There was no path descending Beinn Fhionnlaidh so we had to struggle down the steep grassy slopes on the western side of the hill, a laborious and time consuming exercise. The echo of roaring stags had never been far away, but as we headed down towards the west side of Loch Mullardoch we soon appreciated just how many there were. Barking and belching from all directions - we were surrounded. We drove a couple across the small river (Alt an Fhraoich-Chorie) before we ourselves had to pick a route across the rather wide and shin deep burn. With the sun setting rapidly we made way to the loch and found several herds of hinds, each with a huge dark and fierce looking stag controlling the group. It was incredible to see the obviously anxious stags protecting their herd from one of the many solo stags throughout the glen. Unfortunately the fading light meant our cameras couldn't capture the moment two stags squared up to each other and looked as if they were about to go for it before one opted for the "flight" instead of "fight" and effortlessly bounded away from the hinds over a sheep fence. Weary, tired and hungry we pitched the tents in silence taking in the noise these animals made - ten seconds wouldn't pass before hearing another roar. It really was amazing to be in such a remote spot in the middle of the annual rut. Tents up and tucked in after a bowl of pasta by 8.30 and Murray and I nodded off listening to Lester’s dulcet tones as he read to us a chapter of his book The Blackhouse (fantastic book!) accompanied of course by the chorus of rutting stags.
The clouds spilled into the cold clear night and I woke in relative warmth to find a rather bleak looking day. Perhaps we should have gone to Skye after all? After a quick breakfast we trudged off up a stalkers track on the grassy slopes of An Socach. This was by far the worst hill of the weekend however a nice long ridge led from its summit on towards An Riabhachan and with more broken cloud we were gifted with fantastic views north and west. From here on the hills didn't get much better and we spent the rest of the day in a wet and windy cloud. The highlight by far was lifting a covey of six Ptarmigan on the way up Sgurr na Lapaich, by far my favourite game birds, these ones had already gained their white winter coats. A much slower pace meant that it was after 3 O'clock before we got to the last top. From here a relatively easy descent into the far glen lead the way back to the loch. For the first time that weekend we were on proper heathery moorland and, just as Lester and I predicted, a grouse lifted in front of us. For the first time that weekend the bellow from a rutting stag didn't reach us - an obvious connection to the plentiful heather; and as the Scots pine wood around the Cannich estate came into view we talked about the damage caused by deer. A difficult moral dilemma between traditional stalking with a careful management plan and the mass culls often associated with the forestry commission. Right or wrong, it’s clear that Scotland would be a very different and perhaps even richer and more diverse in flora and fauna with fewer of what many consider vermin on our hills. On a more personal level, being this close to them during their finest hour was so impressive that I myself questioned whether I could pull the trigger with such a beautifully iconic beast in the crosshairs. A bit like Lester's "bloody hydro lochs" I suspect this is a subject matter for another day.
As we got back to the Dam we all cursed that we couldn't cross it and pulled straws for the 3km jog on the tarmac back to the van. Naturally I lost but didn't mind too much as when I returned in the van I found the lads scratching away in a cloud of midges! Middle of October and the midges are still biting!
What a fantastic weekend, rutting stags, ptarmigan, a lone grouse and of course bags and bags of Munros. The 30-odd miles has left my legs still sore as I write this a week later! It was a shame the weather didn't hold on Sunday but the broken cloud on Saturday more than made up for it. So much so that I would say to any fair weather hill walker that sometimes the best days are cloudy ones.
There was no path descending Beinn Fhionnlaidh so we had to struggle down the steep grassy slopes on the western side of the hill, a laborious and time consuming exercise. The echo of roaring stags had never been far away, but as we headed down towards the west side of Loch Mullardoch we soon appreciated just how many there were. Barking and belching from all directions - we were surrounded. We drove a couple across the small river (Alt an Fhraoich-Chorie) before we ourselves had to pick a route across the rather wide and shin deep burn. With the sun setting rapidly we made way to the loch and found several herds of hinds, each with a huge dark and fierce looking stag controlling the group. It was incredible to see the obviously anxious stags protecting their herd from one of the many solo stags throughout the glen. Unfortunately the fading light meant our cameras couldn't capture the moment two stags squared up to each other and looked as if they were about to go for it before one opted for the "flight" instead of "fight" and effortlessly bounded away from the hinds over a sheep fence. Weary, tired and hungry we pitched the tents in silence taking in the noise these animals made - ten seconds wouldn't pass before hearing another roar. It really was amazing to be in such a remote spot in the middle of the annual rut. Tents up and tucked in after a bowl of pasta by 8.30 and Murray and I nodded off listening to Lester’s dulcet tones as he read to us a chapter of his book The Blackhouse (fantastic book!) accompanied of course by the chorus of rutting stags. 
