24 November Cairn Table Once More

Alan, Allan, Davie, Ian, Jimmy, Malcolm, Paul, Peter & Robert

The weather was as you would expect for late November; a plunge of cold air from the Arctic gave us a heavy overnight frost and a bright, sunny but cold morning. It was bitingly cold when nine of us gathered at Kames car park in Muirkirk for a walk over Cairn table.
It was stated from the outset that this would be a much more relaxed outing than the yomp through the rain of last week. Anyway today had much better weather and it was a day for taking it easy.
The pace was casual as we walked up the old Sanquhar road, well wrapped up against the numbing frost. Up past the golf course clubhouse we went, up past Midhouse farm, up past the ruins of Springhill, up to McAdam’s Cairn, all without a break in the rhythm, trying to warm the blood against the frosty air. The moor was looking grand in the low sun and Jimmy (he of the fickle memory) decided he must capture the scene with the camera. Well, he might have done so had he not suddenly remembered that he’d left his camera on the passenger seat of his car. Not only that but he had left his wallet beside it, both in full view for anybody to see – silly auld bugger. So back went the somewhat abashed Jimmy, back the best part of a kilometre to retrieve the camera and secrete the wallet. He went with our usual words of encouragement ringing in his ears - ‘Have ye got yer specs oan?’ ‘Are ye sure you came in a car?’ ‘Will ye mind the wie back?’ ...............
Anyway, as Jimmy retreated, we walked on. For some reason Alan offered to carry Jimmy’s rucksack. We thought it somewhat strange but Alan was unconcerned and walked on double-loaded. Then the mischief came on us again. In Jimmy’s absence and with his rucksack in our possession, a dastardly plot was hatched. We would remove his peece-box before he arrived and watch his reaction when we stopped for lunch. Such childish antics still amuse us. Half an hour after leaving, Jimmy rejoined us where we waited at the Sanquhar Brig.
We left the old road at the Sanquhar Brig, taking the iced-up pad alongside the Garpel, kicking the cranreuch from the grassy stalks and heather. This is by far the easiest and best access to Cairn Table. The path rises gently away from the burn before climbing more steeply on the heathery flank of the hill itself. And as we rose with the path and the sun rose higher in the morning sky, so did our body temperature. The slope is steep but not too steep; it is just steep enough to make the effort hot and sweaty. And the air was cool, cold enough to catch the breath in great clouds in front of us and chill the sweat on damp skin. Yet we climbed higher, and as we climbed we caught the first stirrings of a bitterly cold northerly which added to the discomfort. It was in this state of freezing warmth that we stopped at the cairn half-way up the slope for a breather, turning our backs to the northerly.
While the rest of us had coffee while waiting at the Sanquhar Brig, Jimmy hadn’t and was determined to have one now. We waited, anticipating the fun when he discovered his peece-box to be missing. Jimmy took out his flask, poured himself a cup, rummaged through his rucksack obviously looking for something but said not a word. He is wise to us all now. Eventually his peece box was returned to him and he graciously thanked Alan for carrying it up the hill for him. So much for fun in this group!
Now with Jimmy in full possession of his belongings we walked on. The slope eased but the breeze didn’t. It continued to freeze exposed skin on one side while the sun warmed the same on the other. Yet we climbed. Peter had heard of the spring near the top and was always asking if we were near it. He was told, like all youngsters are, ‘Not yet. We’ll tell you when’. Eventually we came to the spring. ‘Nobody knows for sure where the water comes from’, said he who knows these things, ‘but it runs at the same temperature summer and winter and it’s higher than any of the surrounding hills’. He took time to say that the mineral make-up is the same as the water in Loch Katrine but drew the line at saying for sure that the water came from there. His lesson on artesian springs took a few minutes but the wind was chilling so we didn’t hang about too long. It was sad to note before we left though that the stainless steel cup that provided the thirsty with a means of drinking the water was no longer there. Another sorry comment on society.
The spring is barely twenty metres from the large cairn that acts as a war memorial and marks the summit of the hill. It was here that we settled down in the lea of the cairn and the rocky outcrops beneath it for a break in the winter sun. The view west, south and east was good. ‘You can see Wanlockhead from here’, said one, repeating a longstanding joke in the Ooters, a joke that has long since run its course but which still causes some amusement in the ranks. He who knows these things pointed out the hills from Tinto to Merrick and Arran. He might have pointed out some of the northern hills as well but none of us was prepared to leave the shelter of the cairn and face the, now fresh and bitingly cold, northerly. So we contented ourselves with fifteen minutes or so of relaxed blethers, taking in what view we had. But the itchy feet lot can’t sit too long and after quarter of an hour were champing at the bit to be off again. So off again we went.
It surprised most of us how sheltered we were behind the cairn for when we set off along the hill again, we came into the full force of the Arctic blast. Hard to believe though it is, not a lot was said for the next few minutes as it was heads down into the wind and down over the doogals towards Wee Cairn Table. We had a choice now; Davie was for doing the whole round to Glenbuck but none of the rest of us was up for that. ‘We could just go to the top of the hill there and drop down from there’, said he hopefully. None of the rest was up for that either. At Jimmy’s suggestion and much to Davie’s chagrin, we dropped down the hill beside a wee burn, the beginnings of the Crossflat Burn. Despite Davie’s dire warnings of huge doogals, deep sheughs and slimy bogs, an easy enough descent was made using what sheep-pads we could find. Eventually the myriad of sheep-pads unified into a more distinct path dropping us gently down the slope. And as we dropped the wind eased and the temperature became more comfortable. On a bank of short-cropped green grass we settled down for lunch.

We might have taken the path over the moor to Auldhouseburn Farm after lunch but the day was still young and to do this would mean an early finish. Instead, at Jimmy’s suggestion, we followed the Crossflat Burn, finding the remnants of a path to ease the way. This brought us down to the old railway that forms this section of the River Ayr Way. The Muirkirk area is a fascinating one for the industrial archaeologist. The courses of old railways criss-crossed the valley, running to long abandoned mines and works; the remains of a viaduct were noted where one of these crossed the river; the short section of the Muirkirk to Ayr canal was pointed out, a canal that was started only to be abandoned when the railways arrived; all fascinating stuff for those of us not familiar with the area. And it was with examining and discussing these industrial remains that the next hour or so back to Kames was spent. We arrived back in the walker’s car park around two, just in time to take FRT in the Coachhouse (or, as the pedants pointed out on the sign on the wall, the Coachouse)

This was another very good local walk and most were glad we didn’t take Davie’s suggestion to do the round to Glenbuck, especially Jimmy who did a couple of kilometres more than the rest of us. We wonder if he’ll remember to turn up next week?