(photo taken 30/11/2009 as the sun was sinking)The view from Loudoun Hill wasn’t as nearly as impressive today as it has been on previous visits, the overcast sky and the damp conditions cutting the distance to a few miles. Still, it was good enough for a view westward down the Irvine Valley to the flatter ground around Killie, northward over the Darvel Moor to the wind farm of Whitelees and eastward to Drumclog and Strathaven. In the south, Blacksidend and Wedder Hill filled most of the skyline with Cairntable at Muirkirk forming the rest. But there were no Afton Hills, Arran or the southern Highland hills today. Yet, we enjoyed our time on the top, resting in the lea of a rocky outcrop, taking a bite of peece and taking in what landscape was shown to us.
We had come to the hill by the south side of the Irvine valley, leaving Davie’s in Darvel around nine thirty. Nine of us gathered at Davie’s before taking to the road in light-hearted mood. Already Jimmy was getting it in the neck from all directions for his newfound sartorial elegance.
‘Ooh, new trousers!’
‘Nah! Old trousers, just that you haven’t seen them before’.
‘New shirt?’
‘Nah! Same reason’
‘New stick?’
‘Well, I have got a sair knee’
‘New Grandpa bunnet’
He had to concede there. Walking stick, Grandpa bunnet, it seems Jimmy is turning into an auld man and he took some stick for it. It was suggested the pipe and slippers would come next. And all this before we’d even left Darvel.
We did leave the town shortly after leaving Davie’s, crossed the bridge to the south side of the river and took the road eastward toward the top of the valley.
The walk up the south side of the valley is interesting for the variety of terrain and scenery. We started off on a road beside a wood, climbing above and away from the river to the new house at Bankhouse. Compassion is the new watchword of the Ooters and compassion was felt for Jimmy who hobbled on the climb. ‘You’d be better with twa sticks’ was the consensus. ‘Then we could call you Two Sticks Jimmy’, said Bob. There ended the compassion. Two Sticks Jimmy hobbled on.
Then a track through the open fields brought us down to Greenside and a wee bridge over the Gower Water. We turned into the burn-side trees at the bridge and came along a path beside the burn to find tarmac again after a few hundred metres. This brought us to the farm of Bransfield. Turning right here, we followed tarmac to the Mason’s Brig. Davie, he with the local knowledge, was asked why the Masonic compass and square were carved into the parapet. We were disappointed. He didn’t have an answer, not even a made up one. And we like a good story whether true or not.
The tarmac climbed away from the bridge. Did I say Two Sticks hobbled? There he was, at the front on the climb, setting the pace with Robert and Davie. And a fair old pace they set. At least they had the ‘compassion’ to wait on the high ground at Loanfoot for the rest of us to catch up. Now Loudoun Hill looked impressive, showing its rugged face to us. And we walked on towards it from Loanfoot; on by the Long Cairn and the footbridge over the Gower again; over the high grazing of Parbeth and nearer to the craggy face of the hill.
(the Spirit of Scotland monument by Richard Price, taken on 9/2/2009)
We stopped before the hill, at the Spirit of Scotland monument placed under the hill to commemorate both Wallace’s and Bruce’s victories here in Scotland’s struggle for independence, for the sculpture just had to be inspected and admired. We looked at the monument with different eyes. The artists admired the concept and construction. The historian picked out the historical meanings of the carvings. The poets recognised the patriotic words of Scott, Burns and Blin’ Harry.
‘At Wallace’s name what Scottish blood,
But boils up in spring-like flood?’
Our tame Englishman said very little.
Whatever way we looked at it, the monument is an outstanding piece of work and very appropriate to its surroundings. We spent a few minutes here but then took to the hill itself.
The lame one was asked if he wanted to climb the hill or go round the side. Allan was relieved when he opted for the top even slower o the climbs than he was. The two were kept company by Johnny while the rest walked on, halted until they caught up, and then walked on again. This happened more than once, ‘compassion’ coming to the fore again. Some opted for the quick, steep ascent while those with more sense (or sair knees) chose the longer route. But, whichever route was chosen, we all reached the top, sat down in the lea of a rocky outcrop, took a bite of peece and took in what landscape was shown to us.
The descent was by the easier, grassy northwestern slope and through the beeches there. If it was Jimmy’s turn to be the butt of the comments on the way towards the hill, it was Davie’s turn now. He had warned us that the slope would be slippy. When we reached a rocky step, he compounded his error by announcing that the ground was slippy here. And it was. So it was further down and the general cry went up, ‘Watch out, slippy bit!’ ‘Slippy bits’, were now announced to Davie on a regular basis as the walk progressed, particularly when we gained the old railway and styles separated fields. Thus began the McGarry scale of slipperiness.
Each style was given a numerical grading by Robert according to slipperiness. A level one is just a slight ‘oops’ as a foot slips an inch or so; level ten is a complete down on the a*** job. The rest are somewhere in between and yet to be defined but we did get level four shouted at us as he made his way over another. And it was by climbing styles of different degrees of slippiness and avoiding mucky sections where the cows had been, that we made our way back along the old railway towards Darvel.
We did stop once, ‘compassion’ coming on us once more. For some reason Johnny struggled and we waited compassionately for him to catch up. And we waited compassionately for him to recover. Then we walked on.
We came back to Darvel, turned down the side of the Glen Water and came back to Davie’s around two having had another pleasant walk in the Valley. Then it was over to the Black Bull for FRT.
We had come to the hill by the south side of the Irvine valley, leaving Davie’s in Darvel around nine thirty. Nine of us gathered at Davie’s before taking to the road in light-hearted mood. Already Jimmy was getting it in the neck from all directions for his newfound sartorial elegance.
‘Ooh, new trousers!’
‘Nah! Old trousers, just that you haven’t seen them before’.
‘New shirt?’
‘Nah! Same reason’
‘New stick?’
‘Well, I have got a sair knee’
‘New Grandpa bunnet’
He had to concede there. Walking stick, Grandpa bunnet, it seems Jimmy is turning into an auld man and he took some stick for it. It was suggested the pipe and slippers would come next. And all this before we’d even left Darvel.
We did leave the town shortly after leaving Davie’s, crossed the bridge to the south side of the river and took the road eastward toward the top of the valley.
The walk up the south side of the valley is interesting for the variety of terrain and scenery. We started off on a road beside a wood, climbing above and away from the river to the new house at Bankhouse. Compassion is the new watchword of the Ooters and compassion was felt for Jimmy who hobbled on the climb. ‘You’d be better with twa sticks’ was the consensus. ‘Then we could call you Two Sticks Jimmy’, said Bob. There ended the compassion. Two Sticks Jimmy hobbled on.
Then a track through the open fields brought us down to Greenside and a wee bridge over the Gower Water. We turned into the burn-side trees at the bridge and came along a path beside the burn to find tarmac again after a few hundred metres. This brought us to the farm of Bransfield. Turning right here, we followed tarmac to the Mason’s Brig. Davie, he with the local knowledge, was asked why the Masonic compass and square were carved into the parapet. We were disappointed. He didn’t have an answer, not even a made up one. And we like a good story whether true or not.
The tarmac climbed away from the bridge. Did I say Two Sticks hobbled? There he was, at the front on the climb, setting the pace with Robert and Davie. And a fair old pace they set. At least they had the ‘compassion’ to wait on the high ground at Loanfoot for the rest of us to catch up. Now Loudoun Hill looked impressive, showing its rugged face to us. And we walked on towards it from Loanfoot; on by the Long Cairn and the footbridge over the Gower again; over the high grazing of Parbeth and nearer to the craggy face of the hill.
(the Spirit of Scotland monument by Richard Price, taken on 9/2/2009)We stopped before the hill, at the Spirit of Scotland monument placed under the hill to commemorate both Wallace’s and Bruce’s victories here in Scotland’s struggle for independence, for the sculpture just had to be inspected and admired. We looked at the monument with different eyes. The artists admired the concept and construction. The historian picked out the historical meanings of the carvings. The poets recognised the patriotic words of Scott, Burns and Blin’ Harry.
‘At Wallace’s name what Scottish blood,
But boils up in spring-like flood?’
Our tame Englishman said very little.
Whatever way we looked at it, the monument is an outstanding piece of work and very appropriate to its surroundings. We spent a few minutes here but then took to the hill itself.
The lame one was asked if he wanted to climb the hill or go round the side. Allan was relieved when he opted for the top even slower o the climbs than he was. The two were kept company by Johnny while the rest walked on, halted until they caught up, and then walked on again. This happened more than once, ‘compassion’ coming to the fore again. Some opted for the quick, steep ascent while those with more sense (or sair knees) chose the longer route. But, whichever route was chosen, we all reached the top, sat down in the lea of a rocky outcrop, took a bite of peece and took in what landscape was shown to us.
The descent was by the easier, grassy northwestern slope and through the beeches there. If it was Jimmy’s turn to be the butt of the comments on the way towards the hill, it was Davie’s turn now. He had warned us that the slope would be slippy. When we reached a rocky step, he compounded his error by announcing that the ground was slippy here. And it was. So it was further down and the general cry went up, ‘Watch out, slippy bit!’ ‘Slippy bits’, were now announced to Davie on a regular basis as the walk progressed, particularly when we gained the old railway and styles separated fields. Thus began the McGarry scale of slipperiness.
Each style was given a numerical grading by Robert according to slipperiness. A level one is just a slight ‘oops’ as a foot slips an inch or so; level ten is a complete down on the a*** job. The rest are somewhere in between and yet to be defined but we did get level four shouted at us as he made his way over another. And it was by climbing styles of different degrees of slippiness and avoiding mucky sections where the cows had been, that we made our way back along the old railway towards Darvel.
We did stop once, ‘compassion’ coming on us once more. For some reason Johnny struggled and we waited compassionately for him to catch up. And we waited compassionately for him to recover. Then we walked on.
We came back to Darvel, turned down the side of the Glen Water and came back to Davie’s around two having had another pleasant walk in the Valley. Then it was over to the Black Bull for FRT.
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