4,2,0 Tops Afton Glen 4 September

Alan, Allan, Andy, Davie C, Gus, Jimmy, Johnny, Malcolm, Paul, Rex, Ronnie

Top 4 from down the loch

We welcomed Gus into the brotherhood at our rendezvous at Cumnock – he looks far too fit to be an Ooter – but were disappointed to see Jimmy arrive in civvies. Not that his civvies were an issue, they were fashionable when he was demobbed, but his back had gone again and he obviously was in no state to walk. His drinking arm was unaffected though, and he was able to join us later in the day for FRT.

Fun boy 2

Journeying up to our parking spot at the waterworks in the Afton glen the weather was set fair for the 4,3,2,1,0 tops.

 (See previous reports for a descriiption of this walk).

Allan, Andy, Johnny and Malcolm decided to take a more leisurely walk round the reservoir whilst the rest set off back down the road for the main event.

Looking back from lunch spot at the head of the loch

The walk round the reservoir was reasonably uneventful although, for a while, the wind brought with it a chill. It was interesting to note that, even after a dry summer, parts of the path were still very boggy, as Malcolm found out to his cost. One question though. What’s the explanation for the parallel strips of white water running down the reservoir? For all the world, it looked like the wake of umpteen torpedoes passing down the length of the loch.

Malcolm and Andy left for home soon after arriving back at the cars as Malcolm was on camera duty in Durham later on in the day, but the other two amigos set off down the road to the cut off point for the hill walk (basically to kill time) before returning to the cars and awaiting the arrival of the rest.

Explanation please!

Alan arrived first having done two tops whilst the remainder appeared about twenty minutes later having bagged all four. A bedraggled looking Ronnie was last to report in before we could set off for FRT in the refurbished Sun Inn in Cumnock where, not only were they obliging about turning the music down so we could hear ourselves speak, but provided us with copious amounts of free nuts.

Maybe one of the 4 toppers could write a wee addendum to this blog.

A wee addendum

With Holly being on holiday and Jimmy being incapacitated, the 6 (Rex, Paul, Gus, Ronnie, Davie C, Alan) who chose the 4 Tops walk were left leaderless; but remarkably two of their number had brought maps with them, whilst others claimed to remember the route.

The long descent down the newly-tarmaced road eventually took us to the turn off for Blackcraig Farm and above the farm we stopped for coffee at our traditional resting place. Continuing our ascent, Rex pointed out how dry the track was and how on previous walks it had been very boggy.  A few steps more and we reached the bog.

The first cairn at Quintin Knowe was reached and at the wall we turned sharp right up the steep path towards  Top #1, Blackcraig Hill. We picked our away across more boggy ground, having to cross and recross a fence in search of a drier route and soon reached the trig point. The wind on the top was strong and we decided to descend into the steep valley between Blackcraig and our second top, Blacklorg. There we would have lunch. However, despite the steepness of the descent the ground was far too wet to sit on and after a couple of stumbles by Gus and Paul we  reached the valley bottom. Still searching for dry ground we were two thirds the way up Blacklorg before a halt was called on the stroke of one o’clock.

From our lunch spot it was no time at all before we reached Top #2 Blacklorg, where fences delineate the boundaries of Ayrshire, Lanarkshire and Dumfriesshire (we do listen to Jimmy, sometimes).

After another sharp descent and more gentle climb we reached Top #3, Cannock Hill – but now the 6 had become 5 as Alan chose to skirt the hill and wait for us below. “I don’t need the tick” was his justification.

Below Cannick Hill, Alan decided to head back down to the reservoir, whilst the 5 survivors headed for the final top. Top #4 Craigbraneoch Hill is more rugged than the others and we picked our way up to the summit carefully. Paul and Ronnie  had become semi-detached by the time the leading group got to the top, and in true Ooter tradition, when they arrived at the top the vanguard departed.

The descent to the Afton Reservoir is steep and it was a case of each man for himself as we picked our way around boulders  and rocky outcrops. Four made it to the bottom, with Ronnie bringing up the rear. Having directed Ronnie to the steps which descended to the track, the four Four-Toppers at the front set off for the cars, where they were reunited with  the Zero-Toppers and the Two-Topper … and by Ronnie, eventually.

 

New Cumnock hills

25 January Glen Afton’s One Top

Alan, Allan, Davie C, Davie Mc, Ian, Jimmy, Johnny, Malcolm, Paul, Rex & Ronnie

The late John Denver sang ‘Some days are diamonds, some days are stones’. The last time we were on the Glen Afton Hills the day was unquestionably of the precious variety – blue, sunny skies, glistening, powdery snow and views that went on forever. And we had hopes for something of the same today given the snow fall of yesterday and the forecast for a clear and sunny day. But somebody up there doesn’t like us. Whatever we have done to offend the provider of our weather we don’t know but with what has been given to us this winter we feel he is definitely against us.

This is the truth we found when we gathered in Cumnock on a dreary January Wednesday. Already there was dissension in the ranks. There was some thought of the foul weather alternative but our weather man suggested that it would be late afternoon when the rain arrived. We took his word for this and set off into Glen Afton.

Barely had we left the cars at the waterworks than we felt the first spits. But, according to our weatherman, this is only a passing shower for the rain was forecast to arrive no earlier than late afternoon. And go off it did though by the looks of the sky and the hill fog it could come back any minute. We walked along the forest road on the west side of the reservoir watching to see if the fog was lifting or coming further down. By the time we had reached the bridge over the upper reaches of the Afton a decision had to be made; should we go ahead as planned or cut the walk short and come back along the east side of the reservoir. The party split in two; the wimps opting for the lower walk and the adventurous, unwise, foolhardy and downright stupid opted for the hill despite Johnny’s hip-flask bribery.
The wimps: wise, intrepid, mathematically principled souls: we three giants of the maths teaching fraternity know a thing or two about gradients, turning points and distance formulas. All too obvious, the approaching poor weather, no need of TV predictions. We could see it coming. A walk around the Afton reservoir seemed a prudent move. Bullying JM over-ruled concerned AS about completing the circuit. As it turned out AS was right. The path, though not impassable, was unpleasantly deeply muddied. We retraced our steps back to where we had become the splinter group. Here we could see our brave brothers battle the elements as they crested the summit and disappear from our view. We made it back to the cars in good heart. We had lunch. We wondered back up to the reservoir dam just in time to see our courageous comrades caper casually along the edge of the reservoir.

We await (inserted above JM) a report from the wimps for the scribe was in the latter group. This was the group that made its way up the side of the river to the old fruit van that sits on it own on the hillside. That’s where the rain came. When we had been in the shelter of the forest, any rain that came was no more that a steady dribble. But we were no longer in the shelter of the trees and the steady dribble was wind blown and wetting and when we left what little shelter the fruit van afforded, we were into the weather proper. Though the wind-driven drizzle stung the faces, we still had faith in our weatherman and his prediction that the rain would arrive until the late afternoon and so set of for the first climb of the day, Alwhat

Not only was it wet overhead, it was extremely wet underfoot for the first fifty metres or so until the ground steepened and we found the drier grasses. Thank heavens for quad bike tracks; at least the climbing would be easier than the coarse hill grasses and rushes that surrounded us. It certainly seemed to be easy for Jimmy. What he had for breakfast certainly worked for he took off up that slope like a whippet on ecstasy and left the rest trailing in his wake. But not only had we Jimmy’s pace to contend with; as we gained height we also changed direction and now found the wind driving the rain directly into our faces, and it stung. But at least we could see where we were going so far.

Ronnie felt the pressure on this climb - he is recovering from major surgery and has not yet regained his fighting fitness - but struggled manfully on in Jimmy’s wake crossing the tufted grass of the slope to the fence on Alwhat summit. Here we found Jimmy waiting with alternate routes in mind. But Ronnie was done for the day and was for returning the way we had come up. And we, being of a compassionate nature and anyway having had our fill of soakings for this year, offered to keep him company. We turned to retrace our steps back down to the fruit van in the valley.

Back in the shelter of the trees at the bridge we stopped for a bite. The time was twelve-thirty and the rain was still on. We are beginning to lose faith in our weatherman.

When we came out of the trees again the rain had gone and a decision was made to return by the east side of the reservoir. To this end we followed the forest road to its end and then took the path to the dam where we met with the renegade three. Half a mile later we were back at the waterworks and the cars, our walking past for the day.

This was another dreich day and the best that can be said is that we got some exercise. Come on ‘ye pow’rs wha mak mankind your care’ gie us a break and a dry day for a change.

As usual in this neck of the woods FRT was taken in The Sun in Cumnock. New grandfather Ian stood the first round to wet the baby's head. Congratulations to the proud mum and dad and equally proud grandparents.

16 March Glen Afton’s Five Tops – A Day For Superlatives

Alan, Allan, Davie, Ian, Jimmy, Johnny & Rex

It has been suggested that the scribe should inject some humour into his scribblings, so here goes. A man walks into the Ashoka and asks ‘Dae ye dae cairy-oots?’ ‘Aye’ says the bloke behin’ the coonter. ‘Well whit’s 212 minus 87?’
Now that the humour’s out of the way, I will get on with the narrative. Today’s walk started and ended at the waterworks in Glen Afton so, even though we strayed a wee bit from the Glen, this walk will be called Glen Afton’s Five Tops (not to be confused with Glen Afton’s Four Tops of 19/01/2011 et al.) Rex had come prepared with the route draw out on his map. ‘It’s thirteen kilometres over four two-thousand plus tops’, said he. But we didn’t care about length or height of tops, on a day like this we would carry out the planned route no matter what.
The rain and snow of yesterday had cleared the country and an overnight frost had given us a morning of cloudless sky and dazzling white, snow-covered hills and with the forecasters predicting settled conditions, we couldn’t help but be hopeful of a super walk. And we were not to be disappointed.
The clock had barely cleared the ten when we left the waterworks and took the road up through the trees to the face of the dam. Already the sun was warming and many started without jackets for the first time this year. (Indeed the hardy even considered shorts for a while.) The air felt still to us yet when we topped the dam, the water of the reservoir was rippled as the slightest of breezes stirred its surface. The photographers were disappointed that they had no reflection photos to take away, though why they could be so on a morning as nearly perfect as this is beyond most of us, but they were and the cameras stayed in the cases. However mild disappointments like this couldn’t last long on such a morning and were in lighter mood again as we took the forest road along the western side of the reservoir.
We encountered the first of the snow on this road, lying in crunchy, icy patches but knew that more, much more, lay in wait for us on the hill. And almost immediately we left the road to take a quad bike track towards the Source of the Afton, we were into it. Despite the snow – or maybe because of it – the climb to the source and the head of the pass was easy, well much easier than expected. As we gained height, the snow deepened to around boot depth but it was soft and powdery and dry, and many were the halts called to take in and photograph the scene around us. The ‘windmills’ on Windy Standard stood out white against the deep blue sky and the light on the snow was low and soft, offering many opportunities to the cameramen. While they stopped to take pictures, the rest of us stopped to watch; they had photographs but we had memories to take away. The slow pace and these frequent stops made the climb to the top of the pass as easy as we’ve had any climb and, as casually as this, we crossed the bog that is the Source of the Afton and climbed to the fence that marks the head of the pass and the county boundary. Here we had a longer halt, a halt for coffee. So far, the day had been superb.
But the time soon came to carry out the rest of the planned route. The boundary fence rises up the flank of Alhang and we had to rise with it. The climb was steeper than before, not unduly so but enough to raise the heart-rate and take away the breath. But the day was such that many view stops could be called, and many were. The hillscape opened up to us as we climbed; firstly to Windy Standard, then beyond this Moorbrock, and Beninner, and Cairnsmore of Carsphairn; then the view south-westward over the Glenkens to the distant snow-capped Cairnsmore of Fleet; to the south above the sea fog that marked the far Solway, the peaks of the Lake District fells appeared; and all sunlit under the clear blue sky. We stopped as often as new vistas presented themselves. Absolutely magnificent!
Then we found ourselves on the top of Alhang. But we also found that slight breeze that rippled the waters of the reservoir, a breeze that blew from the south-east and blew over the snow, chilling as it did so. There was no point in hanging about too long on this top in the nippy breeze so we moved on to our next two thousand foot plus objective, the top of Alwhat barely a kilometre away.
We stopped on the top of Alwhat for now a different perspective presented itself, eastwards now towards the Lowther Hills and south-eastward over the valley of the Nith, a valley that was smothered in fog, a thin grey streak in the hillscape. Then there was the Scaur Valley and the Shinnel one and the Dalwhat, and between the last two rose the hills of the Striding Arches (see 4/8/2010). Yes, there was the arch on Benbrack and further to the east and just to the side of the trees, the one on Colt Hill, all visible to the naked eye. Fantastic! We revelled in the winter-brown valleys and the snow-covered hillscape as we walked towards our next top, Meikledod Hill.
Below us now, down to the left, the waters of the reservoir lay as a deep blue splash surrounded by winter-brown grasses and olive coloured conifers rising up to meet the snow on the surrounding hills. The photographers tried hard to take away the scene in the camera. But beyond the dam, the plain of Ayrshire all but hid itself for a bank of clag hung over the low country restricting the northerly aspect to around ten miles, just enough to show Cumnock and Auchinleck. Yet through this clag could just be distinguished the snowy white mass of Ben Lomond, some ninety miles away, with an unidentifiable peak to its right – Ben More? Ben Ledi? We couldn’t be sure. What we could be sure of, though, was that the Alpine peaks rising through the clag to the west were the northern hills of Arran. Spectabulous!
As we dropped off Alwhat top there were calls for lunch. So in a wee sheltered spot between here and its subsidiary top of Brown Hill, we halted and sat down on a snowy bank for a bite of peece.
Now there were mumblings of dissension in the ranks for from our peece stop we looked over to the slopes of Black Lorg, slopes that appeared steep and long. Only Jimmy and Rex were prepared to carry out the original plan for others suggested skirting this particular top and taking a way round the side. But, no matter what route we decided to follow, we still had to cross Meikledod Hill. When we left the peece stop, the way was still downwards. We could see a scar cut across the face of Meikledod, a scar that Jimmy said was an old forest road type of track running from the Shinnel to the Kello. It would take us to the foot of the slope of Black Lorg. So, to appease the dissenters, we climbed the hill as far as the scar and turned along it to the foot of Black Lorg, missing out the top of Meikledod, but not by much.
At the foot of Black Lorg Jimmy and Rex kept the momentum going, fully expecting the rest to turn across the hillside. But Davie had had a change of heart and followed on with Ian, leaving only three to carry out the rebellion. The climb onto this top wasn’t as steep nor as long as it appeared from the peece stop but it was steep enough to take away the breath and halt all conversations. The quiet of the hill was broken only by the crunching of the snow beneath the boots and the pounding of heartbeats as the slope took its toll. But, as I said, the slope wasn’t as long as it appeared and it soon began to level onto the top. After a few minutes Rex and Jimmy were joined on our fourth top by Ian and Davie.
The views from this top were every bit as special as before and now we could look beyond Cairnsmore of Carsphairn to the high hills of Galloway, glowing just as white as the rest. For a few minutes we stood on this top just to absorb the views before we started the descent towards the lower top of Cannock Hill, a top that is surrounded by higher ones.
We lost the distant views as we dropped down the south-western slope of Black Lorg. This slope caught the afternoon sun and as the altitude dropped and the temperature rose, the snow turned increasingly wet and slippy. We slipped and slid our way down the slope to the start of the rise onto Cannock. It seemed that Rex and Jimmy were determined to rein in the dissenters and already were opening up a gap to the trailing two. The path, a pad really, skirts the top of Cannock about fifty feet from the top. The speedsters took this path. But Ian and Davie are made of stronger stuff and were determined to complete the six tops. So on to Cannock top they climbed, whooping and jeering at the other two speeding off down the northern slope of the hill.
It was all downhill from here. We lost the snow on the Cannock slope but the wet boggy slope of Craigbranneoch Rigg leading down to the reservoir was just as treacherous. Feet slid and slipped on the wet peat before we found safer ground by the dam. That’s where the rebels were caught, waiting in the afternoon sunshine for the rest to arrive. Davie and Ian, the only ones to have completed the tops, were last to arrive but compassion compelled us to wait for them; that and the fact that they had the car keys. Then we all sauntered casually back to the car park. One word to sum up the day? Excellent! Cracking! Fabulous! – take your pick for all applied today.

We found ourselves back in the Sun in Cumnock for FRT today an’ it wisnae even rainin’.

PS. Actually, the joke at the start of this account should read - A man walks into the Ashoka and asks ‘Dae ye dae take-aways?’ ‘Aye’ says the bloke behin’ the coonter. ‘Well whit’s 212 minus 87?’ - But we prefer it the way Davie tellt it.

PPS. See how many carry-outs or take-aways you can find in the above account.

19 January Glen Afton’s Four, Three, Two, or One Top

Alan, Allan, Davie, Ian, Jimmy, Johnny, Paul, Peter, Rex & Robert

Just before Christmas Robert mentioned how easily traditions become established. It seems there is now an Ooters tradition of having stovies in the Mercat in Cumnock after doing the Four Tops walk in Glen Afton. This was the case today and stovies had been booked for 3 o’clock. It was felt by some that we might be pushed for time to get back to Cumnock for three and that might go some way to explaining what happened today.
All seemed right with the world when we gathered in Jimmy’s in Cumnock for an early start. The forecast was favourable and the time for departure was set early enough. But it might have been an indication of things to come when the Kilmarnock contingent arrived to say that Alan had slept in and would be a few minutes late. We delayed departure to wait for Allan. (See us! See compassion!)
The time was approaching quarter to ten when we left the waterworks car park, taking the road we had just driven up for we were to do the walk in the traditional Ooters direction, i.e. clockwise. (‘The best and easiest direction’ say those who know these things.) So we set off back down the road we had come. Conscious of time, Jimmy pressed the pace from the start taking Johnny and Paul with him and leaving the bulk of us trailing on behind. Down beside the river we marched, down onto the floor of the glen we marched, down to the Blackcraig Farm road we marched, and still no let up from those in front. On to the farm road we turned, across the river we came, up to the farm we marched, and at last came a halt for a well earned breather.
Now we were set to tackle the upward slope on the old pony track, a track that would lift us high on Quinten Knowe, on the shoulder of Blackcraig Hill and the pace could be eased - or could it? We strode on upward, Jimmy setting the pace again and stringing the group out down the track. Allan struggled on the upslope but those in front were oblivious to his pain and kept the pace high. The glen might have opened up for us then and given us some superb views – it has done in the past from here – but there was no time to take in the views as the front men pushed on.
Thank heavens for tradition. At our usual coffee stop by the sheep fank, we halted for coffee, the struggling Allan arriving at the coo’s tail. Coffee was taken and we waited only long enough for Allan to distribute his Allsorts. Then we were off again.
The slope steepened but did the pace slacken? No! The front bunch pushed on leaving the rest panting upward in their wake. We were strung out on that track, Jimmy and company shooting on in front and the struggling Allan bringing up the rear. His only consolation as he watched the backs of the rest of us disappear into the distance, was that he had his Irvine companion for company for Johnny also found the pace too brisk on the climb.
The sky had been breaking up ever since we left the waterworks and now the winter sun shone in its full glory. As we neared the cairn on Quinten Knowe, we came into its full glare. With the speed of the walk, the steepness of the slope and the now warming sun, it was a sweaty bunch of speedsters who stopped at the cairn to wait for the strugglers.
We were to stay in the sun for the rest of the walk; well, nearly for the rest of the walk but I will come to that in due course. For the moment we were in full sun and the day was pleasant. Not that it was too pleasant for some of us though, for Allan and Johnny continued to struggle and now came the steepest part of the day. We left the old track at the county boundary fence – well, who wants to walk in Dumfriesshire anyway – and took to the open hill on the flank of Blackcraig itself. That’s where we encountered the first snow, icy snow, solid snow but snow that only lay in patches now that the thaw had worked for a fortnight. The snow was easily avoided. Jimmy did make an attempt to cross one patch but could make no impression on the concrete-like surface. Muttering something about discretion and valour, he joined the rest of us in climbing the steep grass slope to the broad level summit of Blackcraig Hill.
The views on the way up had been mainly to the east across Nithsdale but now, as we walked across the summit plateau to the trig point they turned more to the westward, to Windy Standard and Cairnsmore of Carsphairn. A blanket of fog draped the tops of these hills, shining white in the sun and looking to be rolling in our direction. Sure enough when we stopped at the trig point for a bite, the fog rolled in and we were enclosed in a world of our own on the flat top of Blackcraig Hill. Was our good day gone? It certainly seemed that way for when we were ready to move on after lunch, the clag was still with us. But it was a thin layer of fog that covered our hill blue sky showing through it some twenty feet above us, and it looked as though the sun would burn it off again fairly quickly. And it did. We walked off southward into the fog, south towards Black Lorg, dropping down the steep grass slope. Barely had we dropped off the summit when the sun made its reappearance and stayed for the rest of the day.
Thank heavens for quad bikes. The southern slope of Blackcraig is covered in deep, course hill grass, grass that clings to the boots and makes walking difficult. But the herd has used his quad bike on the hill and quad tracks flattened the grass and made an easier track for us. And the tracks continued to Black Lorg giving a route through the sea of lank grass. We followed the quad tracks, staying more or less together as a group on the down-slope to the col between the two hills.
It is not a difficult climb from the col to the top of Black Lorg but it is long and drawn out. It was ‘heads down and plod on’ time for there was nothing to take the mind off the interminable upward slog of Black Lorg. And, as the usual suspects kept the pace up, the Irvine pair fell behind again. We would wait for them on the top.
Black Lorg is one of those rounded hills that when you are at the summit, you can’t see the flanks. So we waited on top for the Irvine boys to appear over the edge of the rise. And we waited. And we waited. We waited long enough for Ian and Jimmy to walk through three counties (The county boundaries meet here) and for Rex, despite his advancing years, to be able to pee over three counties. And yet we waited. Jimmy went out as scout in one direction while Robert retraced the journey towards Blackcraig. Both returned with no sightings of the missing twosome. We had to conclude that they had skirted the top and were in front of us heading towards Cannock Hill.
With a little anxiety concerning the lost souls, we dropped off Black Lorg following the remains of a drystane dyke towards Cannock. Holly shot off in front recognizing the two red dots in the distance as the missing Irvine men. We were right; they had flanked the hill and were now away in front. They were to stay in front, missing out the other tops as well, till we caught up with them at the reservoir.
Meanwhile, we dropped off Black Lorg at a fair old rate, Jimmy still pushing the pace from the front. While Jimmy climbed to Cannock top and Peter followed, the rest of us chose to follow the Irvine two round its side. Then down off Cannock we sped, to the marsh between here and Craigbranneoch Rigg, the rise onto Steyamrie, the last top. Jimmy had already made up his mind on Blackcraig, succumbing to his dodgy knees, not to make the final climb to Steyamara. The rest of us, with two exceptions, decided enough was enough for the day and opted to join him. The two who chose to make the final climb were Paul and Davie; full credit to them.
We parted company with the peak baggers and dropped down to the side of the Afton Reservoir where we met up with Allan and Johnny. Mobile phones are wonderful things – when you can get a signal. On top of Black Lorg of Glen Afton there is no signal. Those who had been trying to contact others to let them know that they were skirting the hill couldn’t get through; those who were trying to find out where others were couldn’t get through. That’s why we waited and Allan and Johnny went their own way. Still, no harm done and we promise to show more compassion to the slow on the next walk.
We had all of twenty minutes to wait for the return of the peak baggers before motoring back to Cumnock. At 3:02 we were ensconced in the Mercat taking FRT and tucking in to Sadie’s stovies. Many thanks to Sadie for the feast and to Jimmy for organising this.

1 April Glen Afton – The Four Tops for the fourth time

The year's at the spring

And day's at the morn;

Morning's at seven;

The hillside's dew-pearled;

The lark's on the wing;

The snail's on the thorn;

God's in His heaven -

All's right with the world!
~Robert Browning

We were promised another splendid day on the hill when the sun shone early in the morning, bathing the hills in warming spring light and filling Glen Afton with cloud. It looked as though we might have a superb sunny day with a temperature inversion to look out on from the heights. We all relished the thought. But, as we gathered at Jimmy’s place in Cumnock, the cloud had gathered and the sun was gone. And when we drove into Glen Afton, the temperature inversion had gone as well. It now looked like another overcast day on the hill.
At ten minutes to ten we left the fisher’s car park in the glen and walked the mile and a bit down the road to Blackcraig Farm road-end and the old pony track for Kirkconnel. We were for Davie’s ‘Four Tops’ again. This was old ground for most, only Allan and Ian were newcomers, but it is a good walk and one worth doing again and again. And we were doing it again, for the fourth time as Ooters.





Davie set the pace down the road, and a brisk pace it was. We think it might have something to do with the new boots he was wearing for the first time today. But he assured us he would slow up when we started the climb of the old track. We accepted his assurance albeit reluctantly for we know Davie. He may well have slowed up on the climb but it was difficult to tell as he and Rex disappeared into the distance leaving the rest of us gasping in their wake. Robert in particular felt the pace on this upward section, going from the front to near the rear in a matter of minutes. And the fast two continued to set the pace until they were eventually hailed from the rear by the struggling group demanding a coffee break. They screeched to a halt at the sheep fank where we all gathered for a breather and a caffeine boost.
The landscape was beginning to open up for us and the view to the top of Glen Afton was good, even under the cloudy sky. Steyamara was the main focal point. This was pointed out to Allan as our last top of the day. Allan’s response was that now we have seen it can we go directly to the pub? His new-found love of the hills is beginning to show.
Despite the overcast sky and the coolish southerly breeze, the air by the sheep fank had the feel of spring in it. This feeling was heightened by the burbling of a whaup, heard but not seen, and the singing of the skylark above our heads. We had a very pleasant coffee break. We might have remained seated at the sheep fank for much longer but the mountaineers were eager to go.

We were to follow the old pony track for a while yet. This old Victorian pony track is now in various states of repair. From the farm to well above the sheep fank it has been gouged out by modern machinery and has been left rough and strewn with boulders. This was hard going and we were stretched out once again. But we eventually came to the old, smoother surface and this made for easier walking, especially when as the slope eased. However, we also found the first wet patches of the day. The track-side ditches are clogged up and the moss spills over the track in many places. These soggy areas were unavoidable and tested Davie’s new boots to the limit. And through this wet, we came to the summit of the track.
Now we had a view northward over the East Ayrshire farmland as far as Auchinleck. Eastward, Nithsdale was filled with the cloud we had seen in Glen Afton earlier in the morning but the hills beyond were clear - perhaps the folk of Nithsdale were getting the temperature inversion we had hoped for. And this eastern view increased in scope as we continued the walk.
We left the track to run its course towards Nithsdale and took to the hill. This was the steepest part of the day according to Jimmy. We took him at his word and trudged ever upward. Steep it might have been, but it wasn’t a long steep and it soon eased onto the broad, flat top of Blackcraig. This is an interesting top, the only rocky one in the group and extends over a considerable plateau. Rocky outcrops break the thin soil providing shelter for alpine plants. Deep hollows hide sphagnum bogs and lure the unwary into knee deep mires. We had no option but to wade through some of the shallower of these bogs to come the half mile or so across the top to the trig point that marks the highest point of the plateau.
The view was westward now. Immediately in front of us was Windy Standard. (‘So that’s what it looks like’ said those who had been on this top earlier in the year.) Behind this, Cairnsmore of Carsphairn still held a cornice of snow making it look higher than its two and a half thousand feet. Beyond this, the northern end of the Rhinns of Kells also held snow cornices. The Awful Hand range in the blue distance was patched with snow, showing Merrick at its best, and it was suggested we should go there some day. The sun shone on these western hills and it looked as though it was heading in our direction. We were hopeful.
Some wanted to lunch at the Blackcraig trig point for this was the highest point of the day but we were in a cool breeze and others suggested we wait for the next top, Blacklorg. A compromise was reached when it was suggested we ate in the col between the two tops where we might be out of the wind. Full marks must go to the advanced pair of Rex and Robert who found us a dry, sheltered spot with a view eastward over cloud-filled Nithsdale to the Lowther Hills and Tinto. We ate and rested long. It was turning into a day for long stops.

And as we sat, the sunshine arrived. It was to stay with us for the rest of the day and turn the afternoon pleasantly warm.
In terms of distance, we were more than half way through the walk but in terms of time and effort we were well through our day with the bulk of our climbing behind us. The climb from the peece stop to the top of Blacklorg was easy, well much easier than it looked, and we found ourselves on the second of our four tops standing in the spring sunshine, admiring the view, almost in three-sixty degrees now. We might have spent some time here but we have amongst us those who would rather move on. So, on it was.
Down the line of the old dry-stane dyke we went, beside the fence, through more soggy patches and came to a col between Blacklorg and Cannock Hill. There is a superb view down the glen from this col and Jimmy stopped to take a picture. He was consigned to the rear of the group thereafter for the Ooters are not known for waiting for snappers. Now came the short climb onto Cannock. Rex showed his athletic ability by running up the slope. Some wished him well in his attempt and some reminded him he was an auld man. But this burst of athleticism was only so that he could get high to the front to take a picture. Oh! How we suffer for our art! We hope the picture was worth the lung-bursting effort. Needless to say Rex was first to the top and Jimmy was last.

‘We’re making good time’, said the wise one, he of the new boots. Robert looked at the rocky stub of our last top some mile and a bit away, down and along the ridge. ‘Twenty minutes should see us there’, said he. Jimmy said, ‘A good half and hour’. We set off to test their estimates.
Robert and Alan took off like men on a mission, determined to prove the twenty minute theory. Jimmy, Allan and Ian took their time. They knew it would be half an hour. We were strung along the ridge as the fast sped on and the slow took their time and everybody else straggled somewhere in between. Who was right? Well, Alan and Rex made it in twenty with Robert a minute behind. The slow panted up six minutes later with Jimmy gasping that he hadn’t ettled on some p_p_p_person trying to set a land speed record. (These weren’t his exact words but it’s what he meant. He still reckons sensible folk would take half an hour.) We rested on the peak for a few minutes taking photographs and allowing the speedy to recover before attempting the descent through the rough grass and boulders we knew to be waiting for us.

The descent isn’t as we remembered it. A rudimentary path has been established by local hill-men and this eased the down-slope for us. Rex led the way but it was the tail-enders of Davie and Allan who saw the wildlife. A large hare sped off from under their feet making their hearts pound, as if the slope hadn’t already been doing just that.
Twenty minutes later, and fluttering hearts a bit calmer, we gathered at the dam of Glen Afton Reservoir.
The usual comments on the disgraceful state of the fountain and road weren’t made today for we were full of the joys of a good walk on the hill on a super spring day. We walked casually down the few hundred metres to the fisher’s car park.

Once again, the watering hole chosen for this area was the Mercat in Cumnock. Sadie, the good lady of the place, had promised stovies and duly obliged. While mine host, Ian, poured the refreshment, Sadie served platefuls of the warming stew. We were royally treated by the pair and all for a very reasonable cost. (There was still a smile on our treasurer’s face.) And the ale was good. There is little doubt that we will be back here

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Report by Jimmy
Photos by Jimmy, Rex, Johnnie

11 March Windy Standard, we think

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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.)

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.

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