There’s Cairnsmore o’ Fleet,
An’ Cairnsmore o’ Dee,
But the Cairnsmore o’ Deugh,
Is the highest o’ the three.
Cairnsmore of Deugh, now known as Cairnsmore of Carsphairn, is one of those hills that are part of, yet separate from a range. As such it gives magnificent views in 360o, views that we looked forward to. The range it is part of is the Carsphairn/New Cumnock hills of north Kirkcudbrightshire and south-east Ayrshire but it is separated from the bulk of its neighbours by the deep Clennoch valley and more or less stands as its own massif with only the lower Beninner as companion. The most direct and most popular ascent is from the Green Well of Scotland just north of Carsphairn on the Ayr to Castle Douglas road. This is the route we intended to take this morning.
Once again this year the weather was to play a part in proceedings. The gloriously summer spell that came in with July had gone to be replaced by overnight rain, a rain that lingered into the morning and some were less than enthusiastic about walking the hill in such weather. Yet seven of us dragged ourselves through the deluge to the meeting place at the Green Well. And when we arrived at the starting point it looked as though our luck was changing for the better for the rain had gone and there was a brightening in the sky and even a patch of blue could be imagined. And the morning was warm. All we need worry about now were the midges that had already started to bite as we changed into walking gear.
‘Why is it called the Green Well of Scotland?’ asked Allan. Jimmy pointed out the well beside the farm track we set off along; a deep rocky bowl some twenty metres broad with slimy looking, reed-fringed water covering the bottom. ‘That’s the Green Well’, said he ‘But why Scotland? I don’t know.’ Allan was satisfied with the little information forthcoming.
In the sheep shed further along the track, a shearer was at work. The freshly clipped ewes literally sprang and jumped and cavorted as though spring lambs – minus their heavy woollen overcoat, they must have felt a light as lambs and jumped and sprang to join the flock lined along the bank like Indians in an old western movie. A collie, nearly the same colour as the sheep, rounded up the unshorn ewes. ‘Good job he went to Specsavers’, said Davie causing hilarity (We are easily pleased!). But more of the shearer later for we had a walk to do.
The track crosses the burn by a new bridge – well new to us anyway – and climbs gradually on to the hill. As the track climbed, we met the breeze, just the gentlest of stirrings in the air but enough to let us know that it was there. ‘At least this might keep the midges away’ said one. (See03/06/2009) And with this in mind, we found some boulders near the top of the road and sat down in this gentle breeze for coffee.
The breeze didn’t quite keep the midges at bay. Before long they were beginning to bite, not many just enough to let us know they were still around. However we took no chances and set off again. Now came the steep bit.
When we reached the end of the track we clambered over the drystane dyke and down into the burn. (In retrospect this was a bad move for a new bridge is built over the burn a bit higher up but this was hidden from us at this point and we took the way we always go.) Then came the climb of the hill itself. We saw the weather coming in again and, whether it was this or something in the coffee we will never know but Jimmy set a fair old pace on the climb. Such was the pace that the group split into two even before the rain arrived. We sped up that slope to beat the rain to the top with the slow group watching the fast one disappear into the distance.
When the rain did arrive it brought the hill fog with it. This was the last straw for the slow who decided to turn back (Anyway Allan was feeling ill and discretion won the day over stupidity.) Three turned back leaving Robert to slog on behind the fast trio.
The fast lot, meanwhile, sped on upward into the fog and rain to arrive at the summit in time for a bite of peece, and in time for the rain to go. Robert arrived ten minutes later with the news of the returning trio. ‘We’ve seen better views from here’, said Rex and we had to agree for the fog still swirled around us. But it wasn’t cold and we could take our time over lunch just in case it cleared. ‘Is that a new cairn?’ asked Davie pointing twenty metres to the east. ‘Not at all’, replied Jimmy, ‘I’ve got a picture of my bike leaning against that cairn taken nearly thirty years ago. And it wisnae a mountain bike either’. We always suspected Jimmy was slightly daft but to bring a bike to the top of Cairnsmore of Deugh was stretching it a bit, even for him. Still, we know Jimmy and believe him, even without his photographic evidence.
We sat and reminisced for a while in the hope of the fog clearing. But after half an hour it was still around us so we set off for the descent.
What a difference a clear day makes on the hill. As we strolled down the Black Shoulder the clag slowly began to break up revealing tantalising vignettes of a land beyond. Loch Doon was revealed first then hidden again; then the north end of the Kells range; then south towards Loch Ken. Then the clag went completely and the whole landscape opened up to us from Criffel and Screel in the south to Loch Doon in the North-west. And the sun even shone on the distant Cairnsmore of Fleet. This was turning into a pleasant day out. We ambled down the slope enjoying the landscape and looking forward to the approaching sun.
As we dropped over the shoulder we could see the returning group making their way casually towards the top of the track. Rex tried his old aborigine ‘Cooooooooooo-ee’ and the others halted briefly to acknowledge the call. Then we carried on down to the fence that would take us to the end of the track.
We lost Holly when we reached the end of the track. The keen nosed collie had go the scent of the other group and sped off to join them (so much for faithful companions, Davie). But it wasn’t too long before we joined them as well and with the team reunited we wander casually down the track.
At the sheep shed we met the herd and, in our usual way, stopped for a blether. The herd stopped for a blether but the shearer kept going. ‘He must clip a few sheep in a day’, said one of our number. ‘He clipped fower hunner yesterday’ said the young herd, ‘He’ll dae aboot seeventy thoosan’ a year – seventy thoosan’ at a poun’a heid; no bad wages but it’s hard work’ While some left the track to have a look at the work, the rest of us took his word for the severity of it and walked on.
The group was re-united before we reached the Green Well. The day that had started out promisingly and deteriorated had now brightened up again and we reached the cars in sunshine. FRT in the usual howf in Dalmellington and we had forgotten about the fog on the top and looked forward to our next outing.
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