Distance: 16.3 km
Friday 30 April 2010
Arrangements for the walk on Wednesday 5 May
Walk will be over Cairn Table to Glenbuck. Meet at Glenbuck Loch car park at 10am.
Tuesday 27 April 2010
A three score - bus pass - doo
Rupee room booked for 11 Ooters :-
Wed 5th May at 1900
Can we do an easy walk on the 5th
please! oh pretty please!
Wed 5th May at 1900
Can we do an easy walk on the 5th
please! oh pretty please!
21 April Another Irvine Valley Day – A Leisurely Walk
Another super, sunny, spring morning saw an assembly of seven Ooters at Davie’s place for the second successive week. The intention of the day was to stay local and have a ‘leisurely’ walk so Davie was asked to find a route that would suit the intention and the morning. He did this admirably.
When we left the shelter of Davie’s house, we found the morning far from idyllic. Yes, the sun shone warmly in a clear blue sky but a northerly wind blew; a wind that had its origins somewhere in the Arctic and a wind that tried to cut its way into our old bones. Although, as shall be seen later, this wind did have one great benefit, Jackets were worn from the start.
Whether Davie considered the coolness of the wind when planning his route we can’t be quite sure – he says he did but we all know Davie – but he soon had us over the Irvine by Ranoldcoup Bridge, into the shelter of the trees in Lanfine estate and on to a good tarmac estate road. ‘There’s wild boar in the wood here’, said he. Sure enough a strong, square-meshed fence edged the road and the floor of the wood was churned to bare earth. But there were no boar. The wood was alive with bird song - blackbird, chaffinch, robin, great tit, and he who knows these things said blackcap - but no boar. We wandered up the road looking to the right and scanning the wood for strange pigs. There were no wild boar, not even mildly irritated ones. There were just no boars. We were beginning to think such things were a figment of another alcohol induced hallucination when Holly, away in advance, started barking into the trees. She had found the boar for us.
There they were, right next to the road. At least two tuskers and four sows snuffled the ground in search of something we couldn’t see. A number of brown striped piglets ran around, many still suckling at mother. All of them went about their everyday lives completely unconcerned by our presence. And our presence was obvious, a brightly clad group of Ooters lined along the fence and pointing cameras and fingers through the fence. In keeping with our new leisurely approach, we spent some time watching the boar while the camera men took as many shots as they pleased. We weren’t particularly quiet either, yet the boar ignored us, obviously used to human presence.
But enough of a good thing is enough, even watching boar snuffling at bare earth, so we moved leisurely on.
The tarmac took us up past Lanfine House - ‘Owned by Germans now’, said Davie and we thought that might explain the wild boar – and on over an old bridge towards Newmilns. This was where Johnny discovered the blister. His new boots weren’t yet worn in and the walking on tarmac het the feet. Johnny’s blister was a cracker. And it would get worse as the day went on.
But we never made Newmilns. Leaving the tarmac behind, we took to a path up the side of a wee burn. The way up through the wood beside the burn was as delightful as only a deciduous wood can be at this time of year. Birds sang, the burn gurgled, the sun shone through the budding canopy and we were still sheltered from the cold wind. We took our time climbing the slope through the wood.
The wee burn-side pad took us up to an abandoned estate road, untarmaced and grown over with grasses and woodland flowers. But it was a road and afforded an easy way upward through the valley-side wood. Eventually the deciduous trees gave way to a plantation of the ubiquitous Sitka spruce. The road continued albeit more overgrown than before and spruce and sauch branches had to be jooked under or held back to allow us through. Progress was slow but we didn’t care for this was a leisurely walk. Then, in the midst of this spruce plantation, came a mystery. Some twenty yards off the overgrown road, in the thick of the plantation, there was a tent, not a home-made boyish tent, but a bought tent, a quality tent by the look of it. The nosy went to investigate.
It was a quality tent, a three man Vango tent. Some water bottles and the remains of a fire showed that it had been occupied at one time but its collapsed state showed that this hadn’t been in recent days. Yet the collapsing was due merely to the springing of the support poles and not through any irreparable problem and the tent remains in good nick. Speculation was rife among the imaginative as to who would pitch a tent here and why and why it should be left. But the tent, its occupant(s) and the reason for it being here must remain one of life’s little mysteries for none of us really knows the answers.
In the wood, it was difficult to know exactly where we were, all we could say is that we were somewhere high on the western end of the Irvine Valley. But the road took us to the edge of the forest and we found out exactly where we were. The track continued towards the rooftops of Middle Third Farm and open country sloped down towards the valley and the plain of central Ayrshire. The view over the lowlands of central Ayrshire to Arran was superb but we didn’t spend too long admiring it for, at the edge of the forest we also found the cold northerly again so didn’t hang about to admire the view. Above us, to our left, the land rose on to Gallow Law and it was to Gallow Law we turned our steps now.
Coffee was called for and at the Covenanter’s monument on Gallow Law, we sat down for a break - after all, this leisurely walking is exhausting. Well, most of us sat at the monument. Those too tired, stiff or timorous to climb the barbed wire fence sat some ten yards away on the other side of said fence.
It has been said before that you don’t need to climb high in Ayrshire to get superb views. Gallow Law is a case in point. From a height of a little over 850ft, the western panorama from north to south, from Ben Lomond to the Galloway Hills must encompass some seventy-odd miles. The advantage of today’s Arctic wind, spoken about earlier, was to cleanse the air to crystal clearness and the view from the hill today was limited only by the horizon, with every feature picked out well by the spring sunshine. A viewfinder has been mounted on top of the monument. As far as we could see, this has been set a few degrees counter-clockwise from the true but with its help we were able to identify not only the snow-flecked Ben Lomond but the Kilbirnie Hills, the different Arran peaks, Craigie Hill, Brown Carrick, Shalloch on Minnoch, the Rhinns of Kells and, hiding behind a tree, Cairnsmore of Carsphairn. Below us, central Ayrshire with all its towns, from Mauchline to Ardrossan, was spread out like a map. Fabulous. And, on the north side of the Irvine Valley, the Windmills of Whitelees waved cheery arms at us in the fresh breeze. The viewfinder indicated places in the south and east, Loudoun Hill, Edinburgh, and Lowther Hill, but these were unseen for the forest and nearer landscape intervened. But what we could see was sufficient and more than made up for what we couldn’t. We were content and settled down to coffee.
Despite the cold wind, this was a longer, more leisurely coffee stop than we have become used to of late. We sat, we looked, we blethered and Johnny took time to doctor his blister. But the time came..................
We came off Gallow Law on its southern side and in a few hundred yards found tarmac which was kept to for a while now, always downwards into the valley, towards Galston. Swallows swooped and swung above Middle Third Farm finding insects invisible to us and a buzzard hung almost motionless above the field on our right. A JCB carrying a huge boulder trundled over a newly ploughed field and gulls chased the plough in the far corner of the same. These were the only diversions in the usual blether as we dropped leisurely down to find the Burnawn (Burn Anne) footpath.
Some were for lunching on the first picnic tables we found but Davie said that these were too near the road and much better could be found further up the burn. And he was insistent. We followed meekly behind him. Sure enough, in a wee sunny holm sheltered from the wind, we found other picnic tables and sat for lunch. When a solitary car was heard on the road we had just left, Davie felt justified. ‘See, I told you it was too busy there’. No other vehicles were seen or heard for the rest of the day.
After a leisurely lunch we continued to follow the Burn Anne – named after St. Anne, mother of the Virgin Mary, said the information board. Upward past Threepwood went the path. Upward past a ruin where a stone told us that the Covenanter James Smith ‘dayed’ here in 1685. Upward past a pond that Davie said was alive with tadpoles the last time he came this way; there were none today. Upward climbed our path till, eventually, it came to a ‘T junction’ of paths and we stopped for a breather and look back over the Irvine Valley.
What view greeted us when we turned round. Apart from what we could see on Gallow Law, a more distant prospect was in view. Ben Lomond was the marker. The more distant snow-covered peak to the right might have been Ben More at Crianlarich. Johnny found The Cobbler to the west and all the tops between these extremes could then be picked out. This was a good place for a breather.
We took the right arm of the T and came back to tarmac within a few yards. But our upward progress wasn’t finished yet. Taking a left, we followed the road up to top out on Burns’s ‘Galston Moors’ (See ‘The Holy Fair’) near Cairnhill Farm. At the farm a young woman was coming out of a car and we exchanged pleasantries as is our wont. Fifty yards along the road she hailed us. ‘If you’re going past that house’, said she pointing, ‘I should warn you that there are three dogs there that run free and don’t like other dogs’. She wasn’t concerned about us but was worried about the safety of Holly. Huh! When it was pointed out that Davie carries a big stick, she was happier.
However, we didn’t go past the house and there was no dog-fight. We turned off the road on a newish path through a newish plantation, a path that took us to the Keilands road a few hundred yards from the footpath up to Gallow Law monument. We turned towards Keilands. Johnny’s feet were in a sorry state now and he struggled on the up-slope to Keilands. But, we are nothing if not compassionate and most of us nearly waited for him. We all waited at Keilands.
It was here that some called for an afternoon halt but Davie said...............
When we left the shelter of Davie’s house, we found the morning far from idyllic. Yes, the sun shone warmly in a clear blue sky but a northerly wind blew; a wind that had its origins somewhere in the Arctic and a wind that tried to cut its way into our old bones. Although, as shall be seen later, this wind did have one great benefit, Jackets were worn from the start.
Whether Davie considered the coolness of the wind when planning his route we can’t be quite sure – he says he did but we all know Davie – but he soon had us over the Irvine by Ranoldcoup Bridge, into the shelter of the trees in Lanfine estate and on to a good tarmac estate road. ‘There’s wild boar in the wood here’, said he. Sure enough a strong, square-meshed fence edged the road and the floor of the wood was churned to bare earth. But there were no boar. The wood was alive with bird song - blackbird, chaffinch, robin, great tit, and he who knows these things said blackcap - but no boar. We wandered up the road looking to the right and scanning the wood for strange pigs. There were no wild boar, not even mildly irritated ones. There were just no boars. We were beginning to think such things were a figment of another alcohol induced hallucination when Holly, away in advance, started barking into the trees. She had found the boar for us.
There they were, right next to the road. At least two tuskers and four sows snuffled the ground in search of something we couldn’t see. A number of brown striped piglets ran around, many still suckling at mother. All of them went about their everyday lives completely unconcerned by our presence. And our presence was obvious, a brightly clad group of Ooters lined along the fence and pointing cameras and fingers through the fence. In keeping with our new leisurely approach, we spent some time watching the boar while the camera men took as many shots as they pleased. We weren’t particularly quiet either, yet the boar ignored us, obviously used to human presence.
But enough of a good thing is enough, even watching boar snuffling at bare earth, so we moved leisurely on.
The tarmac took us up past Lanfine House - ‘Owned by Germans now’, said Davie and we thought that might explain the wild boar – and on over an old bridge towards Newmilns. This was where Johnny discovered the blister. His new boots weren’t yet worn in and the walking on tarmac het the feet. Johnny’s blister was a cracker. And it would get worse as the day went on.
But we never made Newmilns. Leaving the tarmac behind, we took to a path up the side of a wee burn. The way up through the wood beside the burn was as delightful as only a deciduous wood can be at this time of year. Birds sang, the burn gurgled, the sun shone through the budding canopy and we were still sheltered from the cold wind. We took our time climbing the slope through the wood.
The wee burn-side pad took us up to an abandoned estate road, untarmaced and grown over with grasses and woodland flowers. But it was a road and afforded an easy way upward through the valley-side wood. Eventually the deciduous trees gave way to a plantation of the ubiquitous Sitka spruce. The road continued albeit more overgrown than before and spruce and sauch branches had to be jooked under or held back to allow us through. Progress was slow but we didn’t care for this was a leisurely walk. Then, in the midst of this spruce plantation, came a mystery. Some twenty yards off the overgrown road, in the thick of the plantation, there was a tent, not a home-made boyish tent, but a bought tent, a quality tent by the look of it. The nosy went to investigate.
It was a quality tent, a three man Vango tent. Some water bottles and the remains of a fire showed that it had been occupied at one time but its collapsed state showed that this hadn’t been in recent days. Yet the collapsing was due merely to the springing of the support poles and not through any irreparable problem and the tent remains in good nick. Speculation was rife among the imaginative as to who would pitch a tent here and why and why it should be left. But the tent, its occupant(s) and the reason for it being here must remain one of life’s little mysteries for none of us really knows the answers.
In the wood, it was difficult to know exactly where we were, all we could say is that we were somewhere high on the western end of the Irvine Valley. But the road took us to the edge of the forest and we found out exactly where we were. The track continued towards the rooftops of Middle Third Farm and open country sloped down towards the valley and the plain of central Ayrshire. The view over the lowlands of central Ayrshire to Arran was superb but we didn’t spend too long admiring it for, at the edge of the forest we also found the cold northerly again so didn’t hang about to admire the view. Above us, to our left, the land rose on to Gallow Law and it was to Gallow Law we turned our steps now.
Coffee was called for and at the Covenanter’s monument on Gallow Law, we sat down for a break - after all, this leisurely walking is exhausting. Well, most of us sat at the monument. Those too tired, stiff or timorous to climb the barbed wire fence sat some ten yards away on the other side of said fence.
It has been said before that you don’t need to climb high in Ayrshire to get superb views. Gallow Law is a case in point. From a height of a little over 850ft, the western panorama from north to south, from Ben Lomond to the Galloway Hills must encompass some seventy-odd miles. The advantage of today’s Arctic wind, spoken about earlier, was to cleanse the air to crystal clearness and the view from the hill today was limited only by the horizon, with every feature picked out well by the spring sunshine. A viewfinder has been mounted on top of the monument. As far as we could see, this has been set a few degrees counter-clockwise from the true but with its help we were able to identify not only the snow-flecked Ben Lomond but the Kilbirnie Hills, the different Arran peaks, Craigie Hill, Brown Carrick, Shalloch on Minnoch, the Rhinns of Kells and, hiding behind a tree, Cairnsmore of Carsphairn. Below us, central Ayrshire with all its towns, from Mauchline to Ardrossan, was spread out like a map. Fabulous. And, on the north side of the Irvine Valley, the Windmills of Whitelees waved cheery arms at us in the fresh breeze. The viewfinder indicated places in the south and east, Loudoun Hill, Edinburgh, and Lowther Hill, but these were unseen for the forest and nearer landscape intervened. But what we could see was sufficient and more than made up for what we couldn’t. We were content and settled down to coffee.
Despite the cold wind, this was a longer, more leisurely coffee stop than we have become used to of late. We sat, we looked, we blethered and Johnny took time to doctor his blister. But the time came..................
We came off Gallow Law on its southern side and in a few hundred yards found tarmac which was kept to for a while now, always downwards into the valley, towards Galston. Swallows swooped and swung above Middle Third Farm finding insects invisible to us and a buzzard hung almost motionless above the field on our right. A JCB carrying a huge boulder trundled over a newly ploughed field and gulls chased the plough in the far corner of the same. These were the only diversions in the usual blether as we dropped leisurely down to find the Burnawn (Burn Anne) footpath.
Some were for lunching on the first picnic tables we found but Davie said that these were too near the road and much better could be found further up the burn. And he was insistent. We followed meekly behind him. Sure enough, in a wee sunny holm sheltered from the wind, we found other picnic tables and sat for lunch. When a solitary car was heard on the road we had just left, Davie felt justified. ‘See, I told you it was too busy there’. No other vehicles were seen or heard for the rest of the day.
After a leisurely lunch we continued to follow the Burn Anne – named after St. Anne, mother of the Virgin Mary, said the information board. Upward past Threepwood went the path. Upward past a ruin where a stone told us that the Covenanter James Smith ‘dayed’ here in 1685. Upward past a pond that Davie said was alive with tadpoles the last time he came this way; there were none today. Upward climbed our path till, eventually, it came to a ‘T junction’ of paths and we stopped for a breather and look back over the Irvine Valley.
What view greeted us when we turned round. Apart from what we could see on Gallow Law, a more distant prospect was in view. Ben Lomond was the marker. The more distant snow-covered peak to the right might have been Ben More at Crianlarich. Johnny found The Cobbler to the west and all the tops between these extremes could then be picked out. This was a good place for a breather.
We took the right arm of the T and came back to tarmac within a few yards. But our upward progress wasn’t finished yet. Taking a left, we followed the road up to top out on Burns’s ‘Galston Moors’ (See ‘The Holy Fair’) near Cairnhill Farm. At the farm a young woman was coming out of a car and we exchanged pleasantries as is our wont. Fifty yards along the road she hailed us. ‘If you’re going past that house’, said she pointing, ‘I should warn you that there are three dogs there that run free and don’t like other dogs’. She wasn’t concerned about us but was worried about the safety of Holly. Huh! When it was pointed out that Davie carries a big stick, she was happier.
However, we didn’t go past the house and there was no dog-fight. We turned off the road on a newish path through a newish plantation, a path that took us to the Keilands road a few hundred yards from the footpath up to Gallow Law monument. We turned towards Keilands. Johnny’s feet were in a sorry state now and he struggled on the up-slope to Keilands. But, we are nothing if not compassionate and most of us nearly waited for him. We all waited at Keilands.
It was here that some called for an afternoon halt but Davie said...............
We walked on behind. Johnny hobbled on behind. We came down the track from Keilands to find a spruce plantation. Where the track entered the plantation, we left it and followed a path through the trees. By this time the party was split, Davie, Robert and Ronnie to the front, the more compassionate keeping the hobbling Johnny company at the rear The plantation was edged by mature deciduous trees and the path took us to this edge, to look out over the valley.. There came a nice, sheltered sunny spot overlooking the valley and we thought Davie might stop here for a break. Did he stop? Did he heck! We followed on. Johnny hobbled on. The buzzard was spotted by the trailing group, close at hand and soaring on the wind over the open field. Did we stop? Nope! The Tawny owl was flushed from its slumbers by the leading trio and took a flustered flight to the safety of the conifers. Did we stop? Nope! We followed on. Johnny hobbled on. Eventually, a mile and a half and half an hour after it was suggested, we stopped at the top of an old farm track for an afternoon break. Some took coffee, some sat and talked, some just sat and lazed leisuely in the sun. Johnny doctored his blister again.
We were now barely a mile away from the end of the walk, much to Johnny’s relief. The old farm road took us from our afternoon stop down to Dyke Farm where we found tarmac again. At a leisurely pace, we followed this down into the valley and back to the Ranoldcoup Bridge that we had crossed first thing this morning. Sun-burnt and wind-blown and thoroughly happy, we crossed the bridge and came back to our starting point around three.
This was another great Ooter’s ooting in super weather conditions. Davie should be congratulated on chosing a walk that admirably suited the conditions of the day.
In keeping with our new philosophy of trying new things, we chose to ignore our usual Darvel watering hole in favour of The Railway, a pub we might visit again.
We were now barely a mile away from the end of the walk, much to Johnny’s relief. The old farm road took us from our afternoon stop down to Dyke Farm where we found tarmac again. At a leisurely pace, we followed this down into the valley and back to the Ranoldcoup Bridge that we had crossed first thing this morning. Sun-burnt and wind-blown and thoroughly happy, we crossed the bridge and came back to our starting point around three.
This was another great Ooter’s ooting in super weather conditions. Davie should be congratulated on chosing a walk that admirably suited the conditions of the day.
In keeping with our new philosophy of trying new things, we chose to ignore our usual Darvel watering hole in favour of The Railway, a pub we might visit again.
Friday 23 April 2010
Thursday 22 April 2010
28 April Walk
Meet, chez moi, 0900 for 0930 start - coffee and hot scones.
Paul leading a walk from West Kilbride to Largs - bus return.
Johnny
Paul leading a walk from West Kilbride to Largs - bus return.
Johnny
Tuesday 20 April 2010
14 April Culter Fell – Third Visit
Only six regulars gathered in Davie’s place this morning but the numbers were supplemented by the junior section and a special guest appearance by Gordon Smith. The weather was uninspiring; a cloudy sky and a keen east wind put doubt in the mind about a climb today. But he who knows these things said that it was clearing from the south and we should go ahead with the hill as planned. As it turned out, those who missed the day missed a super walk.
We drove through to deepest Lanarkshire with the intent of climbing Culter Fell for the third time as a group. And as we drove further east, the sky cleared and the sun lit the hills we were heading for. He who knows these things appeared to be right for a change. Patches of snow could be seen on Culter Fell and we anticipated another good day on this hill – we have never been disappointed yet.
We felt the cold in the valley of the Culter, a cold the was mainly due to the long period of inactivity in the warm cars but a cold that was also due to the easterly breeze we could feel. Jackets were donned immediately. Young Davie even changed out of the shorts he sported earlier though old Davie persisted with bare legs for the day. After the initial pee stop, we set off up the reservoir road to the foot of our hill, walking briskly to stir the blood against the cold.
Culter Fell is one of those hills that starts gently but quickly turns steep for most of its height then, near the top, eases off to a gently rising slope to the summit. And it climbs immediately from the roadside. At least a track of sorts eased the gentle climb and a stalker’s path helped on the steeper parts. The sun was warm and the effort of the climb strenuous and bodies soon warmed up. On the steeper part we climbed quickly and ‘view’ stops were called frequently. Eventually, with the clock showing eleven, a longer halt was called and, by a shooter’s butt dug into the hillside and lined with boulders, we sat down for coffee.
The view from the coffee stop was good. Spring had reached the valley bottom turning the floor to green but it hadn’t yet reached the higher slopes which held on to their winter coats of pale yellow and brown grasses and the deep purple-brown of heather stalks. We could look down the entire valley to where the Culter added to the main Clyde Valley. The clag still hung in the north restricting views in that direction to the main settlements of that valley – Lanark, Hamilton and Motherwell. To the west, though, the air was clearer and we could look over a grander, more pastoral scene; look over the valley to the hills we wandered the last time we were here; look over to the neighbouring hills of Ward Law, Woodycleuch Dod and Hudderston; look over Knowe Dod and Turkey Law to the heathery mass of Tinto rising a few miles to the west. Superb.
But to the east, the steep heather clad slope of Culter Fell still rose ominously above us and it was to this slope that we returned after coffee.
Once again view stops were frequent. And as we rose, the country opened itself out to us. Now we could see Cairn Table above Muirkirk, and Black Craig in Glen Afton, then Cairnsmore of Carsphairn in Galloway, then Queensberry and the Lowther Hills, all in the west and south. A groups of hills appeared through the clag in the north, a group that might have been the Lomond Hills in Fife - if our knowledgeable one was to be believed. And all of these appeared as we climbed steeply. But then the slope eased and we wandered up the gentle rise to the summit; not the first top we could see on the skyline - this turned out to be a false hope for the newcomers – but the one a quarter of a mile behind this. And we stopped on the summit, in the cold east wind, to recover the breath and take in the view.
What a remarkable view is had from Culter Fell, all three hundred and sixty degrees of it. The dull conditions still obscured the northern hills restricting visibility in this direction to around twenty miles. Only the plains of Lanarkshire and the Clyde Valley with its towns were visible in this direction. But coming round to the west, Tinto was the main focus but all the hills we could see on the climb filled the skyline running round to Queensberry in the south. Now the east was open to us as well with Broad Law and Hart Fell, indeed all the Moffat Hills, still holding patches of snow. Below us the infant Tweed made its way eastwards in its valley. The hills expert was forced to change his mind for the ‘Lomond Hills’ in the northeast turned out to be the Pentlands. And all lit by the early spring sun.
We might have stayed on the summit to eat but the easterly breeze was chilling and a more sheltered spot was sought for lunch. Davie, the veteran of this area, would have us for Capelgill Hill barely a mile away and who were we to argue? So we turned our footsteps northward, dropped down off the summit and dropped out of the most of the breeze. Now we could have lunch.
The climb onto Capelgill is gentle and the grass was short. We might have taken our time getting to this top but Rex and Davie were to the front again and set a fair old pace. They had set a schedule at lunch and were determined to keep it. A warm and sweaty bunch trailed on behind them. Result on the top? Schedulers – two minutes ahead, trailers – dead on time. But whatever position we gained that top, time had to be allowed to examine the remarkable easterly view again. And time was taken.
But the wind was still cool and by the time the trailers had recovered their breath the chill was felt again. The time came to move on. We retraced our steps from Capelgill along the quad bike tracks we found on the ascent. It’s a good job Davie knows the area for otherwise we would have walked on by his diversion. But when we reached a certain featureless point he had us off the tracks, over the fence, across some rough stuff and onto another quad track leading in the opposite direction. This, he said would take us back into the Culter Valley.
What a tremendous way to come off the hill. The quad tracks led us gently downwards and out of the easterly wind. Then, as the tracks ran uphill again, we came on a gently descending well graded path continuing the downward progress. Somewhere down this path and for no other reason than we could, we stopped for an afternoon break. Perhaps this was a ploy by the front trio to gather strength for what would come next. Even if it was, we all enjoyed the break in the warming April sun.
What was to come next was more infantile nonsense from those who should know better. Our afternoon tea stop was only a few hundred feet above the road on the valley bottom. The descent was easy and most took their time. The leading trio of Jimmy, Rex and Robert enjoyed a wee jog down the grassy slope so arrived on the road in advance of the others who weren’t too far behind. They strolled down the road to let the rest catch up. This was where Ronnie saw his chance of glory, the first to finish the walk. But the leaders heard his footsteps clump up behind and quickened the pace again. And again, and again until only Rex and Jimmy were left to race out the last hundred metres. None would concede to the other so they ended up sprinting for the cars. (Well as fast as daft auld men in hiking boots carrying loaded rucksacks can sprint!) In the end they had to call an amicable draw though Jimmy claims he would have won if his trousers had stayed up. Silly auld buggers.
The sensible meantime walked sedately back to the cars fully expecting two heart attack victims to be waiting there.
As was said earlier those who missed the day, missed another fabulous walk on Culter Fell. We have never been disappointed here.
We retired to the Crown in Biggar for FRT today but this place is beginning to lose its appeal – Robyn no longer works there.
We drove through to deepest Lanarkshire with the intent of climbing Culter Fell for the third time as a group. And as we drove further east, the sky cleared and the sun lit the hills we were heading for. He who knows these things appeared to be right for a change. Patches of snow could be seen on Culter Fell and we anticipated another good day on this hill – we have never been disappointed yet.
We felt the cold in the valley of the Culter, a cold the was mainly due to the long period of inactivity in the warm cars but a cold that was also due to the easterly breeze we could feel. Jackets were donned immediately. Young Davie even changed out of the shorts he sported earlier though old Davie persisted with bare legs for the day. After the initial pee stop, we set off up the reservoir road to the foot of our hill, walking briskly to stir the blood against the cold.
Culter Fell is one of those hills that starts gently but quickly turns steep for most of its height then, near the top, eases off to a gently rising slope to the summit. And it climbs immediately from the roadside. At least a track of sorts eased the gentle climb and a stalker’s path helped on the steeper parts. The sun was warm and the effort of the climb strenuous and bodies soon warmed up. On the steeper part we climbed quickly and ‘view’ stops were called frequently. Eventually, with the clock showing eleven, a longer halt was called and, by a shooter’s butt dug into the hillside and lined with boulders, we sat down for coffee.
The view from the coffee stop was good. Spring had reached the valley bottom turning the floor to green but it hadn’t yet reached the higher slopes which held on to their winter coats of pale yellow and brown grasses and the deep purple-brown of heather stalks. We could look down the entire valley to where the Culter added to the main Clyde Valley. The clag still hung in the north restricting views in that direction to the main settlements of that valley – Lanark, Hamilton and Motherwell. To the west, though, the air was clearer and we could look over a grander, more pastoral scene; look over the valley to the hills we wandered the last time we were here; look over to the neighbouring hills of Ward Law, Woodycleuch Dod and Hudderston; look over Knowe Dod and Turkey Law to the heathery mass of Tinto rising a few miles to the west. Superb.
But to the east, the steep heather clad slope of Culter Fell still rose ominously above us and it was to this slope that we returned after coffee.
Once again view stops were frequent. And as we rose, the country opened itself out to us. Now we could see Cairn Table above Muirkirk, and Black Craig in Glen Afton, then Cairnsmore of Carsphairn in Galloway, then Queensberry and the Lowther Hills, all in the west and south. A groups of hills appeared through the clag in the north, a group that might have been the Lomond Hills in Fife - if our knowledgeable one was to be believed. And all of these appeared as we climbed steeply. But then the slope eased and we wandered up the gentle rise to the summit; not the first top we could see on the skyline - this turned out to be a false hope for the newcomers – but the one a quarter of a mile behind this. And we stopped on the summit, in the cold east wind, to recover the breath and take in the view.
What a remarkable view is had from Culter Fell, all three hundred and sixty degrees of it. The dull conditions still obscured the northern hills restricting visibility in this direction to around twenty miles. Only the plains of Lanarkshire and the Clyde Valley with its towns were visible in this direction. But coming round to the west, Tinto was the main focus but all the hills we could see on the climb filled the skyline running round to Queensberry in the south. Now the east was open to us as well with Broad Law and Hart Fell, indeed all the Moffat Hills, still holding patches of snow. Below us the infant Tweed made its way eastwards in its valley. The hills expert was forced to change his mind for the ‘Lomond Hills’ in the northeast turned out to be the Pentlands. And all lit by the early spring sun.
We might have stayed on the summit to eat but the easterly breeze was chilling and a more sheltered spot was sought for lunch. Davie, the veteran of this area, would have us for Capelgill Hill barely a mile away and who were we to argue? So we turned our footsteps northward, dropped down off the summit and dropped out of the most of the breeze. Now we could have lunch.
The climb onto Capelgill is gentle and the grass was short. We might have taken our time getting to this top but Rex and Davie were to the front again and set a fair old pace. They had set a schedule at lunch and were determined to keep it. A warm and sweaty bunch trailed on behind them. Result on the top? Schedulers – two minutes ahead, trailers – dead on time. But whatever position we gained that top, time had to be allowed to examine the remarkable easterly view again. And time was taken.
But the wind was still cool and by the time the trailers had recovered their breath the chill was felt again. The time came to move on. We retraced our steps from Capelgill along the quad bike tracks we found on the ascent. It’s a good job Davie knows the area for otherwise we would have walked on by his diversion. But when we reached a certain featureless point he had us off the tracks, over the fence, across some rough stuff and onto another quad track leading in the opposite direction. This, he said would take us back into the Culter Valley.
What a tremendous way to come off the hill. The quad tracks led us gently downwards and out of the easterly wind. Then, as the tracks ran uphill again, we came on a gently descending well graded path continuing the downward progress. Somewhere down this path and for no other reason than we could, we stopped for an afternoon break. Perhaps this was a ploy by the front trio to gather strength for what would come next. Even if it was, we all enjoyed the break in the warming April sun.
What was to come next was more infantile nonsense from those who should know better. Our afternoon tea stop was only a few hundred feet above the road on the valley bottom. The descent was easy and most took their time. The leading trio of Jimmy, Rex and Robert enjoyed a wee jog down the grassy slope so arrived on the road in advance of the others who weren’t too far behind. They strolled down the road to let the rest catch up. This was where Ronnie saw his chance of glory, the first to finish the walk. But the leaders heard his footsteps clump up behind and quickened the pace again. And again, and again until only Rex and Jimmy were left to race out the last hundred metres. None would concede to the other so they ended up sprinting for the cars. (Well as fast as daft auld men in hiking boots carrying loaded rucksacks can sprint!) In the end they had to call an amicable draw though Jimmy claims he would have won if his trousers had stayed up. Silly auld buggers.
The sensible meantime walked sedately back to the cars fully expecting two heart attack victims to be waiting there.
As was said earlier those who missed the day, missed another fabulous walk on Culter Fell. We have never been disappointed here.
We retired to the Crown in Biggar for FRT today but this place is beginning to lose its appeal – Robyn no longer works there.
Wednesday 14 April 2010
Plan for Wednesday21 April
Meet at Davie's at 9am for a leisurely start and a leisurely walk in the Irvine Valley.
Thursday 8 April 2010
Blacksidend 7 April 2010
Because of holiday commitments only six ooters, Rex, Allan, Robert,
Davie, Ian and Peter, met at Studio Peter in Catrine. Numbers were
bolstered however by the boy Davie from the junior section. We
journeyed up to Sorn, where Peter picked up his sister's dog, Nola,
(this was to be a two dog walk, Holly being the other of course), and
set off along the familiar roads and paths up to Blacksidend. Although
the ground underfoot on the hill was wet it was probably not as bad as
had been anticipated given the previous day's rain and the weather
overhead was fine and warm, though jackets were needed when up
top. In fact this was Davie's shorts' first outing of the year.
The cairn was reached about 11.30am when it was decided to continue
across to Wedder. Peter however had other ideas and wished to go back
down the hill and head across to explore a burn he had visited as a
boy. So he set off in one direction and the rest in the other (we had
agreed to meet up later though). Wedder was reached in half an hour and
lunch was taken there before retracing our steps back down the hill.
Lots of new-born lambs were on display and we hope that the wee
black-faced one was finally reunited with its mammy. Back on the road
Davie and Robert met some former teaching colleagues and we also met
Peter driving up the road to claim some pruch - is this the right
spelling? - he had spotted earlier.
The cars were reached about ten past two and we all returned to Poosie
Nancie's in Mauchline for FRT.
A lad took his girl up to Wedder
For up the path he had ledder
One thing on his mind
A nice spot there tae find
And then his intent was to bedder
But as he climbed he got redder
Thought of the lies he had fedder
He slipped on some muck
And with a cry of 'Oh goodness gracious me!'
A' doon the hill did a hedder
His troos were like passed through a shredder
And his face was the colour of cheddar
But the knock on his heid
Had affected him indeed
And he duly agreed there to wedder
Boom! Boom!
Walk for 14 April Culter Fell
Meet at Davie's house in Darvel at 9.00am. If wet, local Darvel walk will be the alternative.
Friday 2 April 2010
Thursday 1 April 2010
Glasgow to Clydebank 31 March 2010 A ferry good walk.
A full complement of 11 eleven Ooters assembled at Ian's house for his usual excellent hospitality prior to setting off for Glasgow. The original plan had been to walk the Forth & Clyde canal as far as Clydebank, partake of a fish supper and then get the bus back to the cars. However other suggestions were put forward viz. go to the People's Palace at Glasgow Green and walk into Glasgow crossing as many bridges as we could, do the Necropolis walk (this idea died a death), walk down the Kelvin to Kelvingrove and have a sharp infusion of culture, stay at Ian's, watch television and help him sample his newly acquired crate of twelve bottles of wine. Surprisingly, Peter's Kelvingrove option was decided upon.
And so we duly arrived at our usual parking place behind the Botanic Gardens only to be informed by Robert that his car had decided to revert to the original walk after all (what does a Honda know about these things anyway? - well seen it wasn't an Accord). Without further ado we all fell into line and headed for the canal following the left bank of the Kelvin. This is notable because we normally walk up the opposite bank. As has been reported before, this recent trend is worrying - are we at the stage that we can't remember what we normally do? The canal was soon reached and we turned left and headed for Clydebank. Other than a few snow flurries the weather was overcast but dry and so it was to remain for the rest of the day. As a result of the recent wintry blast, snow covered the hills around but the walking on the path was good. Coffee was taken at a lock and without undue delay we were back en route and soon came across Allan (or was it Alan?) the fisherman holding a newly landed large pike. After exchanging pleasantries for a few minutes he carefully returned the fish to the water and we left him to pursue his next catch. Best catch of the day however was Johnny's, who fished out a football (good one too) from the canal, to be joined later by a rugby ball.
(One aspect of the walk today which was completely disappointing was the amount of rubbish that had been tossed over the back fences by residents (maybe out of sight, out of mind to them but not to those on the path), and the amount of debris, litter and glass that 'decorated' the surrounds.)
The centre of Clydebank was reached in good time and we all partook of chips at McMonagles fish and chip 'boat'. Well done to Alan who persuaded the lassie at the till to give him a Pensioner's Fish Supper. This was the same as an ordinary supper with the exception that the lassie chewed all the hard bits before she put them in the box.
Somehow the plans had changed again. Those of us who spotted the signs for the bus station (funnily enough 450 yds from one side of the road and 400 yds from the opposite side - they've got awfie wide roads in Clydebank) were to be disappointed as an executive decision had been made to continue the walk down to the Clyde and to take the cycle path back in to Glasgow.
Rex, as is his want (a long felt one, if rumours are true), took the lead and found the path taking us back towards Glasgow. Whilst passing Holm Park, home of Yoker Athletic, now ground sharing with Clydebank FC who have reached the semi-finals of this year's Junior Cup (thanks to Paul for the info), Johnny decided to get rid of his balls which unusually he had carried for some time in a large bag trailing from his bum. He says this arrangement has certain advantages, especially when doing press-ups. Apparently Farmfoods charges you for carrier bags these days but scrotums are free. It took three desperate attempts to kick the football over the fence and into the park. My my, where have all the years gone?
As we approached the slipway for the Renfrew Ferry, passing by partly built flats that have already begun to be vandalised, we met a damsel in distress. OK, she had a tear in her eye. The crossing we had just witnessed was the ferry's last before being replaced by small aluminium landing craft type vessels. We consoled the damsel and walked on to see the ferry parked at the slipway at Yoker. Not backward at coming forward, Ronnie went down to the ferry and, realising that the ferry was about to return for the last time across the Clyde to be parked up, asked if the Ooters could hitch a lift across. 'If your mates can get on quickly,' was the reply. And so they did. Allan, who had been taking photos, ran down the slip and jumped on just as the vessel was leaving and so became the last person on to the 'Renfrew Rose'. (Ronnie said that when he was younger he used to go out with Renfrew Rose, but more of that at some other time).
Even better, the boat was now out of commission and the journey was free. This suited the Ooters just fine. Having said good-bye to the ferry and its staff, like long lost brothers, and smiled for the cameras, a decision was made to celebrate the crossing in the nearby pub, 'The Ferry'. Pints were ordered, only one each mind you as we still had miles to go. But wait a minute, we were now on the wrong side of the river. Some discussions with locals about how to proceed on the south side were not encouraging so there was no option but to take the new wee ferry back across. Now the ferry takes 12 passengers, we were 11 and a dug, and there were 2 folk in front of us. Did it matter? Not on this day as the ferryman said it was OK and it was free - ya beauty!
Back on dry land we (sorry, Rex) found the path again and we returned to the rubbish and glass as we marched past Bae Systems, Albion Motors, Forrest Furnishing et all. Other notable landmarks included the plethora of high-rise dovecotes, some appearing more robust than others. It reminded us of the pigeon fanciers' handbook - 'The Doos and Don'ts Of Keeping Pigeons'. 'Lunch' was called for, Johnny was struggling at this point, and whilst we rested a local, out walking his wean and dug, engaged us in conversation hazarding a guess that it was about 25 minutes to the bottom of Byres Road. The path eventually took us across South Street and alongside the Glasgow Harbour development when, 'help ma boab!', a splinter group of Davie, Paul, Ronnie and Peter decided to break ranks and head down to the path beside the Clyde instead of following the road. This was a mistake since we had to cross the Expressway and the way to do that was to use the fast approaching underpass - at least, fast approaching to Rex's gang. As those of little faith passed in the distance, shouts, whistles and arm-waving eventually caught their attention and they returned to the fold. (Remember, when in Glasgow always trust the Aussie!)
Partick Cross soon was reached, not before Johnny had tested the pavement's coefficient of resistance, fortunately with no real damage. Then the trudge up Byres Road was followed by the walk through the Botanic Gardens and back to the cars. In total we had been trekking for the best part of five and a half hours and, despite deviating from our original plan, the wee piece of history we encountered, and were part of, was worth it.
FRT was taken back at the King's Hotel in Fenwick.
And so we duly arrived at our usual parking place behind the Botanic Gardens only to be informed by Robert that his car had decided to revert to the original walk after all (what does a Honda know about these things anyway? - well seen it wasn't an Accord). Without further ado we all fell into line and headed for the canal following the left bank of the Kelvin. This is notable because we normally walk up the opposite bank. As has been reported before, this recent trend is worrying - are we at the stage that we can't remember what we normally do? The canal was soon reached and we turned left and headed for Clydebank. Other than a few snow flurries the weather was overcast but dry and so it was to remain for the rest of the day. As a result of the recent wintry blast, snow covered the hills around but the walking on the path was good. Coffee was taken at a lock and without undue delay we were back en route and soon came across Allan (or was it Alan?) the fisherman holding a newly landed large pike. After exchanging pleasantries for a few minutes he carefully returned the fish to the water and we left him to pursue his next catch. Best catch of the day however was Johnny's, who fished out a football (good one too) from the canal, to be joined later by a rugby ball.
(One aspect of the walk today which was completely disappointing was the amount of rubbish that had been tossed over the back fences by residents (maybe out of sight, out of mind to them but not to those on the path), and the amount of debris, litter and glass that 'decorated' the surrounds.)
The centre of Clydebank was reached in good time and we all partook of chips at McMonagles fish and chip 'boat'. Well done to Alan who persuaded the lassie at the till to give him a Pensioner's Fish Supper. This was the same as an ordinary supper with the exception that the lassie chewed all the hard bits before she put them in the box.
Somehow the plans had changed again. Those of us who spotted the signs for the bus station (funnily enough 450 yds from one side of the road and 400 yds from the opposite side - they've got awfie wide roads in Clydebank) were to be disappointed as an executive decision had been made to continue the walk down to the Clyde and to take the cycle path back in to Glasgow.
Rex, as is his want (a long felt one, if rumours are true), took the lead and found the path taking us back towards Glasgow. Whilst passing Holm Park, home of Yoker Athletic, now ground sharing with Clydebank FC who have reached the semi-finals of this year's Junior Cup (thanks to Paul for the info), Johnny decided to get rid of his balls which unusually he had carried for some time in a large bag trailing from his bum. He says this arrangement has certain advantages, especially when doing press-ups. Apparently Farmfoods charges you for carrier bags these days but scrotums are free. It took three desperate attempts to kick the football over the fence and into the park. My my, where have all the years gone?
As we approached the slipway for the Renfrew Ferry, passing by partly built flats that have already begun to be vandalised, we met a damsel in distress. OK, she had a tear in her eye. The crossing we had just witnessed was the ferry's last before being replaced by small aluminium landing craft type vessels. We consoled the damsel and walked on to see the ferry parked at the slipway at Yoker. Not backward at coming forward, Ronnie went down to the ferry and, realising that the ferry was about to return for the last time across the Clyde to be parked up, asked if the Ooters could hitch a lift across. 'If your mates can get on quickly,' was the reply. And so they did. Allan, who had been taking photos, ran down the slip and jumped on just as the vessel was leaving and so became the last person on to the 'Renfrew Rose'. (Ronnie said that when he was younger he used to go out with Renfrew Rose, but more of that at some other time).
Even better, the boat was now out of commission and the journey was free. This suited the Ooters just fine. Having said good-bye to the ferry and its staff, like long lost brothers, and smiled for the cameras, a decision was made to celebrate the crossing in the nearby pub, 'The Ferry'. Pints were ordered, only one each mind you as we still had miles to go. But wait a minute, we were now on the wrong side of the river. Some discussions with locals about how to proceed on the south side were not encouraging so there was no option but to take the new wee ferry back across. Now the ferry takes 12 passengers, we were 11 and a dug, and there were 2 folk in front of us. Did it matter? Not on this day as the ferryman said it was OK and it was free - ya beauty!
Back on dry land we (sorry, Rex) found the path again and we returned to the rubbish and glass as we marched past Bae Systems, Albion Motors, Forrest Furnishing et all. Other notable landmarks included the plethora of high-rise dovecotes, some appearing more robust than others. It reminded us of the pigeon fanciers' handbook - 'The Doos and Don'ts Of Keeping Pigeons'. 'Lunch' was called for, Johnny was struggling at this point, and whilst we rested a local, out walking his wean and dug, engaged us in conversation hazarding a guess that it was about 25 minutes to the bottom of Byres Road. The path eventually took us across South Street and alongside the Glasgow Harbour development when, 'help ma boab!', a splinter group of Davie, Paul, Ronnie and Peter decided to break ranks and head down to the path beside the Clyde instead of following the road. This was a mistake since we had to cross the Expressway and the way to do that was to use the fast approaching underpass - at least, fast approaching to Rex's gang. As those of little faith passed in the distance, shouts, whistles and arm-waving eventually caught their attention and they returned to the fold. (Remember, when in Glasgow always trust the Aussie!)
Partick Cross soon was reached, not before Johnny had tested the pavement's coefficient of resistance, fortunately with no real damage. Then the trudge up Byres Road was followed by the walk through the Botanic Gardens and back to the cars. In total we had been trekking for the best part of five and a half hours and, despite deviating from our original plan, the wee piece of history we encountered, and were part of, was worth it.
FRT was taken back at the King's Hotel in Fenwick.
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