On 5th of September 2024, I stood on top of Stac Pollaidh in brilliant sunshine, surrounded by friends. I had just completed a continuous, self-propelled round of the Grahams, biking and walking in between. I was feeling justly proud of myself.
Main image: After a kicking down the west coast, Lorraine dances across the top of the final west coast hill enjoying the longed for sunshine on Mullach Buidhe, Arran | Credit: Kev Woods
Almost 20 years ago, when I was just 40, I completed a continuous round of Munros by walking and sea kayaking in between. A decade later I did similar on my Corbett round, but by bike and sailing boat. Neither was easy, but neither came close to the Grahams in difficulty.
These smaller hills are both remote and pathless, and more time was spent walking the passes and glens between than going over the tops. The conditions underfoot were harsh, sometimes treacherous. Pathless bog was the norm. Weather forecasters opined the season as one of the worst summers since records began. Rain, mist and high winds were my daily bread. Ticks and then midges were almost constant companions and, as the seasons moved on, the bracken grew stronger, thicker and higher.
Closing the loop
This was a journey that, as far as I knew, had never been done before. I loved the planning, the sense of a giant jigsaw puzzle coming together. It was a full tour of Scotland including 7 islands in the west. I wanted to start and end at my home in Beauly rather than have the journey begin and end on the hills. I wanted to close the loop. I would begin in the Northwest, cross to the Hebrides and head down the west coast. The bike would come into its own on the second half – through Dumfries, Galloway, and the Borders, then north and east, then west again to finish on the iconic Stac Pollaidh.
I was under no illusions it would be easy. The first two journeys had been testing. I was now in my 60th year and have endured the side effects of three different cancer diagnoses in the past ten years. I now moved more slowly, had difficulty with breathing on uphill climbs, and would often panic when I needed the bathroom. There were big life changes. I moved away from work in the outdoors and I avoided cities. I had lost confidence. Would this be a chance to regain it, or destroy it completely?
Birthday beginnings
On the 16th of April, I cycled to Strathconon for Carn na Connich, a breezy climb to the top of the first hill accompanied by friends. I loved the company (and my birthday cakes!) just as much as I loved saying goodbye and climbing Meall na Fochaig on my own in the snow. A cold, clear starry night ensued and as I sat outside my tent, that magical feeling of a journey beginning overtook me. I could not stop smiling. I was back in the mountains. This was coming home; it was why I was here…
That initial feeling of contentment didn’t last! A wet winter and spring had led to unusually boggy, wet and cold conditions and the hoped-for period of dry spring weather failed to materialise. And regardless of the weather, this was always going to be the wildest part of the journey – the terrain is uncompromising, the hills have sea level starts and the glens are remote. I hoped to get through before the bracken and the midge arrived.
The big glens were hard. I grew behind on my schedule and was constantly hungry due to the big workouts across difficult ground, every day. Negative thoughts took over. Then I tried to rush and grew breathless. I twisted my knee in a fall and had to take a few days out for some physio. When I returned, conditions underfoot and the weather remained punishing.
What kept me going? The Graham’s may be smaller cousins of the Munros and Corbetts, but each has its own character and they easily hold their own amongst their neighbours. Fair weather days were rare but appreciated all the more for it.
And then it was late spring, and the bog came alive. Sphagnum moss was rich orange, red, and gold. Sundew glistened. Bluebells, primrose and wood anemones gave way to butterwort and milk wort and wild violets as I climbed higher. Bog cotton danced and the meadow pipit flitted the heath. The lovely, lonely song of golden plover haunted me through the northwest and into the Hebrides.
A few weeks in and I grew fitter. I also changed strategy, with more cycling to the base of hills and walking with a day pack, and a little less backpacking. I refused to look at my original schedule, planning no more than a couple of days ahead. Perhaps I had found my feet a little, but the Fannichs and Fisherfields were always going to be tough and being largely roadless, my new approach would only get me so far.
More weather, more blisters and even forgetting my bike lock combination all conspired to punish me further as I ticked off the scrambly ridge of Meall Mheinnidh and the foot sucking bog of Beinn a’ Chaisgein Beag.
A pivotal moment
Thankfully, the run of bad weather broke, and 11th May saw me climbing three hills in brilliant sunshine before catching the ferry to the Hebrides. I arrived in Ullapool on a beautiful Saturday afternoon with The Lugger Fest in full holiday swing. I had been out for 25 days, climbed 34 hills, walked and cycled 1,000 kilometers and climbed 30,000 metres.
It was a pivotal moment in the journey. On the one hand, I’d survived the northwest and was in the flow of the journey.
On the other, my blisters were infected, my feet and ankles swollen and I could not walk without poles. My feet had been constantly wet and as they swelled, my shoes became too tight. The daily round of tick bites were taking too long to heal, and to top it off I had infected hands and cheeks from a suspected brush with Giant Hogweed which, alongside the effects of chemotherapy, made my hands particularly susceptible to sunburn.
Close friends wanted me to go home, rest and see a doctor, but it was not an option. The journey had been hard but to return now would break the flow and leave me floundering. I agreed to see a doctor on the Hebrides and take some time out.
A thoroughly mad hour ensued with me limping out to buy new, bigger shoes, getting a hand massage from one friend, my blisters dressed by a second and being fed by a third, but I made the boat and as we sailed out between all the Luggers I felt calm and ready for some Hebridean TLC.
The islands were good to me. It was a healing time with warm sun, that unique combination of mountains, sea and pristine white beaches… and when I reached Skye, company on the hills again. The journey down the west coast grew hard once more, as the midges arrived and the bracken grew ever more monstrous. The Cowal Peninsula was particularly tough, with low pressure systems bringing strong winds, driving rain and low-lying mist.
Time and again I navigated from the tops into vast swathes of bracken. I would gladly have swapped my precious poles for a machete! I became adept at shouting at the universe, and I really believe this kept me sane.
The spirit of the hills
As weeks rolled into months, my solo challenge also became a story of those around me, willing me on.
I have so many precious memories… of Jenny waiting at the road end in Kinlochewe with hot pizza and a deck chair as I came tramping through the woods after an overnight in the Fannichs. Of Mike, opening his house to myself and friends on Skye and accompanying me through the red Cuillin – only the 3rd time I’d company on the hills. Eilidh, accommodating my last-minute plans for an emergency bivvi in Glenfinnan. And Kev, turning up with Fish and Chips at 10 at night in the pouring rain, persuading me to cycle to Invermallie bothy while he took my packs to lighten the load.
I clearly remember Alex, Mike, Manny Brenda, Maisy and Moira joining me on Ben Cleuch after I’d climbed Tinto in the morning and cycled from the borders to Alloa. I was trashed, but they knew it was important to carry on that evening as the weather was due to be so wild the next day. And Renatte, a wonderful woman I had never met, who kept an online map of my journey going, egging me on. Fi, who trailed me through the isle of Mull with food, beer and a berth in the back of her old landy. I was just as grateful to Moira and the lads from Shielin O Mark bothy, who fed me whisky and curry.
I remember cycling into Glen Calvie with Manny and his daughter Maisy, learning to slow down and eat the berries! At just 14, she showed incredible stamina and a rare, inspiring love for the mountains. And then there was the hot smoked trout, boiled eggs and dill sauce from Kalie in a midge infested campsite, and much laughter with Pauline, cycling into Glen Glass before more tough days on the hill.
A whirlwind finish
In contrast to the start, the final week is one of the best times I have ever had in the mountains. The weather gods were with me and so were my friends. Yet, I had been out for four months and had become very slow. I found it hard to breathe on the uphill and struggled to keep the paranoia at bay that my cancer had returned. This is one of the downsides to a diagnosis – assuming every little symptom is the disease returning. Instead, I had a lot of naturally fit friends, and I was trying to keep up with them! The symptoms soon calmed when I returned to my own pace.
During that week, I shared a magical night with Masa, Dan and Kev after cycling in to climb two of the most remote hills in the far north. Once at camp, the temperature dropped and the midges disappeared. Tiny flickers of white light developed into a full-blown Aurora Borealis. All thought of the chill gone, we stood and watched as it gradually faded and we were left with a celestial display of stars, planets, meteors and the Milky Way. There was no light pollution in this part of the world. It felt the right time to play Shine on you crazy diamond. I will never forget it. Moments bigger than us.
The next few days were a whirlwind. Laughter, sunshine, Lochinver Pies, and the mountains of Assynt. Torrential downpours, a missing bag, an unexpected night at Inchnadamph Lodge, cycling to Lochinver, a wet and misty Suilven and the bog round Fionn Loch. Pizza, a broken bike, and a penultimate big, beautiful day on Ben nan Eun, the Fiddler and Ben Mhor Coigach. And then Stac Pollaidh, my final day, my final hill. Scrambling, company, hugs, big smiles, cake, champagne and speeches. Assynt at its best. I had gone and done it. We had gone and done it.
And last of all, doing what I said I’d do – closing the loop. Later that evening I got on my bike and began my cycle home.
What’s in a name?
Lorraine completed the Grahams, which are the 231 Scottish mountains between 600m and 762m high, with a drop (or prominence) of 150m on all sides. They are named after the late hillwalker Fiona Graham (later Torbet), whose original list of Highland hills between 2000 and 2500 feet high first appeared in this magazine in 1992.
As Fiona wrote at the time, “I broke my pelvis skiing and had to spend 2 months in hospital, mostly flat on my back. I was thoroughly bored. Now it was time to try and list these hills… With a typewriter balanced on the table flap over my chest, maps all about, I set to work. When advancing years bring assorted aches and pains, Munros and Corbetts are done, or not done, you can still feel an explorer in Scotland.”
This list was later expanded and amended, initially in agreement between Fiona and Alan Dawson, the compiler of the Marilyns (British hills of any height with a drop of 150 metres, also published in 1992), and again after her death.
Alan had this to say about Lorraine McCall’s challenge: “There is a good reason why no-one had climbed all the Grahams in a continuous walk until 2024. They are hard work… The key issues are not navigation or exhaustion or even precipitation, but motivation and vegetation. I find it heartening and reassuring that there are people madder than me out there and I assume Lorraine McCall is one of them. Not a superhuman specimen, just someone with tremendous determination, a sense of purpose and presumably a sense of humour.”
Lorraine McCall’s continuous Grahams Round: in numbers
Total Distance: 6358 km / 3949 miles
Walking Distance: 1796 km / 1115 miles
(Bike Distance: 4561 km / 2834 miles, Ferry distance: 490 km, Kayak: 1 km – bonawe to Taynuilt)
Total Ascent: 182,728m / 599,500 ft (on bike: 61,674m/ 202,342ft | on foot: 121,054m / 397,158ft)
Time taken: 143 days
Camps: 75
Bivvies: 2
Bothies: 4
Vans: 14
Friend’s houses: 22
Company: 64 hills (29 out of 165 in the west, 35 out of 66 in the east).
Days of rain: 100 plus!
Tickbites: too many to count (but none in Dumfries and Galloway!)
Midges: Yes!
Punctures: none
Chain stuck: twice
Lochinver Pies: 3
Birthday Cakes: 3
Birthdays: 1
