They say a picture paints a thousand words, but when I saw Hamish Frost’s shot of Guy Robertson on Lord of the Isles (E7) on Suilven, I didn’t have any. It looked outrageous — immaculate Torridonian sandstone, glowing evening light, and that wild Assynt backdrop of mountains and lochs. With climbing that aesthetic, odds are it’s not just photogenic. I had to go see for myself.

*Guy Robertson making the First Ascent of “Lord of the Isles” on Suilven - (Photo Credit: Hamish Frost)*

I was keen to try for an onsight. I’m not someone who climbs hard straight off the couch, and onsight trad especially takes time for me to warm into. But I’d been hitting a run of good form — a lot of E6s, a couple of E7 onsights — and the weather was mint. It felt like now or never.

There was one snag: no partner. Sam had a stag do, and everyone else was busy. So I put another callout on Instagram, and sure enough, I had a bite… Eral Maddox — a young gun from Callander I’d met a few times at Ratho. Most teenagers are more psyched on boulders, sport, or comps (and fair enough — I was the same). But Eral’s buzzing for trad and big adventures. You don’t get that often.

He offered to get the bus — an 8-hour multi-leg journey to a remote stop in Ledmore. When I arrived, there was no sign of a stop — just a layby, a lonely house, and hills fading into the distance. I had no signal, so I just waited. Eventually, a bus pulled up and off stepped Eral, hauling a huge rucksack with bits of camping tat dangling off it.

On the 40-minute drive to the trailhead, I got to know him better. Turns out he’s been new-routing around his home, hitching to remote crags (can’t drive yet), and even winter climbing in the Cairngorms by camping in the woods and thumbing lifts to the ski centre. I thought I was motivated — but after years of vanlife, I’m getting soft. Winter camping in the Highlands? Sounds like too much Type 2 fun. I’ll take my suffering with a bit more comfort, thanks — Type 1.5 is more my speed these days.

*Eral standing on the viewing platform just below the summit plateau looking out on the wilds of Assynt*

At the trailhead, we met up with my pals Ryan Balharry and his partner Erika. Ryan had brought me two pies from the Lochinver Larder (highly recommended!), one which I swiftly scoffed as my dinner, and the second I tactically put in the van fridge for when I got down from Suilven in 2 days time. We packed quick and got moving, aiming to camp near the summit before dark. Suilven is dramatic, but that evening the mountain lit up orange in the setting sun, bog cotton glowing like tiny lanterns. Bonnie was loving it — scrambling along the ridgelines, hopping between rocks with growing confidence. It’s wild watching her figure out mountain terrain without hands — just pure power from the back legs, a bit of claw action, and the odd helping hand from us on the trickier steps. But once she’d been shown something once, she nailed it next time like she’d memorised the beta.

My friends Guy and Phil out right questing up a new E4. Lord starts on the grassy ledge to the far left of the platform they are standing on, right in the corner up the dark streak and out into the centre of the main face, finishing near the top of the wall.

Just below the final summit plateau, we got our first proper look at the route. Lord of the Isles looked big and proud — more intimidating than expected, perhaps exasperated by the wind funnelling through the gully which only added to the atmosphere. Guy had told me there was more potential on that face, and I could see what he meant: a few crack lines to the right looked climbable, though the face narrows near the top and Lord seems to take the king line to the top of the crag. But first things first — we had to go climb it.

*Suilven gets a reputation for being one of Scotland’s most beautiful mountains and you can see why! Ryan and Erika standing on top in the sunset*

Day 2 – Onsight Attempt

I abbed in first, landing on a small ledge at the base of the pitch. It looked roomy enough, so I flaked the half ropes into a pile at our feet. Normally I’d tie them off neatly — especially on a cliff edge — but this felt like a safe enough spot. A few minutes later, Eral arrived.

After getting racked up, I started to climb, then I heard Eral say something:

“Oh shit…” he said.

I turned to see both ropes slithering clean off the ledge, now hanging in a mess far below us. Brilliant. I had to downclimb and fetch the lot. Second time around, I wasn’t taking chances — I tied them off properly, with just a pinch of passive aggression in my knots.

I tied in again, ready to set off, when a sudden thought struck me.

“Eral… you ever caught a fall outdoors before?”
“Oh yeah, loads… on top-rope.”

Perfect. One of those questions you instantly regret asking. But we were here now — no backing out. This might be Eral’s first proper catch on lead. I just hoped it wouldn’t be too memorable.

The start of Lord of the Isles felt punchy. Bolder than I expected. There’s a runout straight off the ledge, leading to a questionable block that wobbled just enough to make me whisper an apology as I used it. After that, I got some decent wires and started to relax. Another stretch of airy climbing led to a bomber cam and a cluster of small gear — I could breathe a little easier now.

*Questing up a rippling unchalked sandstone wall can be quite tricky to read for onsight trad!*

I glanced up. The holds were starting to vanish. The beautifully sculpted sandstone gave way to something smoother — ripples and scoops, but little definition. I thought back to that photo of Guy on the crux, chalk marks highlighting every hold like a roadmap. But in front of me now was a clean canvas. No chalk. Just a sea of brown hued waves. Any one of them could be the key.

The gear was good — but below my feet. It would be a proper fall if I messed this up.

Then Eral shouted:
“Didn’t the topo say something about a blind micro cam up and right before the crux?”

I looked. He was right. A thin, shadowed crack I’d totally missed. I slotted in a Yellow Z4 — perfect fit.

“Well in, youth. Nearly missed that one!”

That’s what I love about trad — good climbing partnerships actually matter. You’re not just holding a rope, you’re watching each other’s backs.

With that little boost of confidence, I pushed into the crux. A few techy moves, a deep lock, and I found myself on a decent hold again. The rest of the pitch was a joy: a long, flowing section of easier climbing, then one final boulder problem near the top to finish it off.

Eral followed in good style — cruised the crux mostly. He only came off when one of my cams blocked the key jam right near the top. Another slip on the final sequence, but when he topped out he was buzzing — psyched from the climbing and the exposure.
“That was amazing,” he said. “Think I might try and lead it tomorrow.”
Yes, youth.

*Me and Bonnie bivvying on the summit (Photo Credit: Ryan Balharry)*

Day 3 – Eral’s Lead and Unfinished Business

That evening, Eral got properly stuck in. He spent hours on the wall, fine-tuning gear placements and rehearsing the crux moves in the fading light. I started to get a bit twitchy. The sun had set, wind was picking up, and there was no sign of him. I walked over to the edge.

“You still alive down there?” I shouted.
“Just one more try!” came the reply.

I left him to it but would go back and insist if he wasn’t back soon, but eventually, he scrambled back up to the bivvy spot on the summit plateau and joined us. We’d brought Bonnie with us, and while she’s been along for loads of climbing trips, this was her first proper bivvy (without a tent). I was worried she’d get cold, so wrapped her in my Macro Puff and laid her on a Ruffwear mat. In the end, she was totally fine — curled up next to me and didn’t move all night. She’s a Briard, bred to watch sheep through freezing nights in the French hills. At least by evolutionary standards, she was more equipped to deal with this place than I was!

*Eral working late into the eve on his first E7 headpoint*

Morning came. Eral wanted one last look at the climb before going for the lead. I went off to check out a potential new line just to the right of Lord. A few hours later we regrouped, and I dropped down to belay from the ledge. My first time belaying Eral on lead — and his first go at E7. I knew he’d handle the climbing, but placing gear, dealing with runouts, staying calm on lead… that’s the real challenge.

He set off smooth as anything. Got through the wobbly block at the start, but then froze up a bit — fumbling at his harness, trying to find the right nut. For a moment it looked like he didn’t bring it. I held my breath. He tried one, then another, then another… Finally, one slotted in.

Phew.

Honestly, belaying hard trad is more stressful than climbing it. You’re just standing there, useless, watching someone else live or die by their decisions (metaphorically speaking in this example of course, Eral would have taken a whip but that was all).

But Eral found his rhythm. He dispatched the next runout, flowed through the crux, and suddenly he was there — topping out, arms in the air, whooping into the wind. His first E7. Not just any E7 either — a proper remote mountain pitch on the summit of one of Scotland’s wildest peaks. What a way to do it.

*Eral getting ready to lead his first E7 - the wet lower section doesn’t inspire confidence but thankfully a couple of decent bits of gear out left protect this section.*

Ryan had to dash back down the road to Glen Coe for another shoot, and we were all pretty wiped, so we packed it in. But I left with something unfinished — a line to the right of Lord that’s been teasing me since Day 1. It’s a bit steeper at the start with better quality rock and much more susrtained before joining Lord for a few moves in the middle, then finishes out more direct a little lower than where Lord ends.

Hard to say exactly how hard it’ll be. Feels like it should be E8 if Lord is E7. Guess I’ll have to come back and find out.

For Those Who Want to Go…

I’d heard the approach to Suilven was a bit of a mission — the kind where folk say you really need a bike. Ryan and Erika did just that, riding in while Eral and I hoofed it on foot. But in the end? It turns out that by the time you’re forced to ditch the bikes, you’re already well up the path — and we reckoned they only gained about half an hour on us. So unless you’re desperate to save time or just fancy mixing up the modes of suffering, walking probably does the job just fine.

We took the walkers' path to the summit — scenic, classic, and well-trodden, but with a bit of scrambling across the summit ridges. For us it was straightforward, but Bonnie needed a paw up in a couple of places. If I was going back with her, I’d probably skirt the base of the mountain a bit further and come up via the obvious gully (see photo). It’s a quieter line, a little less worn, and avoids almost all scrambling until right at the top — which Bonnie handled no bother.

One thing to note: after a dry spring, we found no water near the summit. Not ideal when you’re bivvying. Thankfully, I stumbled on a little spring about 30 minutes below the top, just beneath the gully I mentioned. Cold, clear, and flowing — a proper gem. Easy enough to drop down to in the evening if you’ve run dry.

It can blow a hoolie up there, but the summit plateau is broad and broken enough that you can probably find some shelter if bivying. We bivvied rather than taking tents — partly for the weight saving, partly because I thought it’d be overkill for a couple of nights, but mainly because I thought it would be fun — and it was absolutely fine. That said, if I were staying longer, I’d be tempted to take a tent up. Comfort always seems like a luxury until the elements start to take their toll – after 2 nights bivying on the summit with a constant wind blowing through us, I was feeling the exposure, and sleeping in a tent would certainly have taken the edge of.

Lord of the Isles: E7 on Suilven

Ben Eighe and the E7 that nearly wasn’t…