A few more images from the Hareshaw Hill walk

Images of the walk at Glenbuck featuring Alan, Alan McQ, Allan, Davie C, Davie McM, Gus, Hugh, Malcolm, Paul, Rex and Robert

Wednesday 4 December 2019 Glenbuck Loch and Hareshaw Hill

Ian, Iain, Malcolm, Billy, Rex, Dougie, Gus, Jimmy, Hugh, Paul and Davie Mc.

11 of us met at the new car park opposite where the famous Glenbuck Cherrypickers used to play. We spent some time looking at the boards and memorials which have been erected where the old village stood. Although the cherrypickers were only in existence for a short  time, of the total of  86 players who played for them, no fewer than 50 of them went on to play senior football both north and south of the border and 7 (not 4) were chosen to play for Scotland. An astonishing fact considering that, at its height,  Glenbuck only had a population a third of the size of Darvel.
Eventually we set off making our way back down the recently tarmac-ed road towards the loch, noticing the spring which gushes out of the hillside at the same rate no matter what the season of the year. We  circled the loch in an anti-clockwise direction, crossing over the wee brig and taking note of the old sluice gate just above it. Glenbuck Loch is a man-made loch and the sluice gate was opened at 6 pm  every evening to allow the surge of water to travel all the way downstream in time to power the big wheel at  Catrine Mill.
Davie pointed out the cottage which straddles the border between Lanarkshire and Ayrshire. The gentleman who lives there actually moved from the centre of London to enjoy the tranquil surroundings of Glenbuck Loch!  By the way he pays his cooncil tax to East Ayrshire!
Passing the cottage we proceeded along the old railway line and rounded the far end of the loch and headed for the log cabin where a coffee stop was called for and a discussion was had as to what to do next considering the weather.
Because the rain hadn't been too bad at this point we decided to climb Hareshaw Hill and make a further decision at the top. Jimmy and Iain found the steep going too much for them and soon decided to descend. The rest kept going and  before long the top was reached where we experienced very gusty conditions. With the weather now deteriorating we decided to head back down the same path to meet the other two, the descent actually being rather pleasant.
We headed back to the log cabin to have lunch inside rather than sit outside. It's gratifying to note that since its erection the cabin hasn't suffered any vandalism.
After lunch we returned to the cars stopping to admire the "artistic sculpture" and read the pseudo-intellectual pretentious codswallop on the board about the so-called "artist".
We arrived back at the cars roughly about 3 hours after setting off;  although the weather was not particularly nice, we all seemingly had enjoyed a good work-out.
FRT was taken in the Empire Bar in Muirkirk with those who had ordered the light beer complaining about how sour it tasted.
The canine member of the Ooters was missing today as she has been quite ill with nystagmus, causing extreme loss of balance and nausea.  She has hardly eaten anything for a week but is improving. She hopes to be back soon.

Some images from Glenbuck

A bench with a view.

The first bridge on the River Ayr

Just for Peter

20 February Muirkirk – Cairn Table – Glenbuck Loch - Muirkirk

Andy, Allan, Davie C, Davie Mc, Ian, Jimmy, Johnny, Paul, Peter, Rex & Robert

            Muirkirk in the eastern extremity of Ayrshire is a fascinating place; geologically, historically and archaeologically fascinating. Today we would explore some of these fascinating aspects of Muirkirk. (For an introduction to Muirkirk see Stuart Thomson’s webpage at www.freespace.virgin.net/stuart.thomson1/stpages/muirkirk)

            The town and parish of Muirkirk date back to the twelfth century when the monks of Melrose founded an outreach at Mauchline. They built a chapel of ease on the moors of that part of Ayrshire known as Kyle. This came to be known as the Muir Kirk of Kyle (Moor Church of Kyle) hence the name of the township that grew up round it. But we were not to explore this part of the parish today instead we would turn our attention to the southern part and to the top known as Cairn Table.

            Rex was late, mistaking the time of departure, but we waited patiently – well as patiently as we wait for anyone – at the walkers' car park at the ironworks institute at Kames for him coming before setting off along behind the institute to take the road signed for Sanquhar. The ironworks institute is all that remains now of the once thriving industrial centre that was eighteenth and nineteenth century Muirkirk, having been built as a recreation centre for the workers in the ironworks here. These Ironworks were established in the late eighteenth century and continued through the nineteenth and into the early twentieth. Nothing now remains of the works themselves only the institute and the place names - Ironworks Row and Furnace Road – to remind us.

The tarmac gave out after a few hundred metres but the old road continues as what was once a shooters road. This marks the old turnpike road that was built in the late eighteenth century as a short route from Glasgow to England and to take the produce of Muirkirk Ironworks to the centres where it was needed. Only the section of the turnpike north of Muirkirk is maintained as the public road to Stra’ven, the southern end having been abandoned early in the nineteenth century. It was along this southern section that we walked, waiting for Rex to catch up.

The reason we didn’t stop altogether and wait was the bitter east wind biting into exposed flesh and chilling even through layers of outdoor clothing. We wandered on slowly. We did stop eventually, in the lea of McAdam’s Cairn. This cairn marks the site of the British Tar Company’s works. The tar works was established here by the Earl of Dundonald to exploit the abundance of surface level coal around the town – coal that was suitable for tar extraction. The works were managed by, and eventually owned by, one John Loudoun McAdam who later made his name in England as a civil engineer and road builder. McAdam was a Trustee in the Cambuslang and Muirkirk Turnpike Trust that had the Sanquhar road built. He must have learnt his road building technique from James Finlayson, the engineer on the old road, a technique he was to refine in England and patent under the name macadamisation. There is nothing left of the Tarwork to remind us of its existence now only some bumps in the ground and this modern cairn.

Rex caught us up at McAdam’s cairn and we walked on. Evidence of early coal workings is dotted all over the moor here. The self-same monks who established the Muir Kirk of Kyle found coal easy to extract on this moor, the seams running close to the surface. The remains of medieval bell pits can be seen even from the old road as strange circular hollows in the ground where the old pit has collapsed and formed these weird-looking depressions. We noted some in the passing as we walked on round the Whisky Knowe – a conical mound by the side of the road in which, as legend supposes, casks of smuggled whisky are buried – and on to the Sanquhar Brig.

The old brig as no more, having been washed away on a flood of the late twentieth century but a modern footbridge takes its place and allows the pedestrian to continue the walk to Sanquhar. Our self-appointed guide for the day, Jimmy, pointed out the Minister’s Well on the other side of the burn, a green patch on the otherwise brown heather-slope and told us we could find other springs all around here, a result of some weird geology. We would be told more later.

We didn’t continue along the road to Sanquhar. We left the turnpike here and took to a path on the left-hand side to start our climb of Cairn table. Not so very far above the old road we crossed an artificial cut in the ground. This, explained our knowledgeable one, is the lade used to carry water to the tar works and the ironworks in the eighteenth century. And as our attention was drawn we could see the scar of it running across the hillside just above the track we had come along. But it wasn’t day to hang about and we set of again, upwards through the heather. Now we found the strength of the wind as well as its temperature. We kept moving.

We saw our first deer of the year as we walked above the cut and started on the hill proper. Allan hasn’t been feeling too well recently and this showed as he struggled upward. Eventually he had to call a halt and retreat. Johnny and Peter offered to keep him company and left us to climb on while they went for a lower level walk. We await a report.

The wind was chilling so the progress upward was constant. No time for hanging about getting cold. Davie Mc in his usual manner was well to the front and by the time we were half way up, he was nearly at the top. Still we plodded upwards in his wake. Near the top of Cairn Table the old red sandstone of the Devonian era outcrops. Trickling from this is another of Muirkirk’s springs. At around the 1900ft contour, it is higher than the surrounding hills. ‘An artesian spring’ announced our self-appointed guide ‘The water apparently has the same chemical constituents as Loch Katrine in the southern highlands.’ Whether it is the same water which by some freakish geology makes its way from there to here, he wasn’t convinced but this is the story that’s told about it. The spring does run at the same temperature summer and winter indicating a deep source but where the source is nobody is quite sure. Ian sampled the water and pronounced it tasting like - water! An excellent recommendation for your dram.

Another forty feet of climbing brought us to the frost-shattered boulders and native old red sandstone outcrops of the summit. The county boundary between Ayrshire and Lanarkshire crosses the summit with the highest point, a bronze-age burial cairn, being on the Lanarkshire side. Not to be outdone, the striking miners of 1926 erected a huge war memorial on the Ayrshire side. This is the cairn that can be seen from the town. Rising some twenty-odd feet above the natural level, it is now the highest point on the summit. To build it to such an excellent standard needed skilled men and equipment. These were brought to the summit in a lorry driven by a local man. How he managed this we can only guess but it was some feat of driving not one that we would relish.

On the summit we hunkered down in whatever shelter from the cold wind we could get and had a bite to eat.

After coffee we crossed into Lanarkshire, crossed the burial cairn and started our descent toward the young Douglas Water. It was on the descent that we encountered our first snow, hard as concrete and great to walk on. It wasn’t until Robert found the softer stuff and sunk up to his knees that we left the snow patches and took to a quad-bike track alongside the fence. Then, much to the irritation of some of our number Davie Mc took us along another set of tracks that he said was a better way. We all trust Davie Mc, don’t we? So we followed. And to everybody’s surprise these tracks brought us to the end of the shooters' road in the Douglas valley.

We kept to this for a while now, stopping only once for a lunch break at the bridge over the burn. As the road climbed away from the Douglas, we met a four by four pick-up bouncing down the rough track towards us. In it was a young man, a keeper on the Douglas Estate. He warned us to keep an eye out for Holly for he had just set some fox traps by the side of the road bated with choice leg of hare. We kept an eye on Holly for the duration. Good job as well for when she caught smell of the hare leg she was nearly in the trap after it. We caught her in time.

Then we crossed over from the valley of the Douglas to the valley of the infant River Ayr. The snowdrops were not quite into full flower on the high ground around Parishholm farm but there was enough there to suggest a superb show later in the spring. Then we crossed the road, climbed a fence and came to the shores of Glenbuck Loch.

Glenbuck Loch is totally man-made as can be noted from the dams at each end. It was created in the late eighteenth century to provide a constant head of water for the mills at Catrine amongst other things. Dams were constructed in the valley and the natural springs and runnels filled it up. It is now part of Glenbuck estate and is managed by Muirkirk Angling Club as a trout fishery. By its nature and situation it attracts wildlife and a hide has been built overlooking the fishery. It was in the hide that we chose to stop for another cuppa.

Glenbuck village no longer exists, the opencast mining of the area seeing to this, but a memorial to one of its greatest sons sits by the side of the road. This was of course Bill Shankly of football fame and something of a latter day saint to Liverpool supporters. It was at the instigation of the Liverpool Supporters Association with money from the opencast fund that this memorial was built. Some of our number can remember meeting with Liverpool supporters at the monument when we did this walk before. They had made a pilgrimage to Glenbuck just to see where Shankly was born and we can well remember the reverence with which they spoke about him.

 ‘Football is not a matter of life and death – it’s more important than that.’- Bill Shankly

We would now follow the River Ayr Way back to Muirkirk. Leaving Glenbuck, we came to the old railway – Ayr to Edinburgh – at the platform of Glenbuck Halt. Only some rotting sleepers holding back a bank that used to be the platform remind us that these ‘halts’ were once a common feature of country railways. But now even the railways that served these outlying communities have gone only to remain as level tracks across the open country. And the ‘halts’ are no more than grassy banks beside the track.

Not that we were in particularly ‘open’ country. No, for the first two or three miles we were in the valley of the infant Ayr, a burn that ran through the moss beside our track. There is not too much to be seen in the first two or three miles of the Way, only old railway tracks coming from long forgotten mines and quarries. The blethers of fellow Ooters were the only thing that provided amusement on this section. Then we came to the Muirkirk Canal.

In the early nineteenth century a better, more efficient way of transporting the produce of Muirkirk’s works to the customer was sought. Taking a leaf from the midlands of England, the works owners decided that if a canal could be made to the harbour at Ayr, much more could be exported at a greatly reduced cost. So began Muirkirk’s canal. It was never finished. No sooner had they started to dig than the railways arrived and the scheme was abandoned. No more than half a mile or so remains of the Muirkirk’s canal, no more than a waterlogged ditch beside the railway track.

We continued to follow the railway track back through the site of the ironworks to Kames and the waiting cars. This must be the longest walk of the year so far – around twelve miles and a hill taken in as well. Not too bad for old blokes.

Muirkirk is a fascinating place and we had just explored half of it. We look forward to exploring the northern part of the parish some other day. 

FRT was taken in our usual Muirkirk howf, The Coachhouse where an enjoyable hour or so was spent.

5 May Over Cairn Table to Glenbuck

Young Johnny reaches the age of maturity on the thirteenth of this month and in true Ooters style, we were to celebrate his coming of age – bus pass age that is. But, since holidays were in the offing, Johnny chose to celebrate early and this was his chosen day. Because of this, a short walk was the order of the day and Cairn Table at Muirkirk was the preferred destination.
It looked as though the weather gods were smiling on us today for the sun shone in a clear sky and there was a warmth to the air. But, when we gathered at Glenbuck Loch car park, thin wisps of cloud crept across the sky.
We left cars at Glenbuck and motored back to the walkers' car park at Kaimes in Muirkirk. That’s where we felt the first stirrings of a breeze, but it was a mild breeze and we walked on ignoring it.
The old Sanquhar road was taken, not because we always go this way but because this is the best approach to the hill. The road is level and firm and the walking was easy. The moor was alive with birdsong; a whaup burbled in the distance, pipits ‘pipped’ in the heather and skylark sang overhead, invisible to us. But the naturalist was hopeful of better and carried his binoculars just in case. Up past Springhill we went, where John Loudoun McAdam once lived, up past McAdam’s Cairn marking the spot where McAdam’s British Tar Company had their works, and past the Whisky Knowe where barrels of whisky are reputedly buried. A sandpiper piped its way up the Garpel as we approached the Sanquhar Brig but this was the last wildlife we were to see until Glenbuck.
At the Sanquhar Brig there was a split in the ranks. The leading group swung off the main way to follow the newish section to a ford in the burn. Jimmy, Peter and Ronnie went to examine the brig. ‘The Caul’ Watter Spoot’s just ower there’, said Jimmy rattling the words off machine-gun-like. ‘Whit?’ asked Ronnie with a note of incomprehension. ‘The Coeld Woter Spout’, said Jimmy in his best Home Counties accent. Ronnie was relieved; he thought it was some sado-masochistic thing. But then, what else could we expect from a psychologist.
Meanwhile, the rest, having discovered the absence of the three, waited on the footpath by the Tar works Lade. That’s when we saw the trio crawling round the river bank, clambering over the heather and sliding on the bare earth. They had attempted to follow the old footpath only to discover that it had been washed away and ended up clambering round a landslip. Robert’s comment was right - silly auld buggers.
Re-united now, we followed the path through the heather. Despite some grubby sections, the path was surprisingly dry and progress to the foot of the steeper rise was swift. The heathery flank of Cairn Table though steeper, isn’t unduly so but it did separate the men from the boys.
Somewhere up the slope a thin cloud crept in and the sun disappeared. So did the bonhomie of the group. Davie and Rex - who else? - set a fair old pace on the climb. They were followed by Jimmy and Alan and Robert and Ronnie and Paul. Peter, Johnny and Allan brought up the rear, watching the rest disappear into the distance. There came a shout from the tail-enders for a stop. But Davie – who else? – said ‘We’ll stop for coffee just up here’, and walked on, the rest following. Judging by the abuse hurled in the direction of the leaders we don’t think that this action was appreciated by the trailers but we walked on regardless. ‘Just up here’ proved to be three hundred yards further up the flank of the hill. At the cairn where we always stop, we stopped for coffee and to let the rest catch up. When they did, there was dissension from two. Peter and Johnny, with an air of ‘We’ll show you, you sods’, walked on past and on up the hill throwing various comments at the leaders. Allan on the other hand, just happy to have somewhere to relieve his burning legs and lungs, collapsed in a crumpled heap beside the rest.
Whether Allan took in the view from the coffee stop was difficult to say but the rest of us did. From the Glen Afton hills through the high Galloways to the pale blue lump that might have been Ben Lomond in the north, the panorama wasn’t as good as it might have been. A dusty atmosphere hid Arran though the Ayrshire coast was clear. And the Highland line was shown only as a pale blue smudge rising to the lump of The Ben. But various Ayrshire landmarks could be identified so the view occupied the attention during coffee.
It was a short coffee stop for we wanted to catch the dissenters. So upward we plodded, Davie and Rex setting the pace again and the rest strung out down the slope. A brief, very brief, stop was had at the spring near the summit to test the water and catch the breath. This spring is a conundrum. It is situated just off the summit of the hill, higher than any of the surrounding landscape and flows at a constant temperature summer and winter, an indication of the complex geology of the Muirkirk area. It is reputed to have the same chemical make-up as Loch Katrine in the Trossachs, but this is more than fifty miles away. But even if it doesn’t come from this source, how it gets as high is a mystery. No doubt somebody at sometime will resolve the mystery but to us, a mystery it remains.
From the spring it was a short fifty foot climb to the summit where we found the rebel two ensconce in the shelter of the cairn having their own coffee. We sat down to join them.
The view to the east and south was open to us then. Tinto looked good with the sun still lighting it. From here through the Culter Hills, the Moffat hills and the Lowthers to the high Galloways, the panorama was extensive even if a bit on the hazy side and points of identification indicated by those who know. A pale grey-blue patch on the southern horizon showed where Criffel stood above the Solway. ‘Can you see Wanlockhead from here?’ asked a mischievous Paul alluding to a previous dispute on the subject. We could. But Allan’s inquiry about the number of lochs was completely lost on Davie in his own quiet world by the side of the War Memorial.
We sat for quite a while on the summit. But tempus fugit; so must we. So, with bodies recovered and esprit-de-corps restored, we set off downward, into Lanarkshire.
We could see the road we were heading for, a forest type road some half mile away, running down the valley of the infant Douglas Water. But between us and it lay a rough trackless slope of doogals. According to the Porter-Johnstone categorisation of Doogals, these were hairy but they were only grade three and were on our down-slope so presented little problem. We strode down the slope to find the end of our road.
This road was to take us nearly to the end of the walk at Glenbuck Loch. But before that lunch had to be taken. Where the road crossed the infant Douglas, we sat for the peece. We sat on the end of the brig – no more than two concrete pipes with the road laid on top – and dangled our legs over the edge. Though the water is still small here, at this side of the brig was a deepish pool, a pool that we thought Holly would enjoy. To entice her into the water, some started to throw small stones. Whether by accident or design, these stones with their accompanying splashes crept closer and closer to us spraying the legs with water. Retaliation was the order of the day. Eventually, Alan, with Hiroshima style overkill, lifted a boulder and heaved it into the pool. The resultant explosion sent a mushroom of water in the direction of Rex and Jimmy, drenching them from the knees down – particularly Jimmy. Since this blog might be read by those of a sensitive disposition, it is best not to write exactly what Jimmy said to this. Suffice to say that he wasn’t best please and swears (appropriate word) vengeance. Beware Alan. But like Hiroshima, this brought an end to our particular war and, with our infantile antics over, we walked on.
The sun made reappearance as we left the brig and followed the road down the waterside.
After a bit, the road left the side of the Douglas and climbed high on its valley side. At one time there was a breeding programme for Red-legged Partridge here but the birds seem to have disappeared now. Not so their pens. We passed one and the stench of rotting flesh hit us. Dead sheep, possibly casualties of the severe winter, were laid out in it. The smell rather than the sight caused a quickening of the pace. Or perhaps this quickening was due to the road for we were now on the down-slope, heading for Parish Holm. Whatever the cause, we found ourselves at parish Holm in good time.
Now there was only a short mile of level walking along the loch side to our destination. An angler stood on a boat in the water too busy returning his catch to the water to notice us passing on the bank. Perhaps Holly splashing into the water might have drawn his attention but he never acknowledged our presence as we walked round to the bird hide.
The new-comers were impressed by the hide; not only by the quality of construction but the fact that it has remained un-vandalised for so long. We sat in the hide for a few minutes while Davie plunked oranges seeds at all and sundry. He was lucky, on a day such as this, that he didn’t find himself up to the neck in loch water. But he didn’t and we all arrived back at the cars dry, even Jimmy and Rex had dried by this time.

This is turning into a favourite walk of ours. And to finish of another good day we took FRT in the Coachhouse in Muirkirk.

Later that evening we met again – this time joined by Ian – in the Rupee Room in Ayr for Johnny’s birthday do. After the meal we went over to the Wellington for the pub quiz. Result: Them 32, Us 30. Fluky @@@@@@s.

13 February Cairn Table and Glenbuck Loch

St Valentine’s Summer arrived early this year, starting on the ninth of the month, but it continued at least until today. When six of us - Alan, Davie, Jimmy, Johnny, Paul and Rex - gathered at the Institute at Muirkirk the sun was already warming the air after the frost of the night. Despite this frost, Jimmy felt it necessary to don gaiters for he knew the way ahead to be boggy. Davie, on the other hand, knew the frost would have hardened the ground and dried it out. Jimmy was mocked. Incessantly.

We walked southward along the old Sanquhar road, into the spring-like sun. The frost had cleared and only a thin crust of ice lay in the puddles. So the way ahead would be mucky after all? The going was easy now, the crack was good - Alan recalled shooting the white hares here. No wonder there’s none left now - and the Sanquhar bridge was reached without effort. Then came the hard and mucky bit. The old road was left and the path through the heather to the west shoulder of Cairn Table was taken. Davie was right. The frost had dried the ground sufficiently and any squelchy bits were easily avoided. Jimmy was mocked.

The slope steepened and we climbed through increasingly stunted heather on the dry flank of the hill. Elevenses were called and we halted at a cairn somewhat more than half-way to the summit. The view had been increasing in compass as we climbed and at coffee it was checked out. It was mainly to the west, down the valley of the Ayr to the coast. The peaks of Arran just showed above a clag hanging over the sea - ‘Polution’, said someone. ‘Atmospheric fog’, said Paul, ‘caused by the cold air meeting the warm water’. (Paul knows things.) Snow still lay in stripes on the New Cumnock and Galloway hills to let us know that it was still February despite the unseasonal warming of the day. We were now on the dry shoulder of the hill, the thin, dry peat overlying porous sandstone. Jimmy was mocked.

The climb to the summit was easy. The spring near the top was examined and an attempt at repair was made for the pipe was loose. But this was less than successful and the pipe stayed loose. Some time was spent on the top of the hill for this was a day to tarry there. The view was extensive. From Ben More in the north, through Arran (showing more clearly as the sea fog burned off) in the west, the Galloway hills and the Lowthers in the south to the Culter hills and Tinto in the east it was limited only by the horizon. Cameras clicked constantly.


The descent was made on the east side of the hill for we could see the estate road that would take us to Glenbuck lying below us. At first the going was good, through the stunted heather. Some crystalline snow was found lying in dirty patches and Jimmy delighted in tramping through it - he had gaiters on. Then the short heather gave way to tussocks of rank grasses and the going got harder. Wet patches and sphagnum bogs were encountered. Jimmy took these in his stride - he had gaiters on - while some of the rest had to pick their way carefully. The group split into two, Jimmy and Rex and Paul (not forgetting Holly) forming the advanced group. The sluggards were waited for near the end of the estate road. Jimmy was not mocked again.

This road took us eastward yet. Lunch was taken where the road crossed the infant Douglas Water. The temperature rose. Davie, who is known for his short legged attire, regretted not wearing the shorts today. Jimmy stripped off his gaiters, unzipped the legs of his trousers and walked in shorts and T-shirt for the rest of the day. The road lead on. ‘Downward all the way’, said Davie. Alan would like it noted that there were at least two mountainous climbs on this downward journey. On the second of these climbs we disturbed an early butterfly but it was against the light and was difficult to identify. It might have been a small tortoiseshell. Eventually the road took us to Parish Holm Johnny, looking over the drystane dyke asked, ‘Is that the lake?’. As one, Jimmy and Paul (our token Englishman) exclaimed ‘LOCH!’. And Johnny’s an Irvine man. A great drift of snowdrops nodded in the spring-like sun at our passing from Parish Holm to Glenbuck Loch.

The east dam of the loch provided another rest in the sun while Holly swam and chased sticks in the water. A flock of oystercatcher sported above the loch and some golden eye floated on the water but, apart from a young mute swan, nothing else could be spotted as we walked round the loch to the bird hide. Again some rest was had for it was a day for such things. The River Ayr Way was picked up here and followed back towards Muirkirk. Davie commented on, criticised and condemned the block of zinc coloured metal purporting to be art that marks the start of the Way.

The long walk on the straight of the old railway was just that for this is a particularly uninteresting bit of countryside. Davie, Jimmy and Rex remembered this part from the last time we did this walk but, try as we might, we could not convince Johnny that he was part of the group that day. It must be his age. The overly dressed stopped to take on water and cool down. Jimmy was perfectly dressed for the conditions. Did he mock? No, he remembered the old proverb, ‘He who laughs last gets a smack in the mouth’, so kept his shut.

The pace was upped at Auldhouseburn road as the infantile jockeyed for position for the final sprint. It was good to note that no matter how fast Paul set the pace, the group stayed intact, a comment on the general fitness of us all now. Enough energy had been preserved for Paul, Jimmy and Johnny to attempt a run to the finish. Paul won. The *@***#!

We pinted that day in the eighteenth century Coach-house Inn in Muirkirk.

PS These jottings are a personal recollection of the day. If there are any anecdotes that you would like included plese tell me.