I'm sure most of our readers can reel off more than a few Munros from memory. Ben Lomond in the south, Ben Hope in the far north, that big old bully Ben Nevis; perhaps Schiehallion too.
And when it comes to Corbetts, a popular few might also spring to mind – Goat Fell on Arran, The Cobbler, Ben Venue or Ben Ledi. But what about Fionas?
Wait. Hang on. Is that a Shrek reference? No, Donkey, it’s not, because you might well have heard of the Fionas already, just under a different name: the Grahams.
This list of 219 hills was devised by and named after Fiona Torbet, whose maiden name was Graham. But in a rebrand of the only set of hills in Scotland compiled by a woman, they have since been renamed as Fionas.*
They are the baby cousins of Munros and Corbetts, standing at a height of between 2000ft and 2500ft (609.6-762m) with a prominence of at least 150m (492ft).
It is not a particularly bold or original take to say that the Fionas are often overlooked and underrated. But as Shakespeare once said, no legacy is so rich as honesty.
And as Shakespeare did not once say, in comparison to their older, bigger siblings, these wee hills don’t get half as much attention as they should.
If you’re up for a slightly shorter day, but one that puts most bang-to-buck ratios to shame, then you should try a few Fionas on for size. I’d highly recommend starting with two hills which boast what I, a writer cautious of superlative hyperbole, consider to be the best views in Scotland.
Yep, I said what I said, and what’s more, I said it in italics. The best views in Scotland – and even perhaps the whole of the UK – belong to Ben Mor Coigach and Sgurr an Fhidhleir (aka The Fiddler), two coastal Fionas that overlook the whole region of Assynt in the far flung north-west corner of Britain.
As well as being a brilliant walk in their own right, with plenty of interest underfoot, these lads lather themselves in the luxurious vistas of Stac Pollaidh, Cul Mor, Cul Beag, Suilven, Canisp and Ben More Assynt to the north, plus on a clear day, Ben Dearg and An Teallach to the south. If that doesn’t sound like a good line-up to you then I’ll eat your hat.
What the Ben Mor Coigach and Sgurr an Fhidhleir lack in numbers – the loop is just 10.6km long with 870m total ascent – they make up for in just about everything else.
From around 250m post car-abandonment (there’s a parking spot just above the tiny settlement of Culnacraig; get there early, only room for around seven cars), the fun begins.
The stalker’s track, which heads up through an unreasonable quantity of bracken, soon evaporates, and you’re left to your own devices to climb steeply upwards, skirting the cliff edge which plunges down to Allt Nan Coisiche, the large burn babbling away below.
As a word of warning, this steepness doesn’t really end until you’re on top of the first summit, although there’s a bit of respite when you reach 500 yards of flatter-ish moorland halfway up.
Just keep turning around and drinking in the view of the Summer Isles unfurling behind you, which should give you enough beans and a spring in your step to make that rough heather feel like it’s no trouble at all.
One of the highlights of this round, and partially what has catapulted it so high up my list of VGHs (Very Good Hills), is the omnipresent spine of Torridonian sandstone, which prickles up to form the ascent to Garb Choireachan, the first of three fine summits you’ll be visiting.
Those of you with a penchant for using all four limbs for vertical propulsion will be delighted to know there are many different routes up this tumble of fridge-like boulders, and you can scramble up any way you choose – the rock is gorgeous if you’re into that sort of thing.
Happily, those who prefer to rely on their bipedal nature will be able to pick their way through the veritable river-delta of sandy paths without the use of hands, but this is still very rough and steep going underfoot, as you’re basically propelling yourself straight up the side of this galumphing great hill. Poles are a godsend here.
Being birthed suddenly onto the summit path is a wonderful moment: just as your quads threaten you with death, the most jaw-dropping, awe-inspiring cliche-ridden panorama opens up. As you gasp for breath – not unlike a newborn filling its lungs for the first time – you may also a) cry a bit and b) be struck by the thought that there isn’t a better place in the world to stop and eat a Scotch egg.
Once you’ve refuelled and got your heart rate down to something medically acceptable, you can frolic along this brilliant ridgeline for the next kilometre or so, overlooking the rest of the route, plus all the aforementioned jawdroppery that makes this place so special.
I’d advise against rushing any of this. Not only is it such a pleasure to walk along a safe, but still exhilarating spine towards the minor summit of Speicein nan Garbh-choireachan at 738m above sea-level, it’s also a chance to enjoy a good dollop of solitude too.
You’re about 20km from the nearest Munro, and depending on the day and the weather, there’s a chance you won’t see anyone at all. I was here on a very sunny Thursday in summer, having started at a laggard 10.30am; in total I said hello to four others, with the first ridgeline summit all to myself.
For the introvert, I imagine it is blissful. As an extrovert, I spoke to every single insect – butterflies, dragonflies and bees – about what a good day I was having so far.
Ploughing on a little to the small bealach at 686m makes for easy going before a gentle re-ascent over good ground to reach the summit shelter of Ben Mor Coigach at 743m. Again, don’t hurry this bit.
Turning around to face the sea and the ridgeline from whence you came gives a proper chance to dribble in the direction of the Summer Isles, and possibly consume a sweet treat to celebrate getting to the highest point in the walk.
A Jaffa cake or six come highly recommended here, as eating them the proper way (nibble around edges, remove jelly, lick off chocolate, eat biscuit/cake depending on legal definition, eat jelly) takes slightly more time and enables more admiration of the view from all angles. You can pick different hiking snacks if it means that much to you.
From here, the day takes on a slightly more leisurely feel, perhaps in part due to the lack of any further ridgeline scrambling, and perhaps in part because being out here on the edge of the world is pretty relaxing in and of itself.
Anyway, the second half of the route opens up with a long descent of 200ish metres down to the bealach between the two hills of Coigach and the Fiddler, a welcome use for the antagonistic quad muscles you didn’t destroy on the way up. If, like mine, your knees are made of rubber, you may run this and have quite a lot of fun doing so.
No matter what speed you take the descent, however, there isn’t much in the way of a path, so any direction downwards will do. Your reward for getting here in one piece is the most perfect framing of Stac Pollaidh peeking out from between the eastern edge of Sgurr an Fhidhleir and the western buttress of Beinn an Eoin.
It’s a great little boost before picking your way upwards again to the summit of Sgurr an Fhidhleir itself, which isn’t too strenuous in comparison to earlier efforts on Speicein nan Garbh-choireachan, but still involves a fair bit of huffing and puffing.
I rested up here on the summit of the Fiddler for a significant puddle of time. This was in part because I’d been looking at the descent path all day in a way that Bruce Bogtrotter might look at a piece of cake: I knew it’d take me no time at all to smash it down, so I wanted to savour the moment a little longer before getting headfirst into it.
The other reason for sitting at the top of Sgurr an Fhidhleir was to soak in just what an awesome prow this is, and dribble in a northwards direction, rather than south for the last peak of the day.
Stac Pollaidh is magnificent from here, as is the whaleback of Suilven beyond, plus all the other fantastic hills that litter this untouched corner of Scotland.
Retinae imprinted with that phenomenal view, it finally felt right to begin the long, awesome, brilliant, excellent, good and nice descent path. This is 3km of the finest yeetage, a technical term invented by Gen Z to avoid being taken seriously both in and out of the workplace.
The path, in comparison to everything else you’ll have walked on in the last few hours, is blissfully well made, which allows for a speedy descent down the mountain. To accompany this underfoot enjoyment, you get to look at the Summer Isles, Isle Martin, and An Teallach.
Like Bruce Bogtrotter and his cake, I did indeed have a triumphant time on this, though no bog was trotted due to Scotland not having seen rain for around 2 weeks. Take care, as always, when wet.
The descent path disgorges you not 150m from where you started, in time for the now even shorter walk up the road back to the car park. From here, your day of north-west exploring shouldn’t come to a complete close.
Daylight and time allowing, the beach at the north end of Achiltibuie is well worth a visit, especially if you’re a disciple of cold water swimming and fancy giving your well-burned thighs a nice salty treat.
Ben Mor Coigach and Sgurr an Fhidhleir are hills that I hope will live as long in your memory as they will do in mine.
They encompass the idea of small-but-mighty just perfectly, and with any luck, will start off a new-found love of the group of these lesser known, slightly smaller mountains which should be on your tick-list alongside the bigger boys. Yes, there are the Munros, yes there are the Corbetts, but don’t forget – though she be but little – there are also the Fionas.
*What's in a name?
Without getting too bogged in technicalities, this is a tale of two hill lists. Both Fiona and a walker called Alan Dawson published lists in 1992, and on realising the amount of overlap they aligned the criteria as above and called them the Grahams (presumably thinking bagging Corbetts and Torbets could be confusing).
In 2022, Alan revised the qualifying height down to a metric 600m and trademarked the name Grahams. Many hillbaggers wanted to keep it imperial, in line with the Munros (over 3000ft) and Corbetts (2500-3000ft), so there are again two lists: the Grahams (600m-762m) and the Fionas (2000-2500ft), both with a prominence of 150m (492ft).
And that’s before we even mention the Donalds, a list of Scottish lowland peaks over 2000ft created in 1935.
Who was Fiona?
Musician, yachtmaster, environmental campaigner and hill-walker: Fiona Torbet climbed all the Munros and most of the Corbetts, and reportedly preferred wellies to walking boots – even for Skye’s Cuillin Ridge.
After a skiing accident in 1989 put her in hospital, Torbet began poring over maps, devising a new list of Scotland’s smaller hills. Published in 1992, then revised with Alan Dawson, these peaks became known as the Grahams, after Fiona’s maiden name.
Torbet’s story, however, took a tragic turn in July 1993, when she went missing on a walking holiday in Kintail. A search was launched and repeated appeals were made in the papers, but no trace was found. Then, the following spring, Fiona’s body was discovered buried in the garden of the B&B where she had been staying. She had been murdered by the owner’s son.
Despite her tragic death, Torbet’s legacy endures. Speaking to The Scotsman in 1992, she emphasised that although Grahams lack great height, they still provide a serious challenge: ‘Some of these hills are very steep.
There’s no actual rock climbing involved, but definitely some scrambling.’ An editorial in the same paper questioned whether another hill list was necessary, joking about ‘Graham-grabbing grannies in shell suits’.
Yet these hills – whether you call them Fionas or Grahams – include some of Britain’s finest mountains, and are now part of the SMC’s Full House, alongside Munros, Munro Tops, Corbetts, Donalds and Furths.
3 more fantastic Fionas
SUILVEN, NORTH-WEST HIGHLANDS
What Suilven lacks in altitude, it makes up for in attitude. The iconic dome of Caisteal Liath towers over Lochinver like Jabba the Hutt, but from more flattering angles, Suilven becomes a splendiferous whaleback of a ridgeline.
Its lack of immediate neighbours makes it seem far larger than its mere 731m, but be warned: this ain’t no roadside jaunt like cute little Stac Pollaidh (also a Fiona). The route involves a rather long walk-in on a track, before a sharp upwards clamber to the summit – a round trip of 20km.
PAP OF GLENCOE, WEST HIGHLANDS
Pap translates to ‘breast’ in Gaelic, and when viewed from the side of the A82, it’s clear why the Pap of Glencoe was so named.
Taking up just a few hours if you’re sound of stride, the route from Glencoe Village to its 742m summit makes for a titivating excursion: a little slice of adventure with some properly steep bits, and you get some pretty fabulous views over to Ballachulish bridge and the Mamores too. Mamores translates to ‘big breasts,’ if you were wondering.
MARSCO, ISLE OF SKYE
I’ve found that looking at the Black Cuillin ridge from a distance is usually more enjoyable than being bruised, lost and scared while on top of it. For an alternative day out – sans panic – turn left, rather than right, when headed south down Glen Sligachan, into the Red Cuillin, and head up Marsco, a 736m-tall Fiona with perhaps the finest view of Sgurr nan Gillean you could possibly imagine.
About the author
Fliss Freeborn is a writer and gear tester for Live For The Outdoors. During her time at university, she spent considerably more days in a tent in the Scottish Highlands than she did in the library, which she highly recommends as a study strategy.
Fliss also believes that life is too short to eat bad food outdoors, and that cooking good scran while in the hills is easier than you might think with the right kit and some forward planning – yes, you can always do better than a pot noodle.