Glen Feshie, the Moine Mhor, & two Munros

May 26, 2025

The long dry spell is over. Rain is falling heavily. Just a few days ago I was striding across the crisp, crunchy, dusty Moine Mhor – the Great Moss, a vast normally boggy upland – astonished at the dryness. The day before I had marvelled at the shrunken River Feshie. That will change now.

I’d set off down Glen Feshie on a sunny afternoon, though with thin clouds spreading overhead. The fresh leaves of the birches shone bright. The air was thick with heat. Soon the clouds had grown enough to block the sun though it still shone on a distant hillside, turning the pale grasses gold.

The burns that run down into the Feshie were so low I could easily cross on stones without even dampening the soles of my boots. Their beds looked far too big to have been carved by these little streams. But they had, when the waters were high and rushing down the mountainsides sweeping away everything in their path. The Allt Garbhlach is a constant reminder of this as you scrabble down the steep slopes to its wide stony bed and then scrabble up the loose path on the far side. There used to be a good path with steps here, swept away a decade and more ago. Now little trees are springing up amongst the rubble and debris. They may have a short life.

I camped in the woods in the narrow neck of the glen, where it’s hemmed in by the steep rocky slopes of Creag an Caillich and Creag na Gaibhre. A fine site amongst old pines and young birches, it had been used before and sported two fire rings, one old, long disused, and grassy, the other bigger, newer, and with blackened rocks and half-burnt logs. There was no litter, thankfully. I don’t think anyone had been here for a while.

Dawn came with weak sunshine and stillness. The woods were calming and I lingered. Relaxing for half the morning before rousing myself to pack up and move on. Backtracking down the glen I picked up an old path that winds steeply through the trees and up slopes of heather to the fine cairn on Creag na Gaibhre. The path is overgrown and indistinct in places. I lost it a couple of times. The climb is arduous but the views and the feeling of wildness overcome any weariness.

Above the trees broom flourished, its bright yellow flowers dominating the landscape. There were dizzying views down stony ravines to the forest and the river far below.

Creag na Gaibhre is a splendid viewpoint for Glen Feshie and I stopped here for a snack. A breeze was picking up and the sky cloudy so I didn’t stay too long but was soon following the faint path as it continued on to the dark waters of Lochan nam Bo, trapped in a cleft in the hillside, and then over Druim nam Bo, a bump on the broad west ridge of Mullach Clach a’ Bhlair, the high point of this corner of the Moine Mhor and a Munro.

Long before reaching the summit I joined an old estate track that stood out harshly from a distance – two straight furrows driving up the hillside – but which didn’t seem too intrusive when actually on it.

As the steepness eased off and the tiny cairn on Mullach Clach a’ Bhlair appeared (a rather paltry affair compared with the one on Creag na Gaibhre) the view opened out across the Moine Mhor to the distant pointed peak of Sgor Gaoith, also a Munro, and the sweep of Munros – Braeriach, Sgor an Lochan Uaine, Carn Toul – that rise above its eastern edge.

The summit was windswept and chilly. I kept moving, heading for Loch nan Cnapan in the heart of the Moine Mhor. There are ugly bulldozed roads up here and I used these at times though mostly I went cross-country. When wet this can ensure sodden feet and much cursing as you flounder through the bogs. On this occasion I was amazed at how dry it was, drier than I’ve ever seen it. I walked on cracked crusty mud, over pale dried grasses. There was no water in many of the little burns and pools that lace the moor. The word arid came to mind.

At the loch I found a good flat site. The wind was gusting strongly, so I pegged out all the guylines. As with the evening before the late sun cut under the clouds and lit up the long gently slopes of Monadh Mor a couple of kilometres away.

A sudden blast of heat woke me at dawn. The sun had just appeared over the hills. There were long streaks of cloud in the sky. The wind had gone. I wandered beside the loch, ate breakfast, dozed, ate another breakfast, somnolent in the heat.

Eventually I packed up and started across the rough ground – all knolls and hollows -towards Sgor Gaoith, aiming for the old path that runs along the rim of Coire Odhar in Gleann Eanich. I think this is the finest way up Sgor Gaoith as it gives superb views.

Once I’d located the path, which seems to start somewhere out on the Moine Mhor, I followed it round to the Fuaran Diotech spring and nearby ruined hut. There’s a pool by the ruin. The burns running in and out of it were dry. A flat grassy area makes for a good pitch here. I’d used it just the year before (see this post). Someone had camped here much more recently and had left a ring of rocks, the grass still green underneath. I moved the smaller ones onto the ruin’s walls and rolled the bigger ones into the pool. I wish people wouldn’t do this! Or at least replace the rocks when they leave.

The Fuaran Diotech spring was still running strongly, soon leaping down the crags into Coire Odhar. Cool, fresh water. I needed it. I relished it.

Refreshed I continued along the path. Soon it converged with the main thoroughfare coming from Carn Ban Mor. Two walkers were just heading back down this, three more were heading for the summit just ahead of me. On the top five more were relaxing in the sunshine. The view of Loch Eanich and Braeriach was spectacular, as always.

Braeriach & Loch Eanaich from Sgor Gaoith

Leaving for the wide scar of the standard route I met a walker heading up, the eleventh person I’d encountered, and the last. All of them were in a half hour period and on or near the summit of Sgor Gaoith. I met no-one else all trip,

I was soon over Carn Ban Mor and heading down the long stony path to Glen Feshie. As I descended the wind picked up and so did the heat. Sweat-soaked I was glad to reach the glen.