From Trotternish on Skye, one looks east to the mainland, and the most spectacular and beautiful part of Britain. Here the closeknit ridges of Knoydart and Kintail are replaced by lochan studded moorland, interrupted by monolithic thrustings of hills, like frozen dinosaurs from a distant age in some immense outdoor exhibition. This is the oldest part of Scotland, 2.7 billion years old, some of the oldest rocks in the world. There are beautiful beaches on low peninsulas, from which the hills inland can be best seen. The water is rather cold for bathers, however, and these beaches are deserted. The whole area has always been rugged and barren, and has played little part in Scottish history, with few historic or prehistoric remains. The scenery, fishing, deer stalking and walking are what make this area, and those with a good car, a comfortable hotel, and luck with the weather should find this one of the most memorable places they can ever visit.

As a keen walker myself, I cannot recommend the area around the Ben Damph hotel on Loch Torridon highly enough. The finest mountain in Scotland (in my opinion) is here in Liathach, a hill that only barely stands out amongst its equally fine neighbours. To the north lie individualistic mountains rising like stone warriors from rough moorland, and a loch which some believe to be finer than Loch Lomond, Loch Maree. To the north of Loch Maree is a roadless district popular with walkers, for the remotest Munro (hill over 3000ft) is here, a fine one to boot, and the landowner still uses ponies and enviromentally friendly tracks rather than landrovers and does not discourage walkers in that way some landowners do.

Scotland has a recently revised law of 'responsible tresspass' - people can legally walk where they like on wild ground, provided they do not cause damage. One day some walkers will ruin one deerstalk too many and this new law may get a testing; but by and large, it must be greeted as a good thing and a boon to people who love walking in the outdoors, who were perhaps intimidated in the past by over-zealous landowners or tenant farmers. Anyway, such is the emptiness of the Highlands, one may go for a walk and not see another person at all, except on the guidebook routes up the popular hills; thus avoiding any conflict. Landowners generally do not want the deer stalking disturbed by walkers blundering into secluded corries where a hunt is taking place, and by making the effort to put up signs on the roadsides showing where stalking is taking place and requesting walkers to avoid that area for that week, walkers are able to alter their plans accordingly. It does not always work, but, with more and more people taking to the hills, it is important for communication between the people who use the land for leisure and the people who use it for a living.

I could write a paen about almost every mountain in this area, but non walkers would be bored. Instead, I direct you to look at the photographs of the area, and the hills north of Ullapool, the strangest and most individualistic of all. The highest waterfall in Britain is here, the 200m Eas a'Chuil Aulin, a long tramp over the hills. For almost no effort, however, one can see the roadside Falls of Mesach, an impressively vertingous fall in a dank, mossy canyon, the viewing platform jutting over the edge of the gorge to give instant exposure. The area around here is sparsely inhabited and indeed the entire Scottish Highlands were declared a 'no go zone' during the Second World War. It wouldn't have done for an innocent tourist to stumble across secret training for invasions and bouncing bombs, but the starkest example of a 'no go' area was the place dubbed 'Anthrax Island'.

Once one goes north of Ullapool a car is almost essential - the lone walker needs to be hardy and self sufficient to spend time in this fisherman's paradise of bogs and innumerable small lochs, with few roads and less shops. It can be worth the effort, however, and a trip to Cape Wrath, the most northwesterly and impressive point on the British mainland, is well worth the effort. The beaches are beautiful and hauntingly lonely, but it is possible to catch a ferry and shuttle bus along a potholed, private road to the lighthouse at Cape Wrath. Old burnt out buses litter the side of the road and one wonders how these buses reach their ruined state, with a naval and air force bombardment range nearby...