Alan, Allan, Davie, Ian, Jimmy, Peter, Rex, Robert & Ronnie
A couple of years back Jimmy made the mistake of mentioning making sloe gin, a comment that resulted in some of the Ooters collecting sloes on the Scaur water walk, making their own distinctive brew and organizing a final competition tasting to see whose was best. (Is there anything that won’t result in an Ooters competition? – Ed) Anyway, the competition seems to have become an annual thing. But it is somehow fixed in the minds of the simple among us that the only place on earth to find sloes is the Scaur Water valley. So this bright autumn day following a night’s frost saw us back in Penpont for another sloe walk.
Now, in keeping with our new philosophy of doing different things or things differently, we opted to do the walk in an anticlockwise direction instead of the usual clockwise and so set off up through the village on Marrburn Road.
We stopped three times even before we had left the village. The first time was to the usual port of call for the convenience of the weak-bladdered. The second was much more interesting. The tree in the garden could be seen from some distance away virtually glowing in the sun. At first we took it to be a rowan with clusters of bright orange berries almost covering the foliage. But closer inspection showed the leaf to be wrong for a rowan; it was more ash-like. Eventually the owner came to tell us it was a sorbus, a relative of the rowan but which one she couldn’t say. She said that it was at its best this year and we had to agree that it was a fine specimen. We thanked her for her time and walked on.
A hundred yards along the road we were stopped for the third time. This time it was to examine a plaque on a cottage wall telling us that Joseph Thomson was born here on 14 February 1848. Now who this Joseph Thomson was we had no idea. It turns out that he explored much of east Africa, establishing a route from Dar es Salam to Lakes Nyasa and Tanganyika. Thomson’s gazelle is named after him. So now we know!
The way out of the village in this direction is upward. For some reason or other the road appears steeper climbing it than it does on the way down and with the pace set by those at the front, it fairly raised the breathing. On the plus side though, it meant that we got all the climbing done on the first mile or so and the pace warmed the bodies against the cool north-westerly wind. A new path was spotted climbing the hillside to the right and it was noted for future reference. But there was no real halt to examine it too carefully. The kestrel was also spotted but again there was no real halt. When Robert and Rex, setting the pace in front, mistook the road at the junction, we felt that this was the opportunity for a break. But no. Peter, kind soul, shouted them back onto the right track and they were off up the right road before the tail-enders got to the junction. There was no halt yet as the leaders pressed on. Along past the sign showing the path to the ‘Roman Bridge’, we marched. No halt to discuss possibilities in this direction. By this time tongues were hanging out for the lack of coffee. But there was still no halt.
Suddenly there was a halt. Just beyond Auchenbainzie the leaders stopped, threw off their rucksacks and sat down for coffee. They had found a spot sheltered from the north wind and thought it would be the ideal place for refreshment. It was a relief to some of us to join them.
It was the north-westerly that kept the air clear and gave us extensive views wherever these could be had. After coffee we walked on. There is a short stretch of this road where the ground slopes away to the east and you can look out over the woods of Drumlanrig, over Nithsdale to the high hills of Durisdeer and the Lowthers. Today, the hills looked clear and close but, though the pace had eased to a comfortable rate, there was still no halt for views and this had to be absorbed on the hoof. Buzzards floated on updrafts over Townhead Woods and these also had to be spotted while walking.
We turned left at Druidhall and came down towards the valley of the Scaur. Holly was in doggie heaven. Pheasants by the dozen clucked and fluttered at our approach. Now Holly found a full wood of clucking, whirring, feathery things that would join in her chasing games. Only the yelps and squeals of delight alerted us to her antics. Now the poor soul was shouted back onto the road to walk beside uninteresting humans that wouldn’t run for the chase.
By this time we were down over the Scaur and heading back down the valley. At this point we stopped to look at the hills of the upper valley – Merkland, Countnam and Cairnkinna – looking very inviting in their autumn browns and yellows under the perfectly blue October sky. A note was made to tackle the round of the upper valley ‘someday’. But today we turned or steps down towards Penpont. Hunger was calling for it was some time since breakfast and the coffee we had earlier was just that. But,
Robert did well. He found us a spot,
Where the air was quite calm and the sun was quite hot,
And the slope of the bank was scooped out like a seat,
Where we could sit down and have something to eat.
A couple of years back Jimmy made the mistake of mentioning making sloe gin, a comment that resulted in some of the Ooters collecting sloes on the Scaur water walk, making their own distinctive brew and organizing a final competition tasting to see whose was best. (Is there anything that won’t result in an Ooters competition? – Ed) Anyway, the competition seems to have become an annual thing. But it is somehow fixed in the minds of the simple among us that the only place on earth to find sloes is the Scaur Water valley. So this bright autumn day following a night’s frost saw us back in Penpont for another sloe walk.
Now, in keeping with our new philosophy of doing different things or things differently, we opted to do the walk in an anticlockwise direction instead of the usual clockwise and so set off up through the village on Marrburn Road.
We stopped three times even before we had left the village. The first time was to the usual port of call for the convenience of the weak-bladdered. The second was much more interesting. The tree in the garden could be seen from some distance away virtually glowing in the sun. At first we took it to be a rowan with clusters of bright orange berries almost covering the foliage. But closer inspection showed the leaf to be wrong for a rowan; it was more ash-like. Eventually the owner came to tell us it was a sorbus, a relative of the rowan but which one she couldn’t say. She said that it was at its best this year and we had to agree that it was a fine specimen. We thanked her for her time and walked on.
A hundred yards along the road we were stopped for the third time. This time it was to examine a plaque on a cottage wall telling us that Joseph Thomson was born here on 14 February 1848. Now who this Joseph Thomson was we had no idea. It turns out that he explored much of east Africa, establishing a route from Dar es Salam to Lakes Nyasa and Tanganyika. Thomson’s gazelle is named after him. So now we know!
The way out of the village in this direction is upward. For some reason or other the road appears steeper climbing it than it does on the way down and with the pace set by those at the front, it fairly raised the breathing. On the plus side though, it meant that we got all the climbing done on the first mile or so and the pace warmed the bodies against the cool north-westerly wind. A new path was spotted climbing the hillside to the right and it was noted for future reference. But there was no real halt to examine it too carefully. The kestrel was also spotted but again there was no real halt. When Robert and Rex, setting the pace in front, mistook the road at the junction, we felt that this was the opportunity for a break. But no. Peter, kind soul, shouted them back onto the right track and they were off up the right road before the tail-enders got to the junction. There was no halt yet as the leaders pressed on. Along past the sign showing the path to the ‘Roman Bridge’, we marched. No halt to discuss possibilities in this direction. By this time tongues were hanging out for the lack of coffee. But there was still no halt.
Suddenly there was a halt. Just beyond Auchenbainzie the leaders stopped, threw off their rucksacks and sat down for coffee. They had found a spot sheltered from the north wind and thought it would be the ideal place for refreshment. It was a relief to some of us to join them.
It was the north-westerly that kept the air clear and gave us extensive views wherever these could be had. After coffee we walked on. There is a short stretch of this road where the ground slopes away to the east and you can look out over the woods of Drumlanrig, over Nithsdale to the high hills of Durisdeer and the Lowthers. Today, the hills looked clear and close but, though the pace had eased to a comfortable rate, there was still no halt for views and this had to be absorbed on the hoof. Buzzards floated on updrafts over Townhead Woods and these also had to be spotted while walking.
We turned left at Druidhall and came down towards the valley of the Scaur. Holly was in doggie heaven. Pheasants by the dozen clucked and fluttered at our approach. Now Holly found a full wood of clucking, whirring, feathery things that would join in her chasing games. Only the yelps and squeals of delight alerted us to her antics. Now the poor soul was shouted back onto the road to walk beside uninteresting humans that wouldn’t run for the chase.
By this time we were down over the Scaur and heading back down the valley. At this point we stopped to look at the hills of the upper valley – Merkland, Countnam and Cairnkinna – looking very inviting in their autumn browns and yellows under the perfectly blue October sky. A note was made to tackle the round of the upper valley ‘someday’. But today we turned or steps down towards Penpont. Hunger was calling for it was some time since breakfast and the coffee we had earlier was just that. But,
Robert did well. He found us a spot,
Where the air was quite calm and the sun was quite hot,
And the slope of the bank was scooped out like a seat,
Where we could sit down and have something to eat.
So we stopped for lunch, not at our usual place on the bridge over the Bass Burn but on a sheltered wee bank looking down the valley.
The sun was as good as it’s going to get at this time of year and the view was good so we relaxed over lunch, taking time to take in the autumn colour. But that time came again and we moved on. Now we found out why there was such urgency on the steps of the leading bunch; Alan, Rex and Robert had brought tubs for the collecting of sloes for the sloe gin. At the first blackthorn that showed any berries they were doing the gin-makers dance – sloe, sloe pick-pick, sloe. The rest ambled on.
Eventually the berry pickers rejoined the group and we wandered back towards Penpont taking time to visit the slate sculpture - Andy Goldsworthy, I think – and the fisher’s pool in the Scaur on the way past.
It’s a good job the boys got their sloes further up the glen for the bushes where we got them last year were stripped almost bare. Anyway we look forward to sampling the produce.
This was another good day made especially so by the late October sunshine.
We repaired to The Crown in Sanquhar for FRT today and were greeted in the usual welcoming manner by the locals. It’s nice to be recognised in such a way.
Eventually the berry pickers rejoined the group and we wandered back towards Penpont taking time to visit the slate sculpture - Andy Goldsworthy, I think – and the fisher’s pool in the Scaur on the way past.
It’s a good job the boys got their sloes further up the glen for the bushes where we got them last year were stripped almost bare. Anyway we look forward to sampling the produce.
This was another good day made especially so by the late October sunshine.
We repaired to The Crown in Sanquhar for FRT today and were greeted in the usual welcoming manner by the locals. It’s nice to be recognised in such a way.
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