Northern Scotland Mountain

This is Great Britain. Over a third of our country is made up of mountains.

And I'm going to travel through them.

It's a journey that's going to take me across the peaks of Scotland, along the backbone of the Pennines,

through the hills of the Lake District and into my homeland, Wales.

As it happens, I was brought up in Essex.

These days I live in the heart of Central London,

where the highest thing I see every day was built by contractors.

The mountains are a new territory to me.

I want to find out what our upland ranges are really like.

How have they shaped us, our culture and our history?

I'm going to start in the far north of Scotland, a vast and incredibly beautiful wilderness.

I'll experience the rituals of getting to the summit...

So maybe you should kiss the cairn?

If you kiss in these conditions, you end up with your tongue stuck.

You don't have to use your tongue!

..take part in some colourful local customs...

-I'm not too old to do this?

-Oh, no.

..and stay in the some of the most challenging accommodation I think I've ever tried to sleep in.

I'm going to find out what draws people to live in this wild and spectacular place.

These are the mountains of Northwest Scotland.

Am I really in the United Kingdom?

This looks more like Greenland or Siberia.

These are the Northwest Highlands, a cold country by the look of it,

stretching from the far north of Scotland to the islands off the Scottish west coast.

To drive here from London would take 14 hours, assuming the roads are open.

No trains reach here and it would be a very long way by boat, so I've made other arrangements.

These hills are made even more blank by such a heavy fall of snow.

Man seems to have been wiped from the surface

and I have to trust my pilot's navigation skills to know that we've arrived.

It feels like I'm being deposited at the ends of the Earth.

But those are definitely mountains over there and this is rather wonderful.

Well, here I am at the northernmost part of mainland Britain, virtually the northernmost part.

This is the Kyle of Tongue in Scotland, and the Arctic Circle is closer than the south of Britain.

I'm in a region called Sutherland, Britain's icy desert.

In fact, it's only marginally more populated than the Sahara.

It only takes a moment's thought to know that Sutherland means Land of the South.

Some of the original settlers here came from the north - the Vikings.

Even then, they were looking for an escape from their own overcrowded country.

They came here to explore and so have I.

I'm going to start tomorrow morning somewhere over there on Ben Hope

which is 3,000 feet high,

and then 41 feet on top of that for good measure.

Today, there's very little left of the Vikings, except for the odd place name.

The village I'm heading to, Tongue, comes from a Norse word, "tunga",

referring to the tongue-shaped coastline.

Luckily, since the night seems to be coming on at about three o'clock in the afternoon, it's not far to walk.

HE RINGS BELL

Can I help you? Oh, gosh, you're rather covered in snow!

If the Vikings came here looking for somewhere with a bit more daylight and a bit less snow,

I think they might have been disappointed.

When the gales hit on Ben Hope, I've been told the temperature can drop to minus 30 Celsius.

This is not the mountain climbing I'm used to, so I thought I'd better check I had the right kit.

Different weights of socks.

I don't know how you decide that before you set off. Do you sort of go...

"Well, is it gonna be a heavy sock day, or a light sock day?"

Presumably depending on whether you feel it's gonna get enormously sort of cold but...don't know, we'll see.

How you judge that I don't know, perhaps you ask for advice on that.

Go down to the hotel and you say to the lady in reception...

"Well, huh! Heavy sock day today, Mr Jones."

A whistle! Em... when a mist comes down,

if you've broken a leg, or you're in trouble then you blow...um...

then you blow steadily once every three minutes,

or is it three times a minute, and they come and rescue you.

I'd better look that up before I go out, I think.

There's a sense as you see all these objects that it's all a little bit scary, in a funny sort of way.

It's all there to remind you that what you're dealing with is not

a quick Sound Of Music, Hills Are Alive, running about having a yodel.

In the morning, there are fresh falls of snow and I'm advised it is indeed a heavy sock day.

It's a 12-mile drive from Tongue to Ben Hope and we pass absolutely nobody.

This is the sort of country where a four-wheel drive is a way of life, not a fashion accessory.

The name Ben Hope derives from old Norse and it means Hill of the Bay.

It's what the Vikings first saw when they arrived in their longboats

and from the top, I'm hoping to be able to see the route they took.

My companion for the ascent is Cameron McNeish.

Cameron is a writer and a mountain guide and he's quite used to making

his way across a howling waste, just for a bit of fun.

-There she is.

-So, Cameron, that's Ben Hope.

That's Ben Hope. It's quite a nice mountain, it looks quite tricky from here, but it's not too difficult.

It looks dramatic because the way the cliffs fall away at the side,

-and you've got this big escarpment of rock here.

-Right.

I think you have to remember that these mountains are Arctic, they're not like the Alps.

The Alps are a bit sort of soft and nice weather and lots of sunshine.

-Right.

-We're talking about Arctic mountains.

-Good!

-That's why we have to be dressed properly.

Yes. I've got my stuff here. Do you wanna have a look here?

-Yeah.

-I just wanna check that I put on the right stuff...

-Yeah.

I am a bit nervous about the idea.

-OK, what have you got underneath here?

-I've got about six layers...

-Can I just undress you?

-Granny vests and...whatever. Anyway look, so...

-OK, OK you've got that.

-I've got a fleecy fleece on...

-OK.

-And then a base layer, and...probably too much have I got on!

-My God, Griff, I think you've grossly overdressed.

-Am I? I'm worried about the Arctic conditions!

I'm leading the way here, of course, and you're the guide.

You're making some nice footsteps for me to follow.

Already the walk up is beginning to feel like an extended search for a lost ski pole.

This is a test of my endurance, but then,

this is a mountain that attracts people who want to test themselves.

Ben Hope is a Munro -

a Scottish mountain over 3,000 feet.

The Munros are named after Sir Hugh Munro who catalogued them in 1891.

Sir Hugh never actually climbed every one, but he spawned a new hobby.

Ever since, people have been collecting them like trophies, or stamps.

These mad fools have a name - Munro baggers.

How many have you bagged?

-I've bagged them all. Er...twice, twice.

-Right.

-I'm almost through my third round.

-Does it, does this count?

-Yeah.

This'll count to your third?

-So how many did you say there were?

-284.

284 - I can't do the maths, but that's over 500 you've done.

-It's a lot.

-Well, you've done nearly 1,000.

-Och, yeah, I've done some of them numerous times.

-Climbing mountains is a silly thing to do.

-No, no, no, quick.

-I won't be a Munro bagger, will I, really?

-Well!

Cos I won't have bagged very many.

Well, even if you bagged one, that makes you a Munro bagger.

Does it? Oh, so I can call myself a Munro bagger when I go to the pub?

'The first person to bag the lot was the Reverend A E Robertson in 1901.

'It took him ten years.

'Currently there are over 3,500 people who've done the complete set,

'though mostly, I understand it, in the summer.'

-But there's something beautiful about this virgin snow, isn't there?

-Yeah.

-It's almost quite sensual.

-Ah... it's absolutely gorgeous.

What we need to find just over the top of this ridge is a little Swiss cafe with some umbrellas out.

-And a glass of gluhwein.

-In fact, no. One of the great things is that we haven't got a hope of finding...

-No, not a hope in hell.

-I do have one in my backpack, actually, you'll be pleased to know.

-Yeah.

-It included two young ladies to serve us some hot spiced wine.

For the dedicated Munro bagger, Ben Hope it is the most prized of all the Munros

because it's the furthest north and the most remote.

Looking out from it, halfway up, it definitely feels like the middle of nowhere.

This being Scotland, the weather can change in seconds,

and as we near the summit, it does.

The wind suddenly gets up, and the views vanish.

I'd looked up how to whistle a distress call -

six blasts a minute - but on a day like today, who on earth would hear me?

-This is definitely the summit we're coming to?

-Yeah, we're not too far.

I don't believe you, you see, Cameron.

We're about 50 metres away from it.

I think you're taking the mickey out of me, mate!

I'm kind of guessing, though, I must admit.

We could be anywhere.

But I'm encouraged by the fact we're on fairly level ground,

suggesting the summit plateau, and the wind's blowing pretty hard now,

which would suggest we're on the top of something.

It is, that's true. How will we know when we make it to the top?

-There'll be a great big cairn.

-Right.

And there'll be a thing called a trig pillar. An old trigo...trigonometrical point.

Apparently, the view from here is marvellous.

Hey, there it is! Hey!

-Ah... Ah...

-Well done!

-Ah...

-Well, done, congratulations.

-Excellent.

-Good man.

-Ah...terrific.

-Put it there.

-Look at that.

-Well, done.

But look, what a beautiful object, as well. Look at that.

-On a good day, you can look over in that direction and see the Orkney Islands in the Pentland Firth.

-Good.

-Over that, on a really good day, you might see Iceland.

-Good!

We look over there and we can see... Paris over there and...

You've got the whole of the UK behind you.

The first Munroist, the Reverend E A Robertson,

when he reached his last Munro, he kissed the cairn and THEN his wife, so maybe you should kiss the cairn.

No, no. If you kiss in these conditions, you end up with your tongue stuck.

-Well, you don't have to use your tongue.

-Tongue OR lips!

Just imagine that, the Mountain Rescue called in to say, "Emergency, emergency!

"Griff Rhys Jones is stuck to the trig point."

Oh, enough, enough! Now listen, we're only halfway through.

-We've still got to get down. Come on.

-OK. Is that it?

-Yeah!

-Daddy! We've come all this way and we've to go home already? I wanna to build a snowman!

-Let's get down. Come on, come on.

-I wanna build a snowman.

I want to play a game of snowballs.

I want to...

Well, I had seen the summit, if not the view.

Now all that remained was the long journey down.

The winter night was closing in and Cameron knew that we had to get off the mountain quickly.

The Vikings may be long gone, but there are people here somewhere.

13,500 are scattered over 2,000 square miles

of seemingly inhospitable landscape, and the numbers are going up.

There are still outsiders coming in and looking for something in these remote places.

12 miles northeast of Ben Hope is the tiny community of Skerray... population 83.

The post office is the heart of the village, and the surrounding countryside.

It's the only shop for ten miles in any direction.

Neither of the postmistresses, Marilyn nor Meg, is a native.

We moved up here 26 years ago from the central belt of Scotland and have no regrets, none whatsoever.

People thought we were quite mad.

They both love this country, but not everyone comes here to struggle in it.

Never climbed a mountain in my life.

Meg tells me what I'm missing, but I know what I'm missing.

-What are you missing?

-Sweat, exhaustion, terror, exposure, chill.

That's what I'm missing, as far as I'm concerned, up a mountain.

Well, do you know on yesterday's experience I think...

what is it - sweat, exhaustion, exposure, terror, chill. We didn't get much terror.

-No?

-But all the others we had, yes.

Well, there you are, it proves a point, doesn't it?

Yeah, well, perhaps you can enjoy the wilderness without treating it as a personal challenge.

It is, after all, enough of a struggle just to get from A to B around here.

Luckily I'm in exactly the right place to catch the only form of public transport available to me.

This is the modern equivalent of the horse-drawn mail coach - the post bus.

Postman Paul turned out not to be a native Highlander either.

He swapped tame Wiltshire for wild Sutherland.

It's a different world. There's hills there, there's mountains. And I love it, love it being here.

Why, why do you think this is a good place?

Everybody knows everybody.

Everybody's helpful.

I could certainly see that the post van was helpful.

There don't seem to be any alternative ways of getting about.

Is this your first time on a post bus?

I didn't even know they existed! Do they exist a lot in outlying places all over Britain?

-There's over a hundred in Scotland.

-You're the only public transport?

Yeah, there is nothing else.

They must rely on you pretty much. Just the post - because most of the things they get come by post.

Well, I deliver newspapers as well, so they actually get their daily newspaper from me as well.

It's easy to forget just how different ordinary life can be in this corner of Great Britain.

Of course, it's that difference that brings people

like the post office ladies and Paul the postman here in the first place.

Popping out for a pint of milk may become a serious expedition,

but the sense of belonging in a community is strong.

The post bus drops me 12 miles west of Skerray by the shores of Loch Eriboll,

ten miles long and the deepest sea loch in Britain.

And it's overlooked by a new and intriguing intruder into the empty landscape.

I'm greeted by strange shapes and forms.

These are the works of an artist, Lotte Glob.

The wilderness is her gallery.

Lotte is a bit of a Viking invader herself.

She was drawn here nearly 40 years ago from her native Denmark.

She loved this bare country so much, she had a house specially designed for her to give her the best outlook

over the empty hills that inspire her.

But her art is more than a picture of the view.

The landscape provides the raw material which she uses in a novel way.

Lotte takes stones from the hills and in a gas-fired kiln, she plays with geological time.

-The rock...

-Melts, yeah.

-It's white heat.

-What temperatures does it have to reach to melt rock?

Well, I fire it to about 1,320 Centigrade.

-So essentially what you do is create a volcano in there.

-Yes.

Each rock reacts differently to the heat, so Lotte can create new shapes and sculptures,

some in the form of books.

And these are the actual melted rocks here?

Yes. Um...

this was, these are pure rocks, different kind of rocks.

-Which you have picked up in the hills.

-Yeah, in the hills.

Just to see it melted like this, to see the rock in this sort of glass form and the bits that've come here

is to suddenly be aware of the extraordinary forces that created it in the first place.

Yes, yes, that's what's so exciting.

And the whole of everything that we're standing on was created by that process.

Lotte's attraction to this landscape isn't just the rocks she can melt,

it's the solitude she can feel here.

I don't suppose the wilds of Northern Scotland ever looked more of a wilderness than they do today.

You can just see nothing as far as the eye can see,

just nothing except, of course, a deserted cottage which somehow

makes it even more of a wilderness, more empty.

But it wasn't...

wasn't always the case.

Nowadays there are more people in one square mile of London

than in the whole of Sutherland's 2,000 square miles.

But the Highlands were once home to more than half Scotland's population.

14 miles southwest of Lotte's house is Loch Naver, and a sober reminder of what happened to them.

This is Grummore.

22 families used to live here.

117 people scattered in houses all over this hillside

until the Duchess of Sutherland decided to clear them away.

This was known as the Highland Clearances, a notorious moment in Scottish history.

In the 18th century, landowners who presided over these wilderness regions began, systematically,

evicting their tenants from the settlements they'd occupied for perhaps thousands of years.

They replaced the Highlanders with herds of far more profitable sheep.

The Clearances started around the 1760s and continued for 100 years.

An estimated 150,000 people were turfed out of their homes, often violently.

A few stone ruins are now all that remain of their villages.

Most of the people cleared from the Highlands had no option

but to move south to towns and cities, or to emigrate for ever.

Those who stayed were forced onto poor land near the coast,

often remaining tenants of the very landlords who had broken up their communities in the first place.

They had to scratch out a living from the land, and so crofting -

low-level subsistence farming - began.

Today there are over 17,500 crofts in the Highlands.

Most are still tenants of landlords who own vast estates.

But a few crofters are ringing the changes in these hills.

One is Alan MacRae. He farms a croft in Assynt, 24 miles southwest of the ruins at Grummore.

-Hello, there, hello.

-Can I get... is it all right to disturb you now?

-It's all right. I'm just gonna feed some of the young beasts up there.

-Can I come with you?

-Aye, sure.

-This croft's been in your family for a long time.

-Yes, it has.

My father and his father before him.

-Several generations ago, my forbears were cleared into Assynt here.

-Yes.

We've been here ever since.

-To run a smallholding in this fairly tough sort of area means you have to work quite hard.

-Well, I...

it's a way of life, you know, I mean, I never consider myself doing work...

-You have to like doing it.

-Yes.

-Otherwise you wouldn't do it.

Come on...come on, come on.

Come on, you silly beasts.

Basically, if you want to live here

you have to turn your hand to a lot of things, and you have to do a lot to help yourself.

You cannot generate the kind of cash surplus that enables you to get people to do things for you.

You've got to more or else do it yourself most of the time.

Highland people have a deep commitment to this country, and Alan did do it for himself.

15 years ago, Alan led a drive to buy back land.

He wanted the crofters to own their own property, not be tenants of a big landlord.

With a hundred other like-minded men and women, he formed the Assynt Crofters' Trust

which, in 1992, succeeded in buying back 21,000 acres of their communal upland grazing.

In winning the land,

the Assynt crofters

have struck a historic blow for people on the land right throughout the Highlands and Islands.

Since then, the trust has built a hydroelectric scheme

and several houses for the local community, and the primary school roll has doubled.

Before I left, I went for a warming cup of tea above Alan's barn,

which incredibly, he built himself, brick by brick, over the last 20 years.

I'm a great believer that you should stand on your own feet.

I believe life is what you make it, and you have to get cracking.

He has hot and cold running water, though no central heating that I was aware of.

Alan's croft is pretty basic but it's a life he believes in.

For Alan, the emptiness of this country is not a blessing but a curse.

He wants to see more people here doing what he's doing.

It's perfectly possible to put people back out there on the land. I'm quite sure of that.

I'm quite sure there are people with the appetite to use it if they've got the opportunity.

People like me who come along and think this place has a certain beauty because it's so empty,

what do you say to me?

Well, I don't see that the future of the Highland people should be sacrificed to suit people like you.

No, I don't, they're our heritage and we need to hang on to it.

I, I firmly believe that the crofters are the people

best suited to protect the land up here.

I came here with mixed feelings about what sounded a bit like a land grab to me

but I left totally won over by Alan's commitment and passion.

People care deeply about this extraordinary hump-backed country.

But of course the difficult land itself is a lot older than Highlanders and Vikings

and, as I journey south, it's time to go back further to investigate the forces that created it.

Not far from Alan's house, I'm told, there is a sacred mountain.

Sacred not to the locals, Picts or Vikings, but to geologists.

This is Suilven.

It's a Norse word meaning pillar mountain, and the Vikings could see it from the sea.

They arrived and they used it as a sea mark, and all I know about it is it's 2,398 feet high.

Yeah.

I'm not climbing that, it's ridiculous.

I'm assured there's an easy route up it.

It looks completely unclimbable.

Unbelievable.

But there's no turning back now.

Suilven is like a monument to the foundations of the Earth.

The rocks on which it sits are some of the oldest in the world.

The other thing, of course, that's notable about Suilven is that it...

it rises up out of an inaccessible wilderness of heather and bog,

and that's why I've had to trudge five miles to get here

and what I'm going to do is I'm gonna rest overnight, before starting the climb proper,

in a bothy.

And I think that is probably the bothy over there.

Well, I hope so, anyway.

The term "bothy" comes from the Gaelic word bothan meaning "hut".

Most are deserted shepherds' cottages, which have been adopted

and looked after by walkers and climbers as rough and ready shelters.

Not too rough, I hope.

DOOR CREAKS GENTLY

Ah...it's dark in here.

Oh!

Well, phew...

I feel like the Count of Monte Cristo now in the...

This is night in the bothy.

Bothy. Let's have a look around and see what we've got.

I don't know if you can see that.

That's, em...

that's the loo, let's put it that way.

What else have we got here?

Wait a minute, we have here...

a book.

Suil...Suileag. Suileag.

So here are my instructions.

I have to leave the bothy clean and tidy for the next visitors.

I have to reduce the fire risk by keeping the fire small. OK...

And cold presumably! Not burning highly combustible material such as plastics,

and making sure the fire is out before I leave. I can do that.

Take all my rubbish away with me, use the spade - we found the spade - to bury human waste.

The temperature could fall tonight to minus eight, apparently, outside.

"Whether you visit the mountains to climb, to walk,

"or simply to gaze at the scenery, you will soon find that you use a considerable amount of energy.

"It's therefore important that you eat well,"

says my essential guide,

and so...I've got some...

"boil in the bag".

That's it, get in, there we go.

Mmm... Actually, that's delicious.

It tastes a lot better than it looks in the bottom of the bag there -

it tastes delicious, and it's quite hot.

Suilven's incredibly ancient mass towered over me in the moonlight.

I was miles from anywhere and anyone, and I have to admit,

it felt rather magical.

The temperature in the night did fall to minus eight degrees but with the dawn, things got moving again.

The morning light provided a crisp, clear view of the crest of Suilven.

To help me understand how this startling mountain was formed,

I'm going up with geologist Peter Nienow, who had an even earlier start than I did.

He isn't just a geologist. Luckily, he's a skilled mountaineer too.

How long do you think it'll take us to get up?

-It'll be about two or three hours from here.

-And you've done it before?

A couple of times, but I've never seen the view from the top so...

-It's rare.

-Cross fingers. It is rare.

-Is it?

-Yeah.

The reason Suilven is so special to geologists is because you can see

the layers of sandstone that make up the mountain mass.

Each was formed by deposits of mineral sediment resting on the seabed.

As more and more layers built up,

the pressure solidified the sediment into rock, with the oldest rock on the bottom.

So these rocks...

how old are these? Let's start with them.

So these rocks, the rocks that we're on are...

well, the oldest are about 3.3 billion years old.

Sorry, I have to stop for just a minute for two reasons -

one cos I'm knackered, and the other reason is because I can never get my head around billions, so how many?

So that's 3,300 million years old.

3,000 million years old.

About that. Up to 3,300 million, so they're some of the oldest rocks in the world.

So what are the, what are the...

what are the basic forces, then, that create mountains?

The basic forces are plate tectonics.

Basically, we've got continents that are floating on a magma,

which is a liquid deeper down in the Earth,

and that liquid has got convection currents, it's continually moving.

The plates are floating on that, like a crust of porridge that's drying but floating on a warmer porridge.

Basically, the plates are moving round,

and the best example is somewhere like the Himalayas in India.

The Indian subcontinent has come and crashed into the Asian continent,

and the pressures have led to mountain uplift.

400 million years ago, this mountain uplift created a range the size of the Himalayas where we're standing.

60 million years ago, continental drift ripped this part of Scotland away from North America

and 20,000 years ago, almost all of Suilven would have been submerged

under billions of tons of ice and we could have skated to the top.

But today, we're just going to have to take a slightly more difficult route.

-How on earth are we gonna get up that?

-It's quite steep, but it'll be fine.

We're heading straight up that gully to the coll on the lowest point of the skyline,

so we're just gonna sort of contour, and then traverse up to the foot of the gully, and then head straight up.

We'll see whether we need ice axe and crampons, but we'll decide that nearer the gully.

OK, let's have a go.

Eventually, Peter decided we wouldn't need crampons to give us extra grip.

Instead, we kick into the steep snow slope,

jumping ahead thousands of years in geological time with each footstep.

It got steeper and steeper and more and more slippery.

That is just...amazing.

Oh! I thought we were coming out onto something flat.

That...is extraordinary.

So, we still had a bit to go.

Admiring the view became less important than watching where we were putting our feet.

One slip on this icy, metre-wide path, and there would be a thousand-foot fall

back the way we'd come.

-This is like a roof.

-It's amazing, isn't it?

And when we reached the summit, the reward was simply astonishing.

-Not bad, is it?

-No.

I have to admit, I had the jitters.

On that last bit, my knees went weak and trembly.

I'm not sure they went weak and trembly because of the beauty of the view, or because of the effort

of clambering up here through the snow and ice, but what an extraordinary vision.

And it's a vision created by immeasurable natural forces.

This landscape has been made, as it were, by what you specialise in, which is glaciers.

The sort of final sculpting has been created by glaciers.

When Britain was covered by an ice sheet, part of the ice sheet flowed out here, removing the sandstone,

and Suilven, supposedly, is aligned this way because of the way the ice has flowed round it,

-so the ice has been flowing round it...

-Going either side of it?

-..and streamlined it.

Just being up on the shark's fin of Suilven was a unique and enthralling experience.

It slices out of the wilderness and tells its story through its own extraordinary shape.

What we need now is either a helicopter or...

-Paraglider.

-..paraglider.

-You could just...

-One between two.

-..jump off.

I didn't want to leave.

This was a panorama of a pristine wonderland and I was lucky to see it.

But it was time to move on.

My exploration of some of our most remote mountains would not be ending in the far north.

Next, I had to cross the sea, to an island off its coast.

60 miles southwest of Suilven

lies the largest and most famous island of the Inner Hebrides - the Isle of Skye.

The gap between it and the mainland is less than a mile,

yet Skye has preserved the distinct identity of an inaccessible place,

with 350 miles of coastline and some of the most astonishing rock formations in the country.

The south of Skye is dominated by the Cuillin mountains,

a crown of peaks and pinnacles that rises sheer out of the sea.

The Highland Clearances reached this island too.

Even today, Skye continues to struggle to hold on to its younger residents.

People love this place, but sometimes they need to go where the work is.

The bridge that comes in is also the way out and the road to the south.

The snow was going, this suddenly felt like civilisation.

Even the bus was a bit of a shock.

Roads, lorries, people.

I was disorientated. I needed to get my bearings and Janice McPherson was on hand to give me some advice.

Is it a long way from civilisation, where you live, then?

No, I'm just about five minutes' walk from the village.

And the place to head for, where's that?

The Tongadale, it's quite a homey pub.

-Is it?

-Yeah.

-Right. So what would you recommend I do tonight?

-Tonight either Tongadale, or up to the ceilidh.

-OK, there's a ceilidh tonight.

-Yeah.

-I thought ceilidhs were just for tourists.

-No, no. Everybody goes.

-Seriously, they just get together and go dancing?

-Yeah.

-Do Scottish dancing just for fun?

-Just for fun, yeah.

-OK.

Have you done any Scottish dancing ever?

No. Don't you want to do any dancing? No.

Well, I wasn't sure myself, but I had reached my stop.

I was staying in a hotel right underneath the Black Cuillin mountains

and the only reason my guesthouse was here at all was to put up the climbers who'd been coming here

for 100 years to have a crack at what I'd been told was Britain's only Alpine range.

-Hello.

-Hi, there.

Is this the Sligachan Hotel?

Sligachan Hotel, we pronounce it Slig-a-han.

-The Slug-a-han Hotel.

-Sligachan. No' bad.

Right. Thank you. Tell me, that's Gaelic... That's Gah-lic or Gay-lic?.

I would say Gah-lic.

Garlic?

-Ga...Gaelic.

-What, like in the... in the tuber or whatever.

-Gaelic.

OK, fine. Well, I have a room booked, so I believe.

-You certainly have.

-Thank you very much.

-Room 17, good view of the Cuillins up there.

-Yes, thank you.

-Your room's just straight ahead up the stairs and to the left.

-OK.

I had to get to Portree.

Before I took on the challenge of the Cuillins, I had to take on the challenge of a ceilidh.

-I'm not too old to do this, am I?

-Oh, no, no, no.

You've got plenty dancing years yet.

-Oh, have I? Well, we shall see.

-We shall see, we'll find out.

After the wilderness of Ben Hope and Suilven, where there are often 20 miles between settlements,

it was quite nice to be surrounded by a lot of people again.

Some of the Highlands might feel deserted,

but Skye's population is actually increasing,

with more and more people drawn to its landscape, its mountains and its dancing.

In 20 years, the number of people living here has increased by nearly a third.

Too early the next morning, I had an urgent appointment just north of the hotel.

A Gaelic language lesson.

Gaelic was the language of most of Scotland for about 1,500 years, until the 18th century.

Today, only some 60,000 people speak it.

Ceilidh was a Gaelic word that was easier to say than to spell.

I'd had trouble with Sligachan,

and, if I didn't watch out, I was still calling it Gay-lic, which is a word for the Irish language.

I needed some help,

so I went to a local primary school where Gaelic is taught.

Before I attempt to climb any of them,

I want to learn how to pronounce the names of Skye's mountains.

Madainn mhath.

'Blimey! The teacher's being a bit strict. I'd better concentrate.'

-Right, Griff.

-Sgurr De-arg. No?

How does it go?

-Sgurr Dearg.

-SKOOR...JERRIG?

'Gaelic is a language rich in meaning. Sgurr Dearg means red peak.'

Sgurr nan Gillean.

Sgurr nan Gillean.

Sgurr nan Gillean.

'Sgurr nan Gillean means the peak of the young men,

'and this...looks impossible.'

Sgurr Michich...

Mhic...

Choinnich, Choinnich. No.

No. No. Sgurr Mhic Choinnich.

SKOOR VEECH KONNICH.

These names I'm learning, or trying to learn, have a real human history to them.

Many of the individual Cuillin mountains have been named after people,

the explorers, the pioneers who first went up there in the 1880s.

The sport of mountaineering began in the Alps.

It was only later in the century that climbers began to look

at a lower but equally exciting range closer to home.

The most famous of Skye's mountaineers were an unlikely pair

brought together by their affection for the Cuillin mountains.

Norman Collie, a scientist from Manchester, came to Skye in 1886.

He employed the son of a local crofter, John Mackenzie, as a guide.

Collie and Mackenzie formed a regular climbing partnership, despite their class differences.

In 1890, they surveyed the whole of the Cuillin range, the first to do so.

Observers said that, although they were great climbing companions, they exchanged few words.

Their unspoken understanding of the mountains was enough to form a friendship that lasted 40 years.

Their names are memorialised in the hills today.

Sgurr Mhic Choinnich, Mackenzie's peak for Mackenzie,

and Sgurr Thormaid, Norman's peak for Collie.

After Mackenzie died in 1933 at the age of 77, Collie continued to climb here in memory of his old friend.

Today, though, they're reunited in this unexpected shady patch of green.

In the end, Collie asked to be buried next to Mackenzie, the mathematician and the shepherd.

I don't know whether Mackenzie ever really understood the extent of the affection that Collie had for him.

He was always known as a rather self-contained man,

and the graves are made of stones from the Cuillin, which they first explored together.

The mountains may often have been named after the men who climbed them 125 years ago.

But they belonged to someone else.

In fact, they still do.

Though perhaps not for much longer.

The Cuillin Mountains are up for sale.

You can go into an estate agent in Edinburgh and get yourself one of these.

This is the brochure for the Cuillins - an entire mountain range for sale.

14 miles of coastline and, crucially, 11 Munros, separate Scottish mountains over 3,000 feet,

and nine additional tops over 3,000 feet.

And then in very small writing here,

it says, "Viewing strictly by appointment." So under no circumstances

are you allowed to pop and have your own look at the mountains,

even though, apparently, you are free to climb them any time you like.

It's recommended by the estate agent that you take one of those short men

in a pinstriped suit with alligator shoes tottering up the path.

Here's a picture of a peak and presumably they're thinking, "This could be you,"

or whether it's to encourage you to think you'd be able to stand on the peak and shout, "Get off my land!

"This is now privately owned, these mountains."

That's a very lavish offer,

but as yet, they have no buyers.

The Cuillins are the property of the Clan MacLeod,

who still own the mountains that were once part of a territory which covered more than half of Skye.

They also own this rather imposing piece of property - Dunvegan Castle -

built 850 years ago as a fortress when rival clans - huge extended families -

had bitter neighbourly disputes over this island.

Today the castle is still home to the Chief of the Clan, John MacLeod.

Of course it was designed to be impregnable.

So how on earth do I get in it?

Ah... through the back door, of course.

-Oh...hello.

-Hello.

My name's Griff, I've come to see the Chief of the Clan MacLeod.

-That's John MacLeod.

-Hello.

-Oh...hello.

-And welcome.

Nice to see you.

And you. I believe you're gonna show me round the castle?

-If that's what you want to see.

-That's what I'd love to see, thank you very much.

And explain a little bit about the Cuillins as we go.

-OK.

-Is that all right?

-I'll try.

-Good, thank you very much.

Well, do you want to lead on?

The castle is one of the major tourist attractions on the Isle of Skye

and the whole house is like a picture-book history of the island.

Originally, the MacLeods held the south and their bitter rivals the MacDonalds the north.

The MacLeods are certainly not incomers to Skye, or at least not since the 1260s.

Here, your ancestors surround you - what number clan chief are you?

Number 29.

Chief John is descended from Viking royalty -

a son of King Olav the first was clan chief number one.

-It's quite a good sort of lineage to be able to look back on.

-Bunch of savages!

This is a terrific outfit.

Well, that was when the tartan was proscribed, and people weren't allowed to wear kilts.

That was against the law. So that was his invention.

-He was a dreadful fellow.

-Was he?

-He was an awful man, a wicked man.

He was reputed to have murdered his first wife in the dungeon, who was this MacDonald lady.

-Oh...dear.

-Eh...

He was a real bad hat, he really was. He was a wicked man.

But I do like that wall of paintings.

The Cuillins have been MacLeod land for 850 years.

They are the dominant feature of what is left of the clan's territory.

I wondered why John MacLeod would ever consider selling them,

but then he took me on a guided tour of the east wing.

This is the part of the castle the tourists don't see.

This is where his visitors have to stay.

And my guests were sleeping in this room and they told me

they had to put up an umbrella in the middle of the night when they were in bed in this room.

So the roof is... It's dripping on me here! So the roof is...

-the roof has gone.

-The roof has gone, it's completely gone.

How much of the castle is in a dilapidated state?

-The degradation is something that's seeping through the walls...

-Right.

..and it's really castle-wide.

Oh, God! Look at this!

Oh, no, how awful!

This was once my favourite room.

What are the estimates now for the repair of this side of the castle?

It's somewhere around £19.2 million.

£19.2 million is a lot of money, even if you are clan royalty,

so John MacLeod wants to sell off some of his biggest assets.

So you decided five years ago, or thought five years ago,

that you could raise some money to pay for this by selling off some of the Cuillin?

That's the only bit of land that we have left

and...so I thought in today's world somebody might want to buy them.

Quite a lot of people on the island didn't want you to sell them.

I didn't want to sell them myself, either. I can understand that.

What about the people who said you didn't have the right to sell them?

-I thought that was very insulting.

-Were they MacDonalds, by any chance?

On consideration, I don't think even a rival clan is going to take on this land now.

What sort of a braveheart would step forward to buy them?

They're part of the identity of Skye, there are many on the island

who strongly object to the idea of putting them on the property market.

As for me, having learned their history, how to pronounce their names and their owner's intentions,

it was time to make an appointment to view.

There are 11 Munros making up the massive serrated horseshoe of the Black Cuillin.

The terrifying jagged ridge, the longest in Britain at nearly seven miles,

provides some of the most difficult climbing in the country.

Climbers love the crazy Cuillins.

Apart from the deadly drops, narrow gullies and exposed pinnacles,

the magnetism of the rock means navigating by compass is dangerously unreliable.

I'm going to try to tackle one of the central peaks -

Bruach na Frithe, which means the slope of the deer forest.

Like the pioneer Norman Collie, I've taken the precaution of enlisting some local guides.

Eoghain McKinnon, Paddy Stevenson and Sarah Kay walk and climb here almost every week.

Eoghain's the local electrician, and seems not to have noticed

that it's freezing cold, and there's a strong wind blowing.

I feel a complete southern softie in my waterproof shell.

The names of the new pinnacles, the ones I haven't learned so far, seem to want to tell me something.

This is Am Basteir.

Ah...Am Basteir, what does that mean?

Eh...the executioner.

I don't know how it ever got the name.

And this is a dangerous ridge, people fall off this?

-Well, it has...takes quite a few casualties.

-Does it?

-Yes.

The forbidding mountains get their name, the Black Cuillin, from the dark gabbro rock.

It's loved by climbers because of the grip it allows,

but it doesn't make climbing on gabbro entirely a cake-walk.

You've got to watch out for the patches of basalt.

Within it, there's loads of basalt dykes that have intruded up through the gabbro

-and in the wet, they can be dicey, so you're going along thinking...

-So the basalt is...

Super-grippy gabbro right beside super-slippy basalt.

That basalt is very shattered in places, so you think you've got a nice hold,

and it'll just come off in your hand.

-Painting a lovely picture, aren't we?

-No, no! You're not! No, I mean...

I'm feeling more confident all the time. At least the wind's died down.

We seemed to be walking up into God's building site.

The rock has been shattered and heaped into piles of gravel

by the ice and the rain, and most of our journey is sheer, unending trudge.

-I tell you what I'm finding, though, Paddy.

-Yeah?

-The business of climbing a mountain is mostly looking at your feet.

-Yes.

You spend a lot of time checking that you're not gonna stick your foot on the wrong bit and fall over.

It's quite important to look where you're putting your feet.

-I think you should stop and look back. Look at that.

-Yeah, that's what it's all about.

What's that one called there, that sort of sugar-loaf mountain?

That's Glamaig.

What we were climbing was even more impressive.

The massive rock formations dwarf everything around.

These may not be the highest mountains in the world,

but the way they rise straight up out of the sea gives us an overpowering perspective.

We dominate miles of Scottish wilderness.

-The sun.

-Look at that.

-The sun and everything.

The sun lying all over the, all over the island and the water.

-Loch Brackadale out there.

-Except here.

-Yeah.

We've lain under a dark cloud

all the way up, which sort of hides...

the very top of the Black Cuillin, aptly named, I think.

Oh...look at this.

But the summit was still an hour away.

The higher we climbed, the closer we seemed to get to the heart of the Cuillin.

Here we are.

The race to the summit.

Terrific, panoramic, all-round views.

-Look at all those other ones you've got left to do.

-Yes, yes!

And from here, you get some sense

of the extraordinary fantasy landscape...

stretching away.

The top is a true vantage point.

I can see the country as a whole, this extraordinary corner of Britain.

Marching away to the far north via range after range of mountains is a wild and difficult place.

For thousands of years, people have struggled to exist in this country and struggled to control it.

The last family to live in the Cuillins

finally deserted their farmhouse in the early 1900s,

which, coincidentally, was about the same time as the first climbers arrived here.

And today, people are still retreating from the wilderness, going where the jobs are

and where life is softer, but they're sort of being replaced by a strange combination...

of adventurers, and seekers...

nutters.

And I suppose...

..having climbed a bit,

I'm beginning

to see why.

Next time on Mountain, I'll explore the beautiful Lake District.

I'll push myself to the limit on the toughest climb of my life

and discover how we fell in love with these inspirational mountains.

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