WE do like our mountain adjectives don’t we? The highest, the wildest, the roughest and the most remote. The highest is easy to clarify, but the other descriptions require a little bit of conjecture. In terms of remoteness are we referring to the distance from any road or track, the hill’s accessibility or its distance from any human settlement?

A number of candidates for the most remote Munro come immediately to mind. Seana Bhraigh in the north-west highlands, or Sgurr Mor between Loch Quoich and Glen Kingie, or how about Beinn Dearg in the wilds of Atholl, or the pair of A’Mhaighdean and Ruadh Stac Mor in Letterewe?

These Munros are all remote in terms of distance from roads and settlements but I think I’m going to plump for the latter two, if for no other reason than master Munro-man Hamish Brown says so (he describes A’Mhaighdean as “the least easily reached”), and his assertion has been backed by the late Irvine Butterfield in his book The High Mountains of Britain and Ireland. Irvine reckoned that the roads at Kinlochewe, Poolewe and Dundonnell are all about nine miles distant.

It’s perhaps worth noting that A’Mhaighdean (967m/3173ft) has another tentative claim to fame. A number of writers have suggested that it is the finest viewpoint of all the Munros and with that I would wholeheartedly agree. The view out along the length of the crag-fringed Fionn Loch to Loch Ewe and the open sea is simply unforgettable, across a landscape that is as close to “wilderness” as anything we have in this country.

I’m very aware of the emotive context of that word, particularly when we are describing a landscape that is primarily remote and empty of people, but the poet John Milton once defined wilderness as “a place of abundance”, a paradoxical definition which American philosopher and poet Gary Snyder suggests catches the very condition of energy and richness that is so often found in wild systems: “... all the incredible fecundity of small animals and plants, feeding the web. But from another side, wilderness has implied chaos, eros, the unknown, realms of taboo, the habitat of both the ecstatic and demonic. In both senses it is a place of archtypal power, teaching and challenge.”

I like that last sentence of Snyder’s, because it is particularly relevant in this particular area – it’s not known as the Letterewe Wilderness for nothing. The high-level route from the bothy at Shenavall around Beinn a’ Chlaidheimh, Sgurr Ban, Mullach Coire Mhic Fhearchair, Beinn Tarsuinn, A’Mhaighdean and Ruadh Stac Mor is not only a real challenge but takes you into a landscape that ticks most of the wilderness definition boxes.

I’ve climbed A’Mhaighdean a couple of times as part of that long rosary of Munros. I’ve also climbed it from the marvellous oak woods of Loch Maree where there was once a thriving iron smelting industry; from the cathedral-like grandeur of the Fionn Loch below the steep crags of Beinn Airigh Charr, Meall Mheinnidh and Beinn Lair and from the empty quarter around lonely Lochan Fada before returning to Kinlochewe from the narrow gorge of Gleann Bianasdail. But even the simplest route, the most direct route to A’Mhaighdean and Ruadh Stac Mor (918m/3012ft) is a classic, a memorable walk-in (you could, if you really must, use a mountain bike) and an ascent through a landscape that is as wild and formidable as any.

My reference to using a mountain bike is, I admit, uncharacteristic, and reduces the ascent of these hills to no more than a blatant Munro raid, a rather sad way to court this particular maiden. (A’Mhaighdean can be translated as the maiden although Peter Drummond, in his excellent book Scottish Hill and Mountain Names, points out that in both Scots and Gaelic cultures a maiden is also the last sheaf of corn cut during the harvest. There are many Highland traditions associated with this last “stook” when, after a good harvest, it would be dressed to look like a young girl. You certainly notice a likeness to a sheaf when you look at the summit from the west.)

Rather than bash in and out again on a bike it’s far better to ease yourself gently into this marvelous landscape, either from Poolewe by way of Kernsary and the Fionn Loch, or by Dundonnell, Shenavall and Gleann na Muice Beag in the north or from Kinlochewe and Loch Maree. Stay in a tent or use the bothy at Carnmore. Whichever way you approach these hills the undoubted highlight is the ascent of A’Mhaighdean from Carnmore.

On a recent ascent my wife and I camped close to the causeway between the Fionn Loch and the Dubh Loch. A’Mhaighdean’s “stook”-like summit dominated the view from the tent door. Nearby the house at Carnmore was locked up and I recalled my old friend Tom Weir telling me about the family, the MacRaes, who once lived there. Over the years Tom got to know the family quite well and he was always made very welcome. That was probably in the 1950s. The house is now used by estate guests, although the nearby bothy is always available ... but be warned – it’s a little less than basic!

While a superb stalker’s path traverses across the steep slopes of Sgurr an Lochain from Carnmore and makes a tortuous route into the mountain’s north-east corrie, we chose to scramble up the steep, stepped north-west ridge. The stalker’s path took us as far as Fuar Loch Mor from where we skirted the loch’s western bank and took to the rock. There was plenty of good, steep scrambling but all the real difficulties can be avoided. In essence, this was a stairway to heaven, a heaven with some of the best views imaginable – I truly believe the view from the summit of A’Mhaighdean is the best in the country.

For such a rocky looking mountain the bald bluff summit of A’Mhaighdean comes as a bit of a surprise, but it makes for a fairly easy descent towards the high bealach above Fuar Loch Mor where a scramble takes you up steep broken slopes surprisingly easily to the summit of neighbouring Ruadh Stac Mor and its beautifully crafted stone trig-point. Back at the bealach, a superbly built stalker’s path eases its way downhill below the skirt of red screes which form the base of Ruadh Stac Mor, past the brooding Fuar Loch Mor and down over the high gneiss-patched moorland to the main Dundonnell to Poolewe track beside Lochan Feith Mhic-Illean.

We followed this path back to Carnmore and the long, but beautiful, return to Poolewe below the crags of Meall Mheinnidh, Beinn Airigh Charr and Spidean nan Clach.