Hillwalking is potentially dangerous. On a Sunday group walk in August 2019 this became tangibly clear. I had chosen Ben Mòr Coigach for the walk, a beautiful low mountain just north of Ullapool, famous for its stunning views of Loch Broom and the surrounding mountains of Coigach and Assynt.

After traversing a boggy glen, our group of thirteen walkers started the ascent. Reaching a large plateau halfway, we had a lunchbreak. Everybody was in a relaxed mood, chatting merrily, enjoying the views. Then we continued the ascent.

Down in the glen the weather was fine

On the last slope, clouds came sailing in and soon we were immersed in a fog which limited our view to about 100-200m. At first this didn’t bother me because I knew we were just walking the 3km long ridge going from east to west. At some point we would just retrace our steps. The clouds would sometimes lift a bit, giving brief glimpses of Loch Broom and Ullapool down below and people made jokes about the “grand” views.
The fog deepened and it seemed pointless to carry on, so I told the group we would return the same way we had come. Our view deteriorated, becoming less than 25m and I noticed I started losing view of people further ahead and behind me. Time for immediate action.

I called the group in a circle and after counting we were still thirteen, I said we had to stay close in all circumstances, keeping an eye on our group members. If anyone would lose sight of others, they were to call out for the group to visually reconnect.
Apprehension level rising. Willingness to obey, too.

We continued our walk. The ridge became wider and soon we all lost our sense of direction. Completely. Utterly. Deep fog. We came to a halt. People started suggesting which direction to go, pointing. Alarmingly, each pointed in an entirely different direction. Discussion arose. One person tried to create order in this chaos by suggesting we would choose our direction by majority of vote!

A sense of danger became almost tangible.

There my six-day Summer Mountain Leader training kicked in. I took my map and compass, laid it out on the ground and took a bearing. “We are going this way!” I called out. The group followed me in close-knit order, some folks grumblingly dissenting. We were going due east. Suddenly a ravine loomed in the fog before our feet. Reading the map, I saw we were too far north, so we went south. Soon the ravine gave way to a slope. We turned east again, going down the slope. Gradually the fog became thinner and the group eased, spreading wider. We came below the cloud layer and saw we were approaching the plateau where we had had our lunch.

Getting below the clouds, we started recognising the landscape – and felt so relieved!

Deep relief, big smiles, gratitude!

Hugo Klip

From a distance, a summit shrouded in cloud can look beautiful, so different from being inside the cloud.