According to the map, The Hill of Stake is a top that sits in the hills separating Ayrshire and Renfrewshire, in the triangle between Lochwinnoch, Largs and Greenock. Those who follow this blog regularly will know that we have attempted to reach this top four times in our existence and each time, for different reasons, we have failed to do so. So, like El Dorado and the Yeti, Hill of Stake has attained something of a mythical status in Ooterland; we know it is there but we haven’t yet proved its existence. That’s why nearly a full complement of Ooters decanted from their cars at the Muirshiel Visitor Centre at ten on an overcast Wednesday morning – we would prove once and for all that the hill of stake exists or not.
The day was overcast with heavy air and a fresh south-westerly that just failed to scatter the miasma that obscured anything more than two or three miles away. But, despite this we were sure of success this time for the met office promised that it would get no worse and we had plenty of time today. So, in confident mood we set off for Hill of Stake.
A group of four consisting of Peter, Andy, Robert and Jimmy set the pace along the old barytes track towards the abandoned quarry. The birders had told us to be on the look-out for hen harries but apart from a couple of covey of grouse and a solitary singing skylark, nothing was to be seen among the heather of the moor as we made our way towards the old quarry. Small chunks of pink barytes littered the track, getting larger as we turned upward into the old mineral workings. Here, in a metal ship’s container that serves as a makeshift bothy, we settled down for elevenses.
Thus far we have been before. And up the path to the top of the quarry we have been before. But for lack of time or for lack of enthusiasm or conceding to rotten weather, we have always cut our route short here. Today we would push on for Hill of Stake. There are no distinct paths beyond the top of the quarry and the going is through rough grass and heather. Nor is the top of our hill visible from here but an estimated compass bearing pointed us in the right direction and we set off upward into the rough stuff. While most followed Jimmy and Rex along the vestiges of sheep pads and short stretches of quad-bike tracks, Paul and Ian chose to plough their own way through the rough stuff. No matter which way was chosen though, the going was easier than it might have been for the winter-dead vegetation was at its shortest - we wouldn’t like to come up here when the vegetation is in full growth, though – and the slope was gentle. The top of Hill of Stake was gained with less effort than has been expended on many a hill.
Celebration was the order of the day. A Celtic-type huddle was formed round the summit trig point, a few whoops and yells were heard and congratulatory slaps on the back were made for at last we had conquered the mythical Hill of Stake. (Steady on chaps, it’s hardly Everest. – Ed.) But the wind was strong and chilling so we didn’t hang around too long on top and Robert started the move off the summit.
Flushed with our great achievement and high on adrenaline and with the clock barely passed noon, we turned our attention to Misty Law some mile and a bit away over some rough ground. But, hey, what’s a wee bit of rough stuff to folk who have experienced the Carsphairn Lane (see 28/9/2011). We would take in Misty Law as well.
But there was some dissension in the ranks. Peter, who is not too fond of the hill, Allan, whose liking for climbing is well documented in these pages, and Johnny who had been feeling under pressure for a while today, chose not to accompany us but made their own way down a burn valley. The rest, though, followed the county boundary fence towards Misty Law.
The down slope was easy; the short grass and the equally short springy heather giving us a comfortable descent. And there was the semblance of a sheep pad beside the fence that eased the way down. But the ground between the two tops was wet. Bright green sphagnum-covered traps lay in wait for the unwary. But we are wary. By dint of our excellent long-jump skills and by making long detours we managed to avoid the worst of these and most of us arrived at the foot of the up-slope to Misty Law with relatively dry feet.
The climb to the top was short and easy. But, like on Hill of Stake, we didn’t tarry long in the wind, just long enough to realise that here was a hill with potential for a clear day. Then we made our way to the lea of the summit to sit down for a bite.
Now, as has been said before, it was all downhill from here. Again, there is no distinct path from the top of Misty Law and we had to judge the route for ourselves. But we had Rex and Jimmy who, between them, managed to find a set of quad tracks that looked as though they might take us down towards the burn where the rebellious trio could be seen on the far side. We made our way down towards them.
It was on this down slope that we saw it. Well, the trailblazers saw it but as yet the scribe is unaware whether the rest saw it. Slinking among the heather then making a bold dash across a grassy area to more cover was a fox. ‘All tail with a little bit of fox attached’ was how Rex described it as it slunk away from us in the direction of the burn gorge. And it was towards this same burn gorge that we now turned our steps.
Going down into the gorge and crossing the burn was more difficult for some than it was for others – remember we have hydrophobes in our midst – but all safely ascended to the safer ground on the other side of the gorge. Now we had only half a mile of grass and heather to negotiate to find the bridge on the barytes track. We crossed the burn by the old bridge – though it was closed off, it was the closer – came on to the track and sauntered back to the centre feeling fair chuffed with ourselves. Another myth dispelled!
Now that the Hill of Stake has been proven, what else needs proving? That there is a view from Ben Lomond? That there is a road from Drumjohn to Woodhead Village? That there are some friendly farmers in Fenwick? The list is open for additions.
FRT today was taken in a bien wee snug in the Corner Bar in Lochwinnoch where Alan treated us all to some of his home-smoked trout. Our thanks to Alan for this and to Johnny for his usual hospitality before the walk.
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