SOME folk call it the Glenfinnan Horseshoe, others call it the Corryhully Horseshoe, but the name doesn’t really matter. The two hills involved, Sgurr Thuilm (try hoolim) and Sgurr nan Coireachan, always feel deliciously remote from nearby Glenfinnan and its associated tartan tourist trail.

The Raising of the Standard at Glenfinnan was the genesis of a sad, some would say ill-conceived, episode in Scotland’s history, but the legend of Bonnie Prince Charlie shows that the Braveheart syndrome was alive and well hereabouts long before Mel Gibson put on his woad and waggled his bare bum.

The West Highland Railway viaduct forms a high-arching gateway between the National Trust for Scotland visitor centre and the long approach to what is some of the roughest hill country in Scotland. Sgurr Thuilm and Sgurr nan Coireachan could almost be exiles from the neighbouring Rough Bounds of Knoydart, in terms of their rough and craggy slopes, their air of remoteness and magnificent views to the west.

You can reach the start of this walk easily from the railway station. The train isn’t my usual mode of travel but it’s difficult to resist the temptation of a great hill walk combined with one of the best train journeys in the world, and that’s what the Fort William to Mallaig line, or the West Highland Line to give it its Sunday name, represents.

From the station I wandered back down the A830, back towards Glenfinnan where, on the west side of the River Finnan, a track runs below the 21-span railway viaduct, a construction that’s been claimed, with some justification, as one of the great sights of the West Highlands – manmade sights that is. Youngsters will recognise it from the Harry Potter films.

Built in 1897, it was the world’s first major mass-concrete structure. It seems that concrete was used because the local rock was so hard and difficult to dress. The builder, Robert McAlpine, he of the eponymous fusiliers, was apparently very enthusiastic about concrete, pointing out to anyone who would listen that it did not rust, nor needed painting. He probably deserved his nickname of Concrete Bob.

There exists an apocryphal story about a horse and cart that had apparently fallen into one of the hollow piers of the viaduct, but according to a recent survey of the structure no trace of the unfortunate beast was revealed. However, it seems engineers have found some evidence that would suggest that old Dobbin didn’t fall into the Glenfinnan viaduct supports, but those of the Loch-nam-Uamh viaduct several miles further west.

The track below the viaduct runs north, principally to service Glen Finnan Lodge, but turns into a footpath shortly beyond Corryhully Bothy, an idyllically positioned doss near the stream which drains the massive Coire Thollaidh and Coire a’ Bheithe. Higher up there used to be a wonderful rock pool where I enjoyed more than one skinny dip, but sadly it’s been lost in a rout of high-level road building to serve a run-of-river hydro scheme.

Higher up I left the track and took to the heather of an obvious spur which leads on to a long ridge called Druim Coire a’ Bheithe. This is where the hard work began. Grass-covered slopes led to a small subsidiary top and then north to the summit of Sgurr Thuilm itself, at 963m, the Peak of the Round Hillock. To the north-west the Knoydart hills filled the horizon, beyond the silver slash of lonely Loch Morar. Further east another silver slash, Loch Arkaig, gave way to the Loch Quoich hills. To the west Sgurr nan Coireachain, at 956m, demanded some visual attention, a reasonable request because that was my next destination, at the end of it’s wide, knobbly ridge, dotted with lochans and adorned by a line of old fence posts that runs over the spine of the intermediate tops of Beinn Garbh and Meall an Tarmachain, a rocky highway in the clouds.

Sgurr nan Coireachan may be slightly lower than Sgurr Thuilm but is aesthetically a much finer summit – the apex of a number of remote corrie ridges, craggy and wild. The final ridge to the summit cairn was narrow and rocky, with the depths of Coire Thollaidh dropping away on one side and the secretive flanks of Glen Pean on the other. From the summit, rocky slopes tumbled from my feet towards the head of Loch Morar and to my left the hill’s south-east ridge looked steep and rocky, abutting on to some steep cliffs which drop into Coire Thollaidh, a dark and craggy place.

The ridge continued, in form and interest, across the minor top of Sgurr a’ Choire Riabhaich and down towards the River Finnan again. I dropped off the ridge in an easterly direction to where a good stalker’s path skirted the foot of the crags to link up with the main track again. It had been a good day but the thought of the long walk back to Glenfinnan was a bit of a drudge. That dreary notion made me recall the little pool I mentioned earlier. A dip in the clear, cold waters would have provided the refreshment and revitalisation I needed, but I had to make do with dipping my feet in the first burn I came across. With toes still tingling, the return past Corryhully Bothy and back to Glenfinnan was a lot better than I could ever have hoped for.