7 January Durisdeer 5 - Morton Castle Circular

'Far up into the wild hills there's a kirkyard lone and still,

Where the frosts lie ilka morning and the mists hang low and chill.'
Durisdeer by Lady John Scott

Our fist walk of last year was rearranged from the Lowthers to the Morton Castle circular. At our Christmas curry, we arranged our first outing of this year to be the Lowthers but, for some reason or other, this was rearranged for the Morton Castle circular. So exactly a year to the day we gathered at Durisdeer to repeat our opening to last year. Deja vu or what?
Nine of us gathered this morning - only Robert was missing, having a bout of the sniffles - and, apart from Davie, Jimmy, Paul and Rex who did this walk last year, this was to be a new territory for us. It had been suggested by the veterans that we do the walk in reverse but this idea was soon abandoned when we turned on to the Durisdeer road and found it coated with an inch of crunchy, frozen snow. We opted for the same route as last year in the hope that this snow might be thawed by the time we gained tarmac in the early afternoon. Not that there was any sun to aid this thawing for a thick mist closed around us and anything beyond a hundred metres or so vanished into the whiteness. This mist was to stay with us for the rest of the day, in varying thicknesses and occasionally combined with drizzle and we could appreciate Lady Scott's word today.
In the village, the mist was more of a smirr so waterproofs were donned immediately. Peter might have donned his waterproofs as well if he had remembered to lift them from home. But the Ooters are nothing if not sympathetic and Peter was soon furnished with a spare waterproof jacket.
We left the kirk square around ten-thirty and crunched our way down the brae to the track along the side of the cemetery. However, we are gentlemen of a certain age with pressing biological needs so the old ruin beyond the cemetery saw our first halt of the day, the first pee-stop, barely five hundred metres from the start.
A bit lighter now, we continued along the track. This was not as icy as we imagined it might be and the walking was easy. Our next halt came at where the burn crossed the track. The burn was running fast but not particularly deep and the water was crystal clear so clear in fact that every stone on the bed was as obvious as if there had been no water there at all. But we have among us those who are allergic to running water (perhaps there is some black magic gene in their make-up for it’s a well known fact that witches and warlocks can’t cross running water - ‘A running stream they dare na cross’.) However, with a little judicious placing of feet and careful transfer of weight, all were safely across the burn with dry feet and we turned our attention to the climb ahead.
The climb is still on the track and is not greatly difficult but it is steep enough for the exertion to build up a sweat inside the waterproofs, a sweat that failed to evaporate in today’s smirry mist. And this mist thickened as we approached the head of the climb. We were quite happy to reach Kettleton, remove the waterproofs, sit in the bothy for elevenses and hope that some of the sweat would dry off. Even so, Allan changed into a dry shirt and felt the better of it. We all felt the better of the coffee.
The first quad-bike passed us as we came out of the bothy and the next a little along the track. The third drew up alongside us for the driver, a chap of our age or slightly older, was for a blether. They were looking for any tups left on the hill. No, there were no sheep where we were heading. Yes, it was ok to let Holly run. No, there was no chance of the mist lifting. Yes, we seemed to have made the right decision to stay low. Five minutes we stood blethering to our newfound friend before the chill of the fog drove us on, he to look for tups and we to climb slightly higher into the fog on the flank of Par Hill.
The gin traps were spotted nailed to planks laid across the burn. The expert was asked what they might be set to catch. He wasn’t sure what they were meant to catch but they would catch anything that tried to cross the burn by the planks. He said that these things weren’t designed to kill but simply to hold the animal by a leg smashed by the gin until shock or starvation killed it. Cruel, indiscriminate and completely illegal traps these. We should have destroyed them there and then but apathy on our part has probably condemned some poor creature to a painful, lingering death. Shame on us that saw them and did nothing.
On a cheerier note, when we reached the high point of the day, he who knows these things pointed out the landscape features. Kettleton reservoir lay below us, Drumlanrig Castle was to the west and lower Nithsdale stretched away southward. This would have been a superb view but for the fact we could see nothing but whiteness beyond a hundred metres or so. Even those who had come this way last year couldn’t confirm what he said was true for the same conditions prevailed then. We will need to come back on a clear day to see if his description is accurate. Until then we will have to take his word.
The track dropped quite steeply now and deposited us on Tarmac at the waterworks. Our decision to do the walk in this direction was justified for the icy snow had now gone from the roads, the fog had thinned to a mist again and the walking was on the level and easy. It was to stay easy for the rest of the day. We kept to tarmac and came to Morton Castle.
Morton Castle sits on a promontory high above a loch of the same name. It provides historical and archaeological as well as scenic interest for those who make the effort to get there. Today, the inside provided another pee-stop for those with old bladders and the outside a good place to sit for lunch. We leaned our backs to the castle wall, looked out over the frozen loch and ate.
Post-peece, we kept to tarmac - only three miles left said Jimmy. These ‘three’ miles were occupied by setting the world to rights as is the habit of GOO’s (Grumpy Old Ooters). After four miles, Peter was asking how far we had to go. And asking. And asking. Eventually he was told politely to stop complaining. ‘I’ll just shut up then’ said he. Johnny timed his silence at forty-five seconds, something of a record for Peter, before he returned to his loquacious self.
The five road miles from Morton Castle to Durisdeer were passed in banter for there was very little to see through the mist and very little of interest on this stretch of road. At Gateslacks, Jimmy asked the same question he had asked last year and got the same response. He warns us all to be prepared for the same question next time.
When we reached the road for the village, the juvenile amongst increased the pace and started the race for the finish. This tested legs that have been inactive during the festive period, especially when the slope steepened to the kirkyard. The burn set in rapidly and some were dropped off the pace. Most flagged. Johnny won the race, the big wean that he is! We weren’t really trying anyway.
For one, the adventure was not finished with the walk. Peter, who had come in Davie’s car with Jimmy and the dug, was somehow left behind when Davie drove off. It was a mile and a half before he was missed. (The two in front though he had fallen asleep!) Fortunately Paul, Johnny and Allan rescued him and carried him safely to the watering hole in the Crown in Sanquhar .
A good day despite the weather and a fine start to the new year.