Eight of us turned out for today's outing - Robert was recovered from his 'man flu' and Paul and Peter were the missing two. Ian took us northward to Mugdock for a walk around the country park there, a walk that would provide new territory for most of us so we looked forward to it.
The weather was typical of mid January. A fine frosty morning soon gave way to a build-up of cloud and rain was forecast for the afternoon. When we left the cars at the visitor centre thin wisps of mist skirted the flank of Dumgoyne and touched the tops of the Campsies but we were assured that the rain would not arrive before late afternoon so were hopeful of a dry walk despite the gathering cloud.
It's a good job Ian knew where he was going for paths led off from the visitor centre toilet* in all sorts of directions and these even split later if the experience of ours was anything to go by. Still, Ian knew the way and we followed. We walked away from the centre in roughly a north-westerly direction and through a gate into a wilder section of the park. Holly, who had sat patiently in the car for more than an hour and who had just been let off the leash, was leashed again for we came to tarmac and Ian turned us left along it. Holly's curtailment didn't last for we were only on the road for a hundred yards or so before turning right onto a temporary diversion of the West Highland Way. The scribe had now totally lost his bearings.
We came to a section with a plantation of mature conifers on the right and a clearing where these had been felled on the left. Who spotted the deer first is difficult for the scribbler to say (No doubt he will be informed in due course) but top marks to he who did. There it stood, amongst the brashings and long grasses of the cleared wood, fully alert to our, probably noisy, passing. As we stood and watched, another appeared out of the vegetation, only its head showing with ears attentive to our movements, especially Holly's. We watched them for fully five minutes and considered it a great start to our wildlife spotting for the year.
The huts of Carbeth came in sight next, scattered on the far side of a shallow valley. Their history was told by the ones who knew it. (At this point, would it be fair to say that we have probably learnt more about our own small part of the world in the three years of the Ooters than in thirty-odd years at the chalk face?) With the Carbeth Huts duly discussed, we found ourselves on Tarmac again and this time we were to stay on it for some distance. Davie was lagging behind and concern grew for the state of his blistered feet. However, Holly seemed to have caused the delay this time. Davie was trying to pick from her coat all the burrs, sticks and general debris that she had picked up in the wood. What he couldn't clear from her was the muck she had picked up from the quagmires that our leader took us through telling us this was the right track. Black marks to our leader. (We suspect Ian hasn't quite grasped the complexities of being an Ooter. At one point today, he called for an executive decision assuming we might have an executive capable of making a decision. We don't do decisions, Ian. The boy has a lot to learn.)
At the end of this road we came to a main road and turned left. The scribbler realised that we were now turned southward for we were following a sign directing us back to Glasgow and a weak sun tried to break through the cloud cover directly in front of us. When we reached Carbeth Inn, there came a shout from the rear for pints or at least coffee, but the pleas fell on deaf ears for
those at the front ploughed on. Ian had a picnic spot in mind for coffee. A picnic spot it might have been but it was of the primitive type - a well-trodden grassy area with two small logs and a car wheel balanced on the burnt stones of an extinct fire to provide seating for four. The rest of us used the ground. Remains of previous picnics - beer cans, plastic bottles and poly-bags - littered the ground, another sad comment on our society. The saving grace for this coffee stop was the view. Over the road was a bracken-covered slope rising to the horizon: to the south the greens and fairways of a golf course could be seen but no golfers today: behind us, more brown bracken clothed the slope up to a stand of dark conifers on the skyline. Not a bad view considering the proximity to the city. And, through the bracken behind us, the scar of a path could be seen slanting up the slope.
It was this path we took after coffee, slanting uphill with it. We didn't rise high, only high enough to come to the edge of the skyline trees. Many of these had been felled and the scent of fresh-cut timber hung in the air. And there had been warnings of timber operations along the route so it was no surprise to hear machinery grinding away in the distance. The logging machine was heard before it was seen approaching us from the other side of what proved to be a low ridge, twin caterpillars dragging it over the cut branches and soft ground. A huge, heavy beast of a machine it was and looked as though it would crush anything it took a fancy to. But we were safe from any such event for our path followed the outside of the wood, down the ridge to find another track.
Now we were on the West Highland Way and we kept to it, still travelling southward beside a wee burn. And we weren't alone on this section. Dog-walkers, cyclists, joggers and folk just out to enjoy a dry January day passed us, exchanging greetings. Then there came a split in the path.
Our confidence in the leader was shaken when he produced a map to find out which way to go. The way he pointed us was uphill. It was not a steep uphill, just sufficient to raise the breathing, and the effort was rewarded by a view over Milngavie. While we were content to view the scene from our path, Robert thought he would get a better view by going along a different path. Was his view better? Nah! So we continued on the path we were on. This brought us out of the wood to Mugdock reservoir.
Hunger had been calling for some time now but a cold breeze blew over the water and we had to find a spot sheltered from it before we could eat. We sat down on the metal covers of service shafts by the old waterworks and ate.
After lunch we came round the reservoir to the Victorian inlet tunnels. While most of us examined the skill of Victorian engineering, Jimmy was more concerned with the coins lying at the bottom of the water. Had it not been the middle of January, we feel sure that the boots and socks would have been off and the Ooters coffers would have been healthier. As it was, the water was too cold even for Jimmy so the money remains untouched.
The return to the visitor centre was by way of the service road from the new waterworks and the main Aberfoyle road. This offered little in the way of landscape or historical interest though Alan spotted a third deer, bounding through the bracken above us and to the right. It was the Ooter's banter that was the main appeal. It was suggested we recruit another Ooter and form a football team. We could challenge old-folk homes and pensioners groups. We might play in the Senokot League or the Crematorium Cup. Suggestions for positions should be mailed to Robert before the end of the transfer window but Jimmy Johnstone has an obvious place on the wing. Ian 'Jimmy' Hill could play centre and Johnny 'Stanley' Matthews on the other wing. And, at our age, we should all be good at dribbling.
We came up the main road in Indian file as the traffic brushed past us. When we got to the entrance to the country park, the pace was raised by those who should know better. The groups was split into two with the fast some fifty metres in front and going away. Did we care? Not a bit did we care for we had the leader with us and, when we got to the first car park, we turned off the road and were for Mugdock castle. Some were for letting the fast speed on but Ian hailed them and they were forced to turn back with much muttering and mumbling.
They were glad of the diversion though for Mugdock Loch and Castle were worth the visit. A heron stood among the reeds of the loch edge and another flapped lazily down into the water, a single shoveller floated on the shallows and a male goosander fished the middle of the loch. We spent a few minutes examining what remains of the castle (including the old kitchen range) and reading something of its history. It was a seat of the Graham family with ‘Bonnie Dundee’ probably its most famous owner. The ruins are still fairly substantial. As are the ruins of the mansion house built some three hundred metres eastward to replace it. It was past these newer ruins that the path back to the visitor centre toilet led us.
An interesting day in new territory and one enjoyed by all. But we feel that Ian should lead more walks until he gets the mind-set of an Ooter and learns the spirit behind our motto ‘Who cares, just go’.
*Do we really need to mention why we started walking from the centre toilets?
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