25 January Glen Afton’s One Top

Alan, Allan, Davie C, Davie Mc, Ian, Jimmy, Johnny, Malcolm, Paul, Rex & Ronnie

The late John Denver sang ‘Some days are diamonds, some days are stones’. The last time we were on the Glen Afton Hills the day was unquestionably of the precious variety – blue, sunny skies, glistening, powdery snow and views that went on forever. And we had hopes for something of the same today given the snow fall of yesterday and the forecast for a clear and sunny day. But somebody up there doesn’t like us. Whatever we have done to offend the provider of our weather we don’t know but with what has been given to us this winter we feel he is definitely against us.

This is the truth we found when we gathered in Cumnock on a dreary January Wednesday. Already there was dissension in the ranks. There was some thought of the foul weather alternative but our weather man suggested that it would be late afternoon when the rain arrived. We took his word for this and set off into Glen Afton.

Barely had we left the cars at the waterworks than we felt the first spits. But, according to our weatherman, this is only a passing shower for the rain was forecast to arrive no earlier than late afternoon. And go off it did though by the looks of the sky and the hill fog it could come back any minute. We walked along the forest road on the west side of the reservoir watching to see if the fog was lifting or coming further down. By the time we had reached the bridge over the upper reaches of the Afton a decision had to be made; should we go ahead as planned or cut the walk short and come back along the east side of the reservoir. The party split in two; the wimps opting for the lower walk and the adventurous, unwise, foolhardy and downright stupid opted for the hill despite Johnny’s hip-flask bribery.
The wimps: wise, intrepid, mathematically principled souls: we three giants of the maths teaching fraternity know a thing or two about gradients, turning points and distance formulas. All too obvious, the approaching poor weather, no need of TV predictions. We could see it coming. A walk around the Afton reservoir seemed a prudent move. Bullying JM over-ruled concerned AS about completing the circuit. As it turned out AS was right. The path, though not impassable, was unpleasantly deeply muddied. We retraced our steps back to where we had become the splinter group. Here we could see our brave brothers battle the elements as they crested the summit and disappear from our view. We made it back to the cars in good heart. We had lunch. We wondered back up to the reservoir dam just in time to see our courageous comrades caper casually along the edge of the reservoir.

We await (inserted above JM) a report from the wimps for the scribe was in the latter group. This was the group that made its way up the side of the river to the old fruit van that sits on it own on the hillside. That’s where the rain came. When we had been in the shelter of the forest, any rain that came was no more that a steady dribble. But we were no longer in the shelter of the trees and the steady dribble was wind blown and wetting and when we left what little shelter the fruit van afforded, we were into the weather proper. Though the wind-driven drizzle stung the faces, we still had faith in our weatherman and his prediction that the rain would arrive until the late afternoon and so set of for the first climb of the day, Alwhat

Not only was it wet overhead, it was extremely wet underfoot for the first fifty metres or so until the ground steepened and we found the drier grasses. Thank heavens for quad bike tracks; at least the climbing would be easier than the coarse hill grasses and rushes that surrounded us. It certainly seemed to be easy for Jimmy. What he had for breakfast certainly worked for he took off up that slope like a whippet on ecstasy and left the rest trailing in his wake. But not only had we Jimmy’s pace to contend with; as we gained height we also changed direction and now found the wind driving the rain directly into our faces, and it stung. But at least we could see where we were going so far.

Ronnie felt the pressure on this climb - he is recovering from major surgery and has not yet regained his fighting fitness - but struggled manfully on in Jimmy’s wake crossing the tufted grass of the slope to the fence on Alwhat summit. Here we found Jimmy waiting with alternate routes in mind. But Ronnie was done for the day and was for returning the way we had come up. And we, being of a compassionate nature and anyway having had our fill of soakings for this year, offered to keep him company. We turned to retrace our steps back down to the fruit van in the valley.

Back in the shelter of the trees at the bridge we stopped for a bite. The time was twelve-thirty and the rain was still on. We are beginning to lose faith in our weatherman.

When we came out of the trees again the rain had gone and a decision was made to return by the east side of the reservoir. To this end we followed the forest road to its end and then took the path to the dam where we met with the renegade three. Half a mile later we were back at the waterworks and the cars, our walking past for the day.

This was another dreich day and the best that can be said is that we got some exercise. Come on ‘ye pow’rs wha mak mankind your care’ gie us a break and a dry day for a change.

As usual in this neck of the woods FRT was taken in The Sun in Cumnock. New grandfather Ian stood the first round to wet the baby's head. Congratulations to the proud mum and dad and equally proud grandparents.