In January 2007, the Ooters went to Windy Standard and saw nothing but wind turbines and fog. Nothing much changes in the Ooters. Today, the postponed walk of last week was put back on schedule and seven of us gathered in Jimmy’s house in Cumnock. Despite the unpromising start to the morning, we were hopeful of a good walk for our weatherman predicted a ribbon of rain crossing in the early morning and drier weather coming behind, around eleven o’clock. Even when we arrived in Glen Afton in the fog, we were still optimistic for we believe our weatherman. Has he ever let us down? Waterproofs were worn anyway.
We also believe Davie when he says that he knows this hill like the back of his hand. But, just in case, GPS’s were set and Rex even came armed with a map. He was slightly miffed when the route that he had plotted wasn’t the one that Jimmy and Davie had in mind. ‘We always go this way’, said they and nothing much changes in the Ooters. ‘Up the dry way and down the wet’, said Jimmy. So we set off their way, up through the clag to the face of the dam. Rex had suggested, and many agreed, that we should climb to Castle William and along the road from there but the ‘we always go this way’ two prevailed. Their excuse was that we would walk our legs in before attempting a steep climb. So, the face of the dam it was.
The water of the reservoir (or what we could see of it through the fog) was steely grey and choppy and looked bitterly cold. Already we encountered the breeze. And with it came the rain. This wasn’t particularly heavy rain but it was continuous and varied between a heavy drizzle and heavier showers. And it persisted as we climbed the forest road away from Glen Afton to the valley of the Deugh. So did the fog.
When we came into the trees at the head of the pass, we were sheltered from the wind but we found last week’s snow still lying two or three inches deep on the road. Though it was crystalline and rotting, it still made the going more tiring than it should have been and we quietly thanked goodness that we were going down through it rather than up. And down through it we came, to the Deugh brig where coffee was called.
At the beginning of the walk Holly was given a pink tennis ball to chase instead of sticks. Somewhere along the road this ball was lost. Holly spent coffee time trying to persuade us to throw sticks for her and obviously wondered why we weren’t. (The puir dug tried this for the rest of the walk but we have been well warned and kept our hands in our pockets. No more cricket skills practice for Johnny and Rex, I’m afraid.)
We also believe Davie when he says that he knows this hill like the back of his hand. But, just in case, GPS’s were set and Rex even came armed with a map. He was slightly miffed when the route that he had plotted wasn’t the one that Jimmy and Davie had in mind. ‘We always go this way’, said they and nothing much changes in the Ooters. ‘Up the dry way and down the wet’, said Jimmy. So we set off their way, up through the clag to the face of the dam. Rex had suggested, and many agreed, that we should climb to Castle William and along the road from there but the ‘we always go this way’ two prevailed. Their excuse was that we would walk our legs in before attempting a steep climb. So, the face of the dam it was.
The water of the reservoir (or what we could see of it through the fog) was steely grey and choppy and looked bitterly cold. Already we encountered the breeze. And with it came the rain. This wasn’t particularly heavy rain but it was continuous and varied between a heavy drizzle and heavier showers. And it persisted as we climbed the forest road away from Glen Afton to the valley of the Deugh. So did the fog.
When we came into the trees at the head of the pass, we were sheltered from the wind but we found last week’s snow still lying two or three inches deep on the road. Though it was crystalline and rotting, it still made the going more tiring than it should have been and we quietly thanked goodness that we were going down through it rather than up. And down through it we came, to the Deugh brig where coffee was called.
At the beginning of the walk Holly was given a pink tennis ball to chase instead of sticks. Somewhere along the road this ball was lost. Holly spent coffee time trying to persuade us to throw sticks for her and obviously wondered why we weren’t. (The puir dug tried this for the rest of the walk but we have been well warned and kept our hands in our pockets. No more cricket skills practice for Johnny and Rex, I’m afraid.)
After coffee we kept to the road for a bit. The naturalist was asked what made the tracks in the snow. ‘Fox’, he replied confidently knowing full well that nobody would contradict what he said. Nobody did for he was probably correct. Other tracks were found when we left the road and started the climb of Jedburgh Knees. Deer were obvious to everybody. Dog the same. But polar bear we suspect to be a figment of an overactive imagination.
That Allan is now enjoying hill climbing became obvious to us all on the steep, wet, snow-covered slope onto the Knees. How else could we explain why he took so long, savouring every upward step. And he took every advantage of frequently called view stops to enjoy the prospect of the climb still to come. Well, they would have been view stops if we had had a view. The fog persisted, but was the rain easing? The slope certainly wasn’t and Allan continued his enjoyment of the climb. It was a sweaty group that collected on the crest of the ridge at the base of a windmill, sweaty but chilled for we were now back into the wind.
Jimmy’s opinion of wind turbines on the hill is well known in the Ooters but now he has an ally in opposition in Allan. The only decent thing about them is the ladder on which to have a photo-shoot. Johnny duly arranged us and we duly obliged.
That Allan is now enjoying hill climbing became obvious to us all on the steep, wet, snow-covered slope onto the Knees. How else could we explain why he took so long, savouring every upward step. And he took every advantage of frequently called view stops to enjoy the prospect of the climb still to come. Well, they would have been view stops if we had had a view. The fog persisted, but was the rain easing? The slope certainly wasn’t and Allan continued his enjoyment of the climb. It was a sweaty group that collected on the crest of the ridge at the base of a windmill, sweaty but chilled for we were now back into the wind.
Jimmy’s opinion of wind turbines on the hill is well known in the Ooters but now he has an ally in opposition in Allan. The only decent thing about them is the ladder on which to have a photo-shoot. Johnny duly arranged us and we duly obliged.
Now came the interesting part. Going up in the fog is easy, you just keep climbing. When you can’t find anything else to climb, you have reached the top. Coming down is a different matter. There is an infinite number of ways to get lost and find yourself at the wrong place at the foot of the hill. If you want to come down to a specific place, you have to choose the route carefully. We wanted to come back to the cars in Glen Afton. We chose our route carefully. We followed Davie! (Do we never learn?)
‘Follow the electric fence but don’t touch it, it’s live’, said the voice of experience. This we did, slithering down through the rotting snow to find ourselves at a gate in the said fence. ‘Through the gate’, said our leader. This we did and started up the opposite slope. Jimmy’s homing instinct kicked in. ‘We shouldnae be climbing’, said he and struck off downward. He was followed by Rex and then the rest of us, including Davie.
Jimmy’s instinct for home is good but so also is his instinct for finding bogs. This one was a cracker. (Before the linguists start on the scribbler, he knows you can’t crack bogs – it’s just the way I tell 'em! All right, it was a squelcher.) We squelched through inches deep bog and foot deep mire and, in some instances, open water and appeared to be getting nowhere. Mind you, he did say we would come down the wet way. When Davie and he made for the higher ground on the other side of the bog, there were suspicions of being lost again. Oh! Ye of little faith. When GPS’s and maps were consulted it showed us to be where they thought we were and, yes, we were heading in the right direction. We knew this for a fact when we found the burn flowing northward, the Afton. (Paul’s 3D map would later prove how unerring these two are in the navigation.)
We followed the Afton down through a narrow valley to find the forest road by the reservoir. The fit took off at speed along the road but the sensible adopted a more sedate pace and followed behind. ‘Is that the reservoir there?’ asked Ian with a surprised note in his voice, pointing to the grey choppy water appearing out of the fog. He was assured it was and we had only about a mile left to go. ‘Is that the dam already?’ enquired the same person with the same surprised tone a few minutes later. He was given the same reassurance. He was even more reassured when we caught up with the speedy, lounging against the wall of the dam.
The walk back to the cars was taken at a gentle pace and we arrived around two o’clock. Credit to the weather forecaster, the rain did go off half way through the day but the b***** fog was still down. We were half way down Glen Afton before we eventually came out of it. Another day on Windy Standard and another day of seeing b*****-all but windmills and fog.
We retired to the Mercat in Cumnock for FRT today for last week we had been promised stovies. The disappointment of the day was to continue. The bar was crowded and the stovies had been forgotten about. However, mine host, Ian, and his good lady made up for this by opening a room especially for us and providing free crisps as well as good cheer. We will be back here.
Report by Jimmy
Photos by Johnnie
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