28 September Not Carlin’s Cairn: Not Our Easiest Day

Allan, Davie C, Davie Mc, Ian, Jimmy, Johnny, Malcolm, Paul, Robert

‘Setting my staff wi’ a’ my skill,

Tae keep me siccar,

Though leeward whiles, against my will.

I took a bicker.’

‘We must have come to the only place in Scotland that’s no’ bathed in sunshine’, said Davie Mc. And he seemed to be right for when we left central Ayrshire this morning the sun was rising into a clear blue sky and the air was still and already warm and the forecasters said that there was to be wall to wall sunshine across the country. Yet, when we gathered at Greenwell just north of Carsphairn, not only was the sky overcast but the cloud hung low over the hills, the hills that were our intended target for the day. And a fresh wind blew; a wind that threatened to be even stronger two thousand feet higher up the mountain. Still, we were here and the optimists suggested a forecast that was favourable so the decision was made to carry out the planned climb to Carlin’s Cairn.

Carlin’s Cairn is a two and a half thousand foot top half way along the Rhinns of Kells, the long, broad ridge of tops that runs for nearly ten miles from Loch Doon in the north to Clatteringshaws in the south. So we knew that it would be a long day, a long day but not too difficult for once we were up on the ridge, we wouldn’t drop below the two thousand foot mark for the next four miles or so. But we had to get to the ridge before we could climb to the top and to get to the foot of the ridge we had a mile and a half of road and track to cover.

We set off up the road towards the remains of Woodhead lead mining village, towards the hills, towards the fog, the leaders setting a fine pace. We came over the swollen Carsphairn Lane by the stone arched bridge (1935, Davie?) and up to the farm of Garryhorn where Greirson of Lagg had his headquarters during the killing times of the seventeenth century. But there was no let up in the pace to examine Garryhorn - ‘We’ll see it on the way back’ - and we continued to climb gradually towards the ruins of Woodhead at a fair old lick. Nor was there time to examine the ruins of the lead mines or the village - ‘We’ll see it on the way back’ - as the leaders pushed steadily on. Then, at the top of the village by the remains of the old school, a halt was called for a caffeine top-up.

And still the fog was down on the hill. But it did seem to be breaking up – or was this just wishful thinking on the part of the optimists? We would see for there was a determination to climb today, fog or no fog.

The caffeine top-up was necessary for within a hundred yards of our halt we left the track and took to the open hill on the flank of Coran of Portmark. Again we thank the inventor of quad-bikes for a set of tracks eased our way up the slope. Without these we would have been climbing through uncultivated, tussocky and lank grasses, an experience not to be wished on anybody. But we had the quad-bike tracks and the slope was not too steep and we climbed easily enough. And as we climbed the sun broke through and the hill fog broke up. And the wind freshened!

‘View stops’ were called frequently for the day was turning hot despite the freshening wind. But the ‘view stops’ didn’t produce the expected long vistas for, even with the wind, a haze hung over the landscape restricting visibility to around the eight or nine mile mark. Still, ‘view stops’ are stops and full advantage of these was taken to recover breath and ease legs. And this is how we gained the top of the ridge on the summit of Coran of Portmark, ‘view stop’ to ‘view stop’.

On top of Coran we found the first of our high level views, a view that was somewhat restricted in the sunny haze but it was sufficient to give the newcomers a flavour of what might be had in clearer air. To the south, our ridge undulated towards Carlin’s Cairn, still holding some of this morning’s cloud; to the south-west Merrick also rose into the cloud but Mullwharchar stood clear; and below us the blue waters of Loch Doon ran north into the Ayrshire haze. But on Coran we also felt the full brunt of the wind – a strong southerly gale, a gale that was reminiscent of the one on Culter Fell a fortnight ago, a gale that we would be walking directly into on course for Carlin’s Cairn.

There was dissention in the ranks. Some felt that to walk into that wind would be daft so, after some discussion, a change of plan was made. We would now walk northward with the wind on our backs to the lower summit of Black Craig of Loch Doon. This was the first of our mistakes.

Jimmy and Robert set off down through the grass to the north east in a direct line for Blackcraig. But Davie insisted that there was a quad-bike track at the side of the fence leading directly north, slightly off course but easier walking. We took to the tracks – the second of our mistakes. These tracks headed for Loch Doon, downhill, away from where we wanted to be. Jimmy and Robert made a decision to strike out over the rough ground to the top of the col between the two tops suggesting there might be a path of sorts there; the others followed Davie further down the tracks to see if there was a path there.

There was no path. No matter the direction taken, there was no path on to Black Craig. We ended up climbing through rough vegetation, knee deep heather and coarse grassy tussocks, that threw the feet sideways and sapped the energy, an experience not to be wished on anybody. Not until near the top did we discover a path of sorts, a narrow pad tramped through the coarse vegetation. The wind wasn’t quite as strong on this top as it had been on Coran but it was strong enough. So we dropped off the top to its leeward side and a rather tired bunch of Ooters threw themselves on to the grass for a bite of lunch.

‘There’s an old road that runs from Drumjohn to Woodhead’, said Jimmy, ‘and if we follow this pad it’ll probably take us down on to it’. That was agreed for we had had enough of rough stuff for the day - our third mistake. Our pad, or rather the wet scar through the vegetation that acted as our pad, did take us down to the road as Jimmy suggested but it was still a rough descent with hidden sheughs and boulders ready to trap the unwary. It did take us down to the road, though. It was a well constructed forest road and, boy, were we glad to see that road.

Now we were out of the wind and the day was pleasantly sunny and warm. We set off along that road into the sun with a sense of relief. Now the walking would be easy. And it was. But there came a bifurcation in the road, a bifurcation that was unknown to Jimmy who was the one that had been here before. ‘Thirty years before’, protested Jimmy, ‘and from the other direction’. We took the lower road – our fourth mistake. This road turned down towards the Carsphairn Lane and came to an abrupt end in the forest.

The sensible were for turning back to the junction but Robert and Johnny pressed on into the forest to see if there was a way forward. They shouted that there was for Johnny had spotted the end of another road. We staggered through the rough grasses towards the new road. Johnny hadn’t seen a road. What he had seen was the wall of a fire pond with not a road to be seen. For some reason we decide to press on through the rough stuff in the hope that there might be a path beside the drystane dyke that we could see in the distance– our last and worst mistake of the day.

There was no path! There were tussocks of long grass; there were deep, hidden morasses; there were yells as feet found pools of cold, peaty water; there were surprise disappearances as bodies stumbled and fell into the rank vegetation; there was the mysterious incident when Paul’s stick sunk in the peaty mire handle first and, when he regained the vertical, only the point was visible; there were incidents aplenty but there was no path. For the best part of a mile we staggered and stumbled through the jungle of lank grasses and hidden mire, the effort taking a toll on already tired bodies. This was not nice. We weren’t lost; we knew exactly where we were; we just couldn’t find an easy way through the rough stuff. The main road was a hundred yards away over the Carsphairn Lane but there was no way we could get to it over the swollen burn. We just had to thole our misfortune and stagger on as best we could. If ever we get the chance to torture our worst enemies, we will send them to walk through here – twice would be enough.

Eventually though, Ian, from the top of a heathery knowe, spotted the bridge over the river and we had barely a hundred yards or so to go to safe ground. Never has anybody been as glad to see a tarmaced road as we were then. In fact we thought at one time Johnny was going to kiss it. Some stopped on the bridge to recover, some wandered on for if they stopped they would never get going again. It was a weary bunch of auld men that trudged the quarter mile up the road to the Greenwell and the waiting cars.

Though it had its moments, this was hardly our easiest walk. Needless to say, FRT in the Dalmellington Inn was most welcome today.

We didn’t get to Carlin’s Cairn. Nor did we get to examine Garryhorn or Woodhead. Still there’s always another day.