Alan, Allan, Davie, Ian, Jimmy, Johnny & Rex
It has been suggested that the scribe should inject some humour into his scribblings, so here goes. A man walks into the Ashoka and asks ‘Dae ye dae cairy-oots?’ ‘Aye’ says the bloke behin’ the coonter. ‘Well whit’s 212 minus 87?’
Now that the humour’s out of the way, I will get on with the narrative. Today’s walk started and ended at the waterworks in Glen Afton so, even though we strayed a wee bit from the Glen, this walk will be called Glen Afton’s Five Tops (not to be confused with Glen Afton’s Four Tops of 19/01/2011 et al.) Rex had come prepared with the route draw out on his map. ‘It’s thirteen kilometres over four two-thousand plus tops’, said he. But we didn’t care about length or height of tops, on a day like this we would carry out the planned route no matter what.
The rain and snow of yesterday had cleared the country and an overnight frost had given us a morning of cloudless sky and dazzling white, snow-covered hills and with the forecasters predicting settled conditions, we couldn’t help but be hopeful of a super walk. And we were not to be disappointed.
The clock had barely cleared the ten when we left the waterworks and took the road up through the trees to the face of the dam. Already the sun was warming and many started without jackets for the first time this year. (Indeed the hardy even considered shorts for a while.) The air felt still to us yet when we topped the dam, the water of the reservoir was rippled as the slightest of breezes stirred its surface. The photographers were disappointed that they had no reflection photos to take away, though why they could be so on a morning as nearly perfect as this is beyond most of us, but they were and the cameras stayed in the cases. However mild disappointments like this couldn’t last long on such a morning and were in lighter mood again as we took the forest road along the western side of the reservoir.
We encountered the first of the snow on this road, lying in crunchy, icy patches but knew that more, much more, lay in wait for us on the hill. And almost immediately we left the road to take a quad bike track towards the Source of the Afton, we were into it. Despite the snow – or maybe because of it – the climb to the source and the head of the pass was easy, well much easier than expected. As we gained height, the snow deepened to around boot depth but it was soft and powdery and dry, and many were the halts called to take in and photograph the scene around us. The ‘windmills’ on Windy Standard stood out white against the deep blue sky and the light on the snow was low and soft, offering many opportunities to the cameramen. While they stopped to take pictures, the rest of us stopped to watch; they had photographs but we had memories to take away. The slow pace and these frequent stops made the climb to the top of the pass as easy as we’ve had any climb and, as casually as this, we crossed the bog that is the Source of the Afton and climbed to the fence that marks the head of the pass and the county boundary. Here we had a longer halt, a halt for coffee. So far, the day had been superb.
But the time soon came to carry out the rest of the planned route. The boundary fence rises up the flank of Alhang and we had to rise with it. The climb was steeper than before, not unduly so but enough to raise the heart-rate and take away the breath. But the day was such that many view stops could be called, and many were. The hillscape opened up to us as we climbed; firstly to Windy Standard, then beyond this Moorbrock, and Beninner, and Cairnsmore of Carsphairn; then the view south-westward over the Glenkens to the distant snow-capped Cairnsmore of Fleet; to the south above the sea fog that marked the far Solway, the peaks of the Lake District fells appeared; and all sunlit under the clear blue sky. We stopped as often as new vistas presented themselves. Absolutely magnificent!
Then we found ourselves on the top of Alhang. But we also found that slight breeze that rippled the waters of the reservoir, a breeze that blew from the south-east and blew over the snow, chilling as it did so. There was no point in hanging about too long on this top in the nippy breeze so we moved on to our next two thousand foot plus objective, the top of Alwhat barely a kilometre away.
We stopped on the top of Alwhat for now a different perspective presented itself, eastwards now towards the Lowther Hills and south-eastward over the valley of the Nith, a valley that was smothered in fog, a thin grey streak in the hillscape. Then there was the Scaur Valley and the Shinnel one and the Dalwhat, and between the last two rose the hills of the Striding Arches (see 4/8/2010). Yes, there was the arch on Benbrack and further to the east and just to the side of the trees, the one on Colt Hill, all visible to the naked eye. Fantastic! We revelled in the winter-brown valleys and the snow-covered hillscape as we walked towards our next top, Meikledod Hill.
Below us now, down to the left, the waters of the reservoir lay as a deep blue splash surrounded by winter-brown grasses and olive coloured conifers rising up to meet the snow on the surrounding hills. The photographers tried hard to take away the scene in the camera. But beyond the dam, the plain of Ayrshire all but hid itself for a bank of clag hung over the low country restricting the northerly aspect to around ten miles, just enough to show Cumnock and Auchinleck. Yet through this clag could just be distinguished the snowy white mass of Ben Lomond, some ninety miles away, with an unidentifiable peak to its right – Ben More? Ben Ledi? We couldn’t be sure. What we could be sure of, though, was that the Alpine peaks rising through the clag to the west were the northern hills of Arran. Spectabulous!
As we dropped off Alwhat top there were calls for lunch. So in a wee sheltered spot between here and its subsidiary top of Brown Hill, we halted and sat down on a snowy bank for a bite of peece.
Now there were mumblings of dissension in the ranks for from our peece stop we looked over to the slopes of Black Lorg, slopes that appeared steep and long. Only Jimmy and Rex were prepared to carry out the original plan for others suggested skirting this particular top and taking a way round the side. But, no matter what route we decided to follow, we still had to cross Meikledod Hill. When we left the peece stop, the way was still downwards. We could see a scar cut across the face of Meikledod, a scar that Jimmy said was an old forest road type of track running from the Shinnel to the Kello. It would take us to the foot of the slope of Black Lorg. So, to appease the dissenters, we climbed the hill as far as the scar and turned along it to the foot of Black Lorg, missing out the top of Meikledod, but not by much.
At the foot of Black Lorg Jimmy and Rex kept the momentum going, fully expecting the rest to turn across the hillside. But Davie had had a change of heart and followed on with Ian, leaving only three to carry out the rebellion. The climb onto this top wasn’t as steep nor as long as it appeared from the peece stop but it was steep enough to take away the breath and halt all conversations. The quiet of the hill was broken only by the crunching of the snow beneath the boots and the pounding of heartbeats as the slope took its toll. But, as I said, the slope wasn’t as long as it appeared and it soon began to level onto the top. After a few minutes Rex and Jimmy were joined on our fourth top by Ian and Davie.
The views from this top were every bit as special as before and now we could look beyond Cairnsmore of Carsphairn to the high hills of Galloway, glowing just as white as the rest. For a few minutes we stood on this top just to absorb the views before we started the descent towards the lower top of Cannock Hill, a top that is surrounded by higher ones.
We lost the distant views as we dropped down the south-western slope of Black Lorg. This slope caught the afternoon sun and as the altitude dropped and the temperature rose, the snow turned increasingly wet and slippy. We slipped and slid our way down the slope to the start of the rise onto Cannock. It seemed that Rex and Jimmy were determined to rein in the dissenters and already were opening up a gap to the trailing two. The path, a pad really, skirts the top of Cannock about fifty feet from the top. The speedsters took this path. But Ian and Davie are made of stronger stuff and were determined to complete the six tops. So on to Cannock top they climbed, whooping and jeering at the other two speeding off down the northern slope of the hill.
It was all downhill from here. We lost the snow on the Cannock slope but the wet boggy slope of Craigbranneoch Rigg leading down to the reservoir was just as treacherous. Feet slid and slipped on the wet peat before we found safer ground by the dam. That’s where the rebels were caught, waiting in the afternoon sunshine for the rest to arrive. Davie and Ian, the only ones to have completed the tops, were last to arrive but compassion compelled us to wait for them; that and the fact that they had the car keys. Then we all sauntered casually back to the car park. One word to sum up the day? Excellent! Cracking! Fabulous! – take your pick for all applied today.
We found ourselves back in the Sun in Cumnock for FRT today an’ it wisnae even rainin’.
PS. Actually, the joke at the start of this account should read - A man walks into the Ashoka and asks ‘Dae ye dae take-aways?’ ‘Aye’ says the bloke behin’ the coonter. ‘Well whit’s 212 minus 87?’ - But we prefer it the way Davie tellt it.
PPS. See how many carry-outs or take-aways you can find in the above account.
It has been suggested that the scribe should inject some humour into his scribblings, so here goes. A man walks into the Ashoka and asks ‘Dae ye dae cairy-oots?’ ‘Aye’ says the bloke behin’ the coonter. ‘Well whit’s 212 minus 87?’
Now that the humour’s out of the way, I will get on with the narrative. Today’s walk started and ended at the waterworks in Glen Afton so, even though we strayed a wee bit from the Glen, this walk will be called Glen Afton’s Five Tops (not to be confused with Glen Afton’s Four Tops of 19/01/2011 et al.) Rex had come prepared with the route draw out on his map. ‘It’s thirteen kilometres over four two-thousand plus tops’, said he. But we didn’t care about length or height of tops, on a day like this we would carry out the planned route no matter what.
The rain and snow of yesterday had cleared the country and an overnight frost had given us a morning of cloudless sky and dazzling white, snow-covered hills and with the forecasters predicting settled conditions, we couldn’t help but be hopeful of a super walk. And we were not to be disappointed.
The clock had barely cleared the ten when we left the waterworks and took the road up through the trees to the face of the dam. Already the sun was warming and many started without jackets for the first time this year. (Indeed the hardy even considered shorts for a while.) The air felt still to us yet when we topped the dam, the water of the reservoir was rippled as the slightest of breezes stirred its surface. The photographers were disappointed that they had no reflection photos to take away, though why they could be so on a morning as nearly perfect as this is beyond most of us, but they were and the cameras stayed in the cases. However mild disappointments like this couldn’t last long on such a morning and were in lighter mood again as we took the forest road along the western side of the reservoir.
We encountered the first of the snow on this road, lying in crunchy, icy patches but knew that more, much more, lay in wait for us on the hill. And almost immediately we left the road to take a quad bike track towards the Source of the Afton, we were into it. Despite the snow – or maybe because of it – the climb to the source and the head of the pass was easy, well much easier than expected. As we gained height, the snow deepened to around boot depth but it was soft and powdery and dry, and many were the halts called to take in and photograph the scene around us. The ‘windmills’ on Windy Standard stood out white against the deep blue sky and the light on the snow was low and soft, offering many opportunities to the cameramen. While they stopped to take pictures, the rest of us stopped to watch; they had photographs but we had memories to take away. The slow pace and these frequent stops made the climb to the top of the pass as easy as we’ve had any climb and, as casually as this, we crossed the bog that is the Source of the Afton and climbed to the fence that marks the head of the pass and the county boundary. Here we had a longer halt, a halt for coffee. So far, the day had been superb.
But the time soon came to carry out the rest of the planned route. The boundary fence rises up the flank of Alhang and we had to rise with it. The climb was steeper than before, not unduly so but enough to raise the heart-rate and take away the breath. But the day was such that many view stops could be called, and many were. The hillscape opened up to us as we climbed; firstly to Windy Standard, then beyond this Moorbrock, and Beninner, and Cairnsmore of Carsphairn; then the view south-westward over the Glenkens to the distant snow-capped Cairnsmore of Fleet; to the south above the sea fog that marked the far Solway, the peaks of the Lake District fells appeared; and all sunlit under the clear blue sky. We stopped as often as new vistas presented themselves. Absolutely magnificent!
Then we found ourselves on the top of Alhang. But we also found that slight breeze that rippled the waters of the reservoir, a breeze that blew from the south-east and blew over the snow, chilling as it did so. There was no point in hanging about too long on this top in the nippy breeze so we moved on to our next two thousand foot plus objective, the top of Alwhat barely a kilometre away.
We stopped on the top of Alwhat for now a different perspective presented itself, eastwards now towards the Lowther Hills and south-eastward over the valley of the Nith, a valley that was smothered in fog, a thin grey streak in the hillscape. Then there was the Scaur Valley and the Shinnel one and the Dalwhat, and between the last two rose the hills of the Striding Arches (see 4/8/2010). Yes, there was the arch on Benbrack and further to the east and just to the side of the trees, the one on Colt Hill, all visible to the naked eye. Fantastic! We revelled in the winter-brown valleys and the snow-covered hillscape as we walked towards our next top, Meikledod Hill.
Below us now, down to the left, the waters of the reservoir lay as a deep blue splash surrounded by winter-brown grasses and olive coloured conifers rising up to meet the snow on the surrounding hills. The photographers tried hard to take away the scene in the camera. But beyond the dam, the plain of Ayrshire all but hid itself for a bank of clag hung over the low country restricting the northerly aspect to around ten miles, just enough to show Cumnock and Auchinleck. Yet through this clag could just be distinguished the snowy white mass of Ben Lomond, some ninety miles away, with an unidentifiable peak to its right – Ben More? Ben Ledi? We couldn’t be sure. What we could be sure of, though, was that the Alpine peaks rising through the clag to the west were the northern hills of Arran. Spectabulous!
As we dropped off Alwhat top there were calls for lunch. So in a wee sheltered spot between here and its subsidiary top of Brown Hill, we halted and sat down on a snowy bank for a bite of peece.
Now there were mumblings of dissension in the ranks for from our peece stop we looked over to the slopes of Black Lorg, slopes that appeared steep and long. Only Jimmy and Rex were prepared to carry out the original plan for others suggested skirting this particular top and taking a way round the side. But, no matter what route we decided to follow, we still had to cross Meikledod Hill. When we left the peece stop, the way was still downwards. We could see a scar cut across the face of Meikledod, a scar that Jimmy said was an old forest road type of track running from the Shinnel to the Kello. It would take us to the foot of the slope of Black Lorg. So, to appease the dissenters, we climbed the hill as far as the scar and turned along it to the foot of Black Lorg, missing out the top of Meikledod, but not by much.
At the foot of Black Lorg Jimmy and Rex kept the momentum going, fully expecting the rest to turn across the hillside. But Davie had had a change of heart and followed on with Ian, leaving only three to carry out the rebellion. The climb onto this top wasn’t as steep nor as long as it appeared from the peece stop but it was steep enough to take away the breath and halt all conversations. The quiet of the hill was broken only by the crunching of the snow beneath the boots and the pounding of heartbeats as the slope took its toll. But, as I said, the slope wasn’t as long as it appeared and it soon began to level onto the top. After a few minutes Rex and Jimmy were joined on our fourth top by Ian and Davie.
The views from this top were every bit as special as before and now we could look beyond Cairnsmore of Carsphairn to the high hills of Galloway, glowing just as white as the rest. For a few minutes we stood on this top just to absorb the views before we started the descent towards the lower top of Cannock Hill, a top that is surrounded by higher ones.
We lost the distant views as we dropped down the south-western slope of Black Lorg. This slope caught the afternoon sun and as the altitude dropped and the temperature rose, the snow turned increasingly wet and slippy. We slipped and slid our way down the slope to the start of the rise onto Cannock. It seemed that Rex and Jimmy were determined to rein in the dissenters and already were opening up a gap to the trailing two. The path, a pad really, skirts the top of Cannock about fifty feet from the top. The speedsters took this path. But Ian and Davie are made of stronger stuff and were determined to complete the six tops. So on to Cannock top they climbed, whooping and jeering at the other two speeding off down the northern slope of the hill.
It was all downhill from here. We lost the snow on the Cannock slope but the wet boggy slope of Craigbranneoch Rigg leading down to the reservoir was just as treacherous. Feet slid and slipped on the wet peat before we found safer ground by the dam. That’s where the rebels were caught, waiting in the afternoon sunshine for the rest to arrive. Davie and Ian, the only ones to have completed the tops, were last to arrive but compassion compelled us to wait for them; that and the fact that they had the car keys. Then we all sauntered casually back to the car park. One word to sum up the day? Excellent! Cracking! Fabulous! – take your pick for all applied today.
We found ourselves back in the Sun in Cumnock for FRT today an’ it wisnae even rainin’.
PS. Actually, the joke at the start of this account should read - A man walks into the Ashoka and asks ‘Dae ye dae take-aways?’ ‘Aye’ says the bloke behin’ the coonter. ‘Well whit’s 212 minus 87?’ - But we prefer it the way Davie tellt it.
PPS. See how many carry-outs or take-aways you can find in the above account.
1 comment:
Looks like a top day out boys..!
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