Dan Bailey goes off the beaten track on Fisherfield's unfashionable side, to enjoy a crowd-free scrambling circuit with some intriguing features.

What makes some scrambles stand out as classics? I guess most of us would say something about a strong line, exciting positions, and quality rock; but there are other less tangible aspects too. Location carries a lot of weight. When it comes to a powerful sense of place, you don't get more inspiring than Fisherfield, a jumble of peaks and lochs that takes the rugged remoteness and stunning beauty of Scotland's northwest to heights few other areas match. All days here are great days, in a location that - for me - adds at least one extra star to any scramble or climb in a guidebook. It's this position that elevates the East Ridge of Mullach Coire Mhic Fhearchair from an interesting way up a mouthful of a hill, to a Scottish mountain must-do.

No low hanging fruit here; Fisherfield is all about the long journey. This is especially true of the peaks at its heart, the Six that make up the famously tough walker's circuit. Even if you just pick off a couple at a go, there's leg work to put in.

Shortest approach is from the east, where an estate track offers hassle-free access to  Mullach Coire Mhic Fhearchair (let's shorten that to MCMF) and Sgurr Ban, making them the most get-at-able two of the six - all things being relative. Each saving their most intriguing aspect for the east side, these hills pair well together in an engaging scrambler's circuit, with some striking features along the way. OK, it's a disjointed affair in terms of scrambling continuity, the metres on rock to kilometres en route ratio might not stack up on paper, and at the side of a road somewhere less stirringly remote you might not put it quite so high on the wish list. But give it a whirl; this really is a grand day out, far more than the sum of its parts.

First you've got to get there, and in this case shortest approach should not be confused with short. Here's one of those occasions when two wheels trump two legs. I excavated my one-ton antique mountain bike out of a pile of detritus in the garage, and evicted the spiders, only to discover that the tyres had perished and the cogs rusted with neglect. We don't see eye to eye, bikes and me. A hand-me-down from a friend saved the day; too small, no suspension, perhaps officially a women's saddle, but clearly far better cared for than my recycling-in-waiting. There seemed to be some doubt I could change gear without inviting a disaster I'd be ill-equipped to fix, so I shoogled it into mid-range and hoped a single speed would do.

It did. Gently undulating, and just the right side of too stony, the Loch a' Bhraoin track is readily bikeable even if, like me, you saddle up only as an occasional means to an end rather than for its own sake. Keen cyclists might persevere beyond Lochivraon bothy, at some cost to the softer ground, but having made it this far without falling off I felt honour was satisfied and the bike could be stashed for later. For some way after the bothy the path runs on west beside a meandering river. It's pleasant wide-open grassy terrain with hints of the western Fannaichs up on your left, but MCMF is quite a retiring character for a 1000m peak, and at first you may be wondering where the scenery is. It soon emerges, with the jagged little peak of Sgurr Dubh marking the East Ridge rising enticingly ahead.

Now with a distant view of the impressive southern flank of An Teallach I left the path, crossing boggy ground to the base of Tom an Fiodha, the terminus of MCMF's East Ridge, and the first hands-on ground of the day. A ramble of outcrops and heathery ramps, this broad buttress looks scrappy from a distance - hillsidey, to borrow my pal Dave's phrase - but in detail proves unexpectedly good, as you weave an indistinct line more or less at will to link a long series of slabs. There's scrambling almost the full height of the buttress, with some exposure and quite a bit of interest for those who go looking, but on the other hand you could avoid pretty much all of it on the heather to enjoy nothing more than a steep walk. At first my guidebook description seemed to make sense, but as is often the way with less-trodden scrambles I soon lost its thread.

By now feeling the effects of the day's heat I quit the steep ground for the broad, grassy slopes above. A distinctive jaggy pinnacle lured me up to the corrie edge, and a dizzying view over a crag too steep to see, down to the scree fields below. Major rockfall must have formed it, leaving the lone pinnacle like a rotten tooth in a smashed jaw; I wouldn't want to be nearby for the next collapse.

At the sharp top of Sgurr Dubh, broad and grassy suddenly becomes narrow and rocky, as the ridge abruptly breaks into a series of sharp, shattered towers. The second half of this two-part scramble, here's where things get airy, and while it's a technically straightforward grade 2 the position is superb. Though most difficulties can be avoided via slightly grotty flanks I found the best fun was going direct, as tends to be the case with these things. For such an obvious line - one I'd looked at from a distance for years - the East Ridge felt unusually neglected, with less of the trodden paths than you'll generally notice on better known routes. Perhaps this article will encourage a few more visitors, but I doubt it'll ever suffer Aonach Eagach levels of footfall, it's just not convenient enough. Midweek in May, on a baking day, I seemed to have the hills to myself. My only quibble with the East Ridge? It's over too soon.

Beyond this sharp little scramble, and the pleasant walking arete above, the Munro summits of MCMF and Sgurr Ban themselves are among the stoniest peaks in the area, giant piles of quartzite scree that make slow, fiddly going. With the breeze dropping into afternoon torpor I trudged the steep ground between the summits, midges and clegs harrying my steps, and sweat stinging my eyes. But just when I was beginning to curse the rubble things got interesting again. Descend back east from Sgurr Ban and you soon find yourself on clean solid rock, a vast splurge of ice-scoured slabs spilling at a gentle angle down the hillside. This has to be one of the most extensive exposures of bedrock in Scotland, unique in my experience for its weird scale. As mist crept over the hillsides from a cloud inversion up towards Dundonnell I descended the slabs, a gloriously easy pavement leading almost down to the shore of Loch an Nid in the glen below.

A quick hike back to Lochivraon, and the waiting wheels. Fisherfield doesn't do half day hits, but cycling in had made all the difference, and at this rate I'd be home in time to walk the dog. It's got me considering a new bike.