A muted sunset, full of promise, washed Loch Brittle, the islands' cloudless. Cy handed me a hot chocolate to quench my excitement. The forecast was for rain and low visibility at sea level, yet here we were, a hour before midnight, and the night was clear.

I crawled into my sleeping-bag and hoped for calm weather.

We packed and left at 4am, and began the long walk in to Sgurr nan Eag. I watched cloud form over Rum, ringing Hallival and Askival, though the ridge above us was still clear. As we drew alongside Allt Coir a' Ghrunnda the corries began to whisk up their own low mist, and the tops disappeared. We dragged ourselves uphill.

Bruce picked a way through the outcrops, Cy following, commented on how the rocks resembled giant Nut-clusters, and began to fantasise about breakfast.

It was 7am before we finally got a view, but it was worth waiting for. Standing atop Sgurr nan Eag the mist hovered, like a ghost of the steam that had helped create these mountains, and sank into the bealachs. Framed by cloud and stretching northwards, lay the tip of every summit on the Cuillin Ridge, a summary of our day set out ahead of us.

Cy got his breakfast at last.

The short scramble route to Sgurr Dubh Mor was made more difficult in the mist, but the top, set off the ridge slightly, gave stunning views of the summits once more. We paused to soak in some warmth from the sun, now we could see it again.

On towards the Thearlaich-Dubh Gap. The mist rose towards us, and shut out the sun. I paused. Last time here Steve and I had struggled through strong wind and driving rain, and in poor visibility had climbed something else by accident. After a roped fall, we had decided to retreat. Now here I was again, and the mist was back.

As we scrambled left and up the exposed face to the abseil point, Bruce stopped behind me.

"I think I'll put my helmet on now", he called up, and as I looked down and pondered the sense of his comment, I cracked my head off a small overhanging rock.

Belaying was cold, immersed in mist, but the gap was dry. I tried to keep my feet wide as I climbed the chimney, but ended up jamming my right boot into it, keeping only my left foot wide. The sky cleared as we reached Sgurr Alasdair.

The sharp arête to Bealach Mhic Choinnich was steep in part, though straight-forward, and needed careful route finding. We stopped to belay below King's Chimney - Bruce leading straight up; I was glad he did, I had thought we should climb the huge overhang on the right, which on closer inspection, was off-route, and a little too serious.

By 1.30pm we had made the top of the In-Pin via the easy East ridge. We had wondered about a rope here, but the exposure is hard to gauge, since for most of the scramble you are looking at Sgurr Dearg, which slopes away but level with your eye, giving an impression of not gaining much height. We abbed off and sat soaking up the view over lunch. Sgurr nan Gillean looked miles away still.

The trek to Sgurr na Banachdich was longer then I remembered, but no great difficulties en route. On over Sgurr Thormaid, Sgurr a' Ghreadaidh, An Dorus and Sgurr a' Mhadaidh, but despite the simplicity of the route, I began to get tired. Not particularly physically, but mentally - concentrating on keeping hands and feet secure for so long was starting to wear me down; we had been climbing or scrambling now for 11 hours.

The ridge of Sgurr a' Mhadaidh requires some delicate scrambling, and some careful route selection. From here to Bruach na Frithe was unknown territory to me, despite many trips to the Cuillin. And Sgurr nan Gillean still seemed a hell of a long way off.

Dropping down the north-east ridge of Mhadaidh towards the Bealach na Glaic Moire, we were confronted by the (often poorly mapped) three lesser tops of Sgurr a' Mhadaidh. After a little route and soul searching, we picked our way, from close to the saddle, right and up through grassy steps onto the first of three short tops. The next two had steep sections on their west faces, especially the second summit, which required some care: a chest high pull-up off the top of a large flake. Keeping to the ridge line, we jumped across a short gap leading to the third top, and clambered up a loose slope, then a drop down to finally reach the next bealach.

The next object was the three summits of tricky Bidein Druim nan Ramh - the wonderfully named "Sharp Peak of the Ridge of the Oars". The weather was clear, so the usual problem of seeing your way through was lessened. The west summit perches on a large block, and was a straight-forward scramble. We skited up a couple of basalt staircases, careful not to smack our heads off the overhang at the top of the second. The down-climb then to reach the saddle was precarious, and needed some thoughtful footwork.

We climbed the steep slabs onto the central/north eastern peak, and found ourselves high off the worn path on the left. We found a sling, and used it to abseil northwards off the back. Once over the north peak, we abseiled over a rock step again to try to save some time, and to reach the Bealach Harta.

Cy warned us to keep left on An Caisteal, as he got stuck under a roof last time, so we stayed left of the ridge-line, on loose scree and grass, picking our way along. As we progressed, we gradually converged on the summit, through a combination of habit and loose rock avoidance. We leapt across the void of a bad step, and skirted the top. Despite Cy's warning the ridge line was easier until the very northern edge. We found ourselves on the right of the hill, and came to a sheer drop. A ledge off to our left, looked at us invitingly. It was just wide enough to walk on, and seemed to be the obvious track back to the ridge line and the saddle.

Bruce innocently walked round. Cy however, was having none of it and shot back to find a route up. I paused to think. Neither of them reappeared, so I opted to follow Bruce. Immediately round the corner, the ledge narrowed slightly, and the rock above formed a roof about five feet above the ledge. Was it fatigue that caused the drop on my right to yawn ? Further round still, the roof dropped lower and lower until I found myself on my knees, wondering how in hell I was going to fit through the eighteen inch slot between the ledge and the roof in front of me ..

... but Bruce was through. I unhooked my left arm out of the rucksack strap so only my right shoulder strap was attached. I secured a good placement for my now free left hand, gulped, and swung my rucksack over the edge, and up to land in front of me on the ledge.

Crawling along on my stomach, I pushed my rucksack in front of me until Bruce lifted it clear. With some relief I rejoined Bruce on the ridge with Cy, who had found a simpler route after all.

By the time we reached Sgurr na Bhairnich and sat at the trig point on Bruach na Frithe, we had been on the go for 16 hours. Sgurr nan Gillean looked within reach now physically, but looked huge. If we finished the ridge, we would miss the pub and any prospect of food.

In early accounts Highland hospitality was such that whatever tome of day or night you could get food. Nowadays if you can't make the pub by 9pm, forget it ! And even that is rare enough. We chatted about our knowledge of places we knew served food after 7pm within 30 miles of Glen Shiel.

Within half an hour, we stood below Am Basteir. Our water was totally out now. Physically we felt good. Mentally I was knackered; 14 hours of concentrating on not falling off was making my brain hurt, and I wasn't confident of maintaining the same concentration for another hour plus. Oh, and the light wind kept whispering: "chips... chips ... Caffreys ..."

We ran down Coire a' Bhasteir and all the way out to The Sligachan Hotel. We had been out for nearly 18 hours. We had to find a friendly American in Portree who ran a burger van, and was still serving (although he wasn't allowed to serve chips), and just made it to the pub for a drink before midnight.