summit. surprisingly near and a sense of relief and wonder are present. Alone on the finest mountain in the land. I get a text; the others are about 11 miles south west of me; they can see the summit. Where am I they ask. I wave. I say I'm waving from Bidien...  
Off down into the chasm between the two summits; all the time wondering how the hell do I get onto that one? I assume it's easy, but all the while knowing it's easy but seeing that it just can't be. 
But it is; follow the flattened scree and the well trodden route and another traverse across the rocks and scars of previous landslips, and the same thing happens; the rest of the magnificent ridge appears suddenly as you pop up into a ledge; the Deargs across the loch. Fisherfield and the Great Wilderness all laid out in front of you; massive glens leading south towards Torridon. All bathed in dappled sunlight. Another zig zag to the  summit; this time the cairn is perched above the 2000 ft drop into the corrie. A tenative peer over - yip - it's a long drop. 

Ah man. 203 down, 79 left to do. The best one however is in the bag.

And so back across I go to Bidein; avoiding the summit and around the west side and out. I meet my first climbers of the day; it's gone 1 by this time. A quick chat I look at my watch; I've got a 14.30 RV at Dundonell. It's do able but not much time to spare. The left over rice and chicken was had in the sunshine halfway down; and as I twisted back to sea level and across the burn, through the gate and onto the road, Dave appeared. Timed to the minute. 

Back to fetch Baz we had a final group hug in the layby on the A855 and headed off back down the road. 
Tea, petrol and much chat; a brilliant weekend. Whatsapp banter between the 2 carloads; Geo finishing up the last third of his bottle of Talisker as Allan drove him home.
I got in at 7.30; showered and was being fed a gammon cauli cheese and roast potato dinner as we spent the next 3 hours filling each other in on the previous three days. I don't remember falling asleep but I guess I must have....

Extra is the gang as we left