19 August Blacksidend 4

The rain it raineth every day,
Upon the just and unjust fella,
But mainly on the just because
The unjust has the justs umbrella.
Those who take advantage of the wonderful Scottish summer by roaming great outdoors will appreciate that it’s not just the falling rain that makes you wet. The effort of a long walk or climb produce copious amounts of sweat which, under damp conditions fails to evaporate, and seeps from the skin to soak clothing from the inside. Some of the Ooters try to lessen this effect by carrying dry shirts into which they can change half way through the day, others just thole the wet. But, no matter whether you are a changer or a tholer, the result is the same, wet clothes at the end of the walk. This was a day for proving the truth of this statement.

It was already raining when we left Peter’s place in Catrine, not too heavy rain but sufficient for us all to waterproof right from the start. The intention was to walk the five miles or so to the top of Blacksidend and back though none of us showed any enthusiasm for going into the rain. Even those who hadn’t yet been on Blacksidend top were something less than keen. But, despite misgivings in some quarters, we set off into the wet, waterproofed to the eyeballs. The route chosen for the day was to follow the River Ayr Way as far as Sorn then by road to Blacksidend farm where we would take to the hill; the return was to be more or less the reverse, a route that has been described before and needs no further description here.

A shaggy grey heron flapped lazily downstream as we walked towards the Voes, an area that some hadn’t seen before and weren’t even aware of its existence. Peter would enlighten them.
The Voes looked good despite the incessant dribble and greyness of the day. Again, it was commented that this was not the kind of area you expect in Catrine, given the popular view of the town. ‘Catrine’s gone up in my estimation’, commented one of the newcomers. When Davie pointed out the swans with one cygnet, it completed what would have been an idyllic scene but for the rain.

It was still through the rain that we turned upriver to follow the River Ayr Way to Sorn. The river ran full and peaty brown from the upland soils. A few fishers cast flies into the swollen waters, ever hopeful. ‘There’s plenty in there’, said one, but as we passed they had still failed to catch any.

In the trees of the river valley, we were sheltered from any wind that blew and the air wasn’t particularly cold. The truism of the wet inside the waterproofs began to be proved. Clothes next to skin got damper and damper as the sweat of the effort failed to evaporate and it was a decidedly steamy group that stopped on top of a rise to look over the river to Sorn Castle.

The rain eased a bit as we dropped down the slope to Sorn’s auld brig; it eased but didn’t quite go away. We crossed the auld brig, came past the kirk and started the climb behind the village. What might have been a good view over the village was a washed-out, grey version of itself today so there was no reason for us to stop. We continued into the dampness.

A quartet consisting of Allan, Davie, Jimmy and Johnny set a steady pace up the road leaving the rest of us trailing on behind. When we stopped for a blether with the chap at the High Brocklar we found ourselves some four or five hundred metres behind the speedsters. But they did wait for us half a mile along the road, on the wee bridge beside the wood at Blacksidend. Why wait here? Because this is where we always stop and this is where we always have coffee. Nothing much changes in the Ooters so we had coffee, taken standing up for the ground was saturated, and rivulets ran in every wee channel. But, at least the rain has stopped for a while.

Now came a revolutionary change for Ooterdom. (What will the world come to if we start making decisions like this?) We didn’t take our usual route to the top of the hill, instead turned on the road for Blacksidend Farm taking the route suggested by Davie. The farm is empty at the moment and required investigation by those who do this kind of thing. The rest followed the quad tracks that Davie said would take us to the top.

The rain came again, heavily this time. When the explorers joined the rest of us at the gate onto the open hill, a decision had to be made - should we go on or do the sensible thing and retire. This decision was left to the Blacksidend virgins. But, in typical Ooters fashion, nobody was prepared to decide. Jimmy eventually made the decision by climbing the gate and walking off up the hill. ‘You’ll thank me for it later’, shouted he over his shoulder. We had our doubts but followed anyway. The rain went and a brightening sky followed. The cloud lifted and the hill in front of us threw off its cap. We climbed into a clearing, brightening day. And a drier breeze had sprung up. Perhaps Jimmy was right. We had hopes for the summit but hedging our bets, waterproofs were kept on.

On the top, we had a better view than we could have expected half an hour before. Though the most of the county sulked under the cloud, the sun actually shone on Muirkirk and Ochiltree. Cairn Table showed well in the east and southward the New Cumnock hills formed the horizon. No Galloway Hills today nor Arran but the coast could be seen at Heads of Ayr. Crosshouse Hospital was pointed out, as was Kilmarnock, Mauchline, Auchinleck, Cumnock and the Barnweil monument rising from its hilltop. Not at all a bad view considering the conditions.
We sat in the cairn and took lunch. It was then that the radio mast (see 16 April 2008) was seen to be missing. Even our tame radio ham didn’t know why but we feel sure that he will find out.

But the radio mast wasn’t the only thing found missing. Allan felt ill - he hasn’t quite recovered from his foreign holiday - and set off for lower ground. Johnny went with him. It was five minutes later that we noticed so did Holly. Davie’s devoted dog and faithful companion had deserted him – and for two Irvine men! ‘Bloody dug!’ exclaimed Davie and set off in pursuit. We set off after Davie.

We found the recovering Allan and his two companions at Blacksidend Farm. Another exploration of the farm was conducted with everybody joining in this time. Jimmy and Peter went off to look at a pile of nettle-bound boulders under a sycamore tree. ‘Must have been the original farm’, they announced on their return. We might have been inclined to go for a look ourselves but the rain came again and put an end to such nonsense. We were for the off again.

The rain was steady and appeared to have set in for the day so a fast return was journey was made, faster than this morning’s outward one anyway. The speedy four escaped again, keeping up the pace by High Brocklar. Holly must have thought she was in doggie heaven when she discovered the pheasants in the field and chased through the glaur into the wood after them. We couldn’t quite see what she was up to in the wood for a high beech hedge blocked our view but her squeals of delight showed she obviously enjoyed this part of the walk. But then she was called back by Davie and the fun was gone.

When we found ourselves at Brocklar, we took the road for Blindburn and down to Sorn.

By the time we reached Sorn, the rain had gone and the speedy foursome realised that the other four were way behind so stopped on one of the benches above Sorn to wait for them. After a good twenty minutes, the slow quartet still hadn’t arrived. Suspecting Peter had taken them a different route, the pacemakers walked on. (Since the scribe was in this group, he will rely on his depute to record anything of interest seen by the other during this split in the ranks though he suspects, given the weather conditions, there might not be much to report.)

Group ‘Davie’ followed the River Ayr Way. Since Holly was showing obvious signs of her chase through the glaur, Davie felt that she needed a bath. To this end, he found a stick and threw it into the river. Holly followed and retrieved it. The process was repeated until she showed black and white again. But, suddenly she was found missing again. Nobody saw her go so we had no idea which direction she went. And no amount of calling brought her back. She had abandoned her worried master once again. The stick was found on the path but the dog was nowhere to be seen. We walked on, ears and eyes searching for the missing Holly.

At the bend of the river under Daldorch a familiar looking figure stood. It was Peter. He and his group had somehow got to the front and were waiting for us here. And waiting along with them was the missing Holly.

(Group ‘Peter’ report)

Together as a group again, we wandered back to Peter’s place in Catrine where, much to our relief, soggy clothing was changed for dry. Those who don’t take advantage of the wonderful Scottish summer to explore the great outdoors wont know the shear pleasure of changing into dry gear after a day in the wet. But, the writer can assure you, the Ooters have found this pleasure many times this particular summer.

FRT was taken in Poosie Nansie’s in Mauchline, the first time many of us had been in this historic howf. It might not be the last.