Seven of us met on the old slipway at Kyle of Lochalsh at 5pm on 9th June. Where was Brian? A call to his mobile phone got no answer. We had an appointment with the Kaylea Jayne and her skipper at 6 in Elgol, so reluctantly left without him. I was last into Elgol and found the rest chatting to a tanned, weatherbeaten man in waterproofs, Gordon Smith. We loaded gear, clothes and provisions. I set off for the phone box to make a last call to Brian and met him coming over the crest of the hill.

I was not the only one to feel a flicker of apprehension as we cast off and the engine powered us away from the small jetty. This was like Castaway 2000, but for real. Photo: The Castaways (57k) No satellite phones and helicopter assistance for us. Once ashore we would be left to our own resouces to cope with whatever should befall. If the seas got up the 30-foot Kaylea Jayne might not be able to put out, and the jetty at Elgol was horribly open to westerly winds.

I was organiser. Of the others Jim Bell, Brian Flemming, Dorothy Morrow, Adrian Snowdon and Andy Fahey had all followed me up the In Pin (except Jim who had done it without a rope). Roy Hill, like myself, is a lower-grade rock climber. Janet McAuley wanted a weekend away from it all with a little easy walking. She would not be joining us on the high Cuillin ridges. For the rest of us the agenda included the Dubhs ridge and some climbing on the wonderfully grippy gabbro of the Black Cuillin.

The engine slowed as we sailed into the shelter of Loch na Cuilce and passed a couple of small islands close inshore, waving to the assembled seals. Photo: But they didn’t wave back (64k) A small yacht, the We Three, lay at anchor and we waved to her too. Then Gordon emerged from the cabin and used the auxiliary controls to guide us into the Coruisk steps, leaping ashore to secure the boat. We formed a chain to unload everything, then bade farewell to Gordon. He doubted whether he would have any trippers over the weekend to bring across; the forecast was not good.

The other ways out did not appeal. The way to Elgol via Camasunary involved two river crossings and the dreaded Bad Step. Sligachan looked like 12km on the map but we were warned it was more like 24, over rough terrain assuming the Scavaig River could be crossed. The shortest way out was to Glen Brittle via the Bealach Corrie na Banachdich, a pass at some 2,700’ above sea level. The coastal route to Glen Brittle was long and rough and meant an early crossing of the Mad Burn.

Our first test was to gain access to the hut. I had an Allen key and a conventional key. The main door was secured with a vertical metal bar held in place by two Allen bolts. A side door was padlocked. Our key could not possibly fit this, but we tried it anyway. The upper Allen bolt just turned without unscrewing. The lower one actually came out. Jim had the bright idea of swinging the metal bar on the upper bolt and so discovered the key hole. Metal shutters covered the windows and the hut was in darkness. We worked out how to open the shutters and found a whole load of other keys. One set was for the gas bottle store and another for the cludgy (behind the padlocked side door). This came equipped with a cistern, but notes we found in the hut informed us that the best way of achieving a satisfactory flush was a full bucket of water. Photo: The Coruisk Hut (48k)

Settling in, cooking, eating and washing up occupied us until late. One party went exploring and reported back that the first half of the Scavaig River crossing (Stepping Stones) was easy and the second half less so.

Saturday dawned fresh and breezy with the ridges in cloud. We knew the wind up there would be at least gale force and decided to take a walk by Loch Coruisk, up towards the corrie beyond and back along the other side of the loch. We could also reconnoitre the start of the Sgurr Dubh Beag slabs, Photo: Sgurr Dubh Beag (43k) our intended way onto the ridge if conditions allowed. Before we set out I made a preliminary recce of the Stepping Stones, which were no real problem.

Once in the lea of the hills the day was very pleasant. The sun broke through, picking out crags or other features. Photo: Loch Coruisk and Druim nan Rahm (47k) While the Dubhs remained in cloud, the ridge further north emerged from time to time with Sgurr a Mhadaidh, Sgurr a Ghreadaidh and Sgurr na Banachdich to the fore. Through binoculars I watched a figure descending towards the gap of An Dorus. Not, I thought, a place to be on such a day as this. Later, looking back, I caught sight of An Stac with cloud welling up behind out of Corrie Lagan, and for brief, tantalising moments the In Pin itself looming through the murk.Photo: An Stac and the In Pin (18k)

A couple were following our morning route along the opposite side of the loch. Instead of going up towards the corrie they came round the head of the loch and soon passed us. Three people in helmets were seen at the bottom of the slabs. One at least of the Elgol boats must have come with some visitors. One or two had doubts about the Stepping Stones Photo: Crossing the Stepping Stones (56k) but all got across fine, and back to the hut just in time before the rain started.

The Bella Jane (the other Elgol boat) came into the inlet and tied up at the steps. A few people boarded. The Kaylea Jayne then came in and anchored. After a while, Gordon appeared at the door. He didn’t expect to do a trip on Sunday and would bring forward our collection time on Monday to 09:00 because the forecast was looking very ominous. Eventually the Bella Jane moved away and into the sea loch, allowing Gordon to tie up and collect his passengers. The We Three tried to follow him out but turned back on reaching the point. Later she made another attempt but failed again. A party went to check the Bad Step, which was about 1km south of the hut, and returned having climbed the rake high above it and seen the way down to the main path.

The next morning the cloud was still down on the ridges, and more importantly the wind was well and truly up. The Dubhs would have to wait for another visit. Most decided they would potter about along the coast towards Glen Brittle or just veg around the hut. Roy, Andy, Jim and I opted to climb Sgurr na Stri (500m) by its south face Photo: Sgurr na Stri (41), descending the north ridge to join the path from Sligachan back to the hut. For some reason I was behind when the group reached the Bad Step. Andy was already high up on the rake and Jim had taken a high line avoiding the obvious exposure lower down on the normal route. This worried me, since the guide warned that taking too high a line was a common cause of problems. Roy took one look and got spooked, having taken a fall from a similar traverse a month earlier. I climbed onto the ledge, and traversed easily up a slope and over one exposed step.Photo: The Bad Step - the easy bit (43k) At the top of the slope the ledge narrowed and was replaced by a fault line descending from the left. For four feet or so the footholds were only a couple of inches wide and the hand holds non-existent, with a 15 foot drop into the sea and the fault line sloping downwards at 30 degrees. I did this section bumwise, grateful not to be carrying a large pack, then stood up as the fault widened and my feet found purchase on the top of a flake, with good hand holds. The flake ended in a steep step down to a narrow platform and safety. I looked up at Jim who was trying to work his way round a bulge. I took a photo and was putting the camera away when I heard a scuffling sound from above. Looking up I saw Jim falling towards a steep grass ledge 10 feet below his previous stance. He landed feet first and appeared to be trying to run the fall before tumbling and rolling down steepening rock. A few feet short of the edge he managed to straighten himself and slid to a halt. The whole sequence lasted perhaps a second.

For what seemed an eternity but was in reality just a couple of seconds I stared at the figure lying on the rocks 15 feet away. Before I could bring myself to make a move he sat up, then eased himself to his feet. "Nothing broken." "Can you feel your hands and feet?" "Yes." "Can you move them?" He wiggled his fingers and assured me the toes were likewise functional. One ankle was sore; he would try to keep it moving while I went back to Roy and Andy. Photo: The Bad Step (11k) Back on the other side I called Andy down and Roy and I checked gear. We had a rope, some tape and a krab. It would be enough to rig up a hand line for Jim to use on his way back. On rounding the corner where the ledge joins the fault line I saw Jim making his way towards me up the flake. "I thought I’d better get back across while I still can," he explained. "If I favour the good ankle I’ll manage." I talked him through the moves and soon we were all on our way back to the hut. Andy was way ahead of us and I sent Roy after him, to try to get back before we were locked out on the others’ departure, and to fetch some trekking poles to help Jim across the Stepping Stones.

We were across well before Roy rejoined us but Jim was happy to use the poles. At the hut the others had not set out and under the new circumstances nobody wanted to go very far. A bucket of cold water was prepared for the offending ankle and first aid kits were investigated for suitable bandages. After lunch Andy decided to take a quick canter up the north ridge of Sgurr na Stri and set off.

The We Three had made an early failed attempt to get out and had been joined by the Nothern Wind and the Heather of Mourne. Either some sort of smuggling operation was going on or small ships were taking shelter where they could from imminent weather. Adrian and Brian had mobile phones and we decided to try to find somewhere with enough signal to call Gordon and ask him to come for us early. With Jim unable to cover more than a few hundred yards there was now no option of walking out. Near the top of the Beached Whale (a large rock formation close to the hut) I managed to get a signal but it was not enough to make a call on Adrian’s phone and I could only get an "Access Denied" message on Brian’s. I returned to the hut and we found a CellNet signal too weak to use, so Brian and I set off for the headland beyond the Stepping Stones to try from there. We met Andy coming back from his canter. There was no signal on the headland either, but the views across Lochs Scavaig and Coruisk were very good. Photo: From the headland (37k) With hindsight we should have sent the phones with Andy. Andy had had a good excursion but said the wind was so strong on Sgurr na Stri he had had difficulty in remaining upright. This at only 500 metres.

Roy and I contemplated various lines up the Beached Whale but neither of us was up for it, even on a top-rope. I took Adrian, Brian and Dorothy to look at the Bad Step. Dorothy balked at an exposed move on the approach, Brian looked at the Step and decided it was beyond him and Adrian tried to follow me across but retreated from the thin section. Photo: Adrian on the Bad Step (67k) Jim’s fall had metaphorically taken the wind out of everyone’s sails.

The real wind on the other hand was rising, and we did a quick stocktake on provisions. We could dine normally and have plenty left to keep going for several days, although the menus might be a little unconventional. Also we needed to be ready to move at short notice if Gordon did appear. In spite of everything, the evening was a cheerful one. Photo: Cheerful (40k)

The next day we rose early. The weather was now much worse. The Mad Burn was in full spate but was only dimly visible through the low cloud. A fierce wind was blowing. We agreed Gordon would not be with us for 9. We enjoyed a cooked breakfast (plenty of bacon, eggs and bread remained) and contemplated a slight abatement in the weather. If this continued, Gordon might just get across, so we started repacking while the washing up was in progress. Just as the last plate was being dried, Andy thought he saw "someone out there". We were all at the windows trying to see when the door swung open and Gordon announced we had about 10 minutes to be ready to leave, or we’d be staying for at least 2 more days.

After only a moment’s hesitation we decided to go for it. The crossing on a small boat open to the elements could make last year’s retreat from Rùm look like a vicarage garden party, but it was worth the risk. There was a flurry of activity as the remaining items were packed and everything transferred to the steps and then to the boat. If we couldn’t get into the jetty at Elgol we would have to return or make for Soay, which was safer, and stay with Gordon and the other 4 islanders. The ladies went inboard and lifejackets were offered to and in some cases accepted by those who remained outside. Memories of Rùm proved exaggerated and the crossing was damp and lively but no more. It was a vivid reminder of how close to the elements the folk of the Western Isles live their lives.

We tied up and disembarked at Elgol. Another party was arriving, to cross to the hut. They were persuaded by Gordon that this was not a good idea. The window of opportunity through which we had slipped was now shut. Subsequent reports were of storm force winds in the Western Isles. I heard nothing of the three small ships we left behind in the shelter of Loch Scavaig. I assume they came through OK.