12 September Not Carlin's Cairn Again

Allan, Davie C, Davie Mc, Eddie, Jimmy, Johnny, Malcolm, Paul, Robert & Ronnie Most of us were late this morning. Road works at Ailsa Hospital and the volume of traffic around the three hospitals there caused a snarl-up which meant most of us were late. Only Jimmy arrived at the meeting point on time having come across country from Cumnock and managing to avoid the hold-up. At the Green Well north of Carsphairn he waited. And waited. And waited. Eventually, twenty minutes after the appointed time, the last car arrived with the Kilmarnock contingent on board. All might have been well now had Malcolm not found that he had left his boots at home. By the time this was made known and Davie Mc had found a spare pair that fitted Malcolm, another ten minutes was lost. However, just after ten o’clock we were ready for the off. Yes, we might have been late starting but, as it transpired, not late enough or we might have had a better day. It had to happen of course. The last four or five Wednesdays have defied the weather trend and turned out bright and sunny. So, by the law of averages, it had to happen that we would get a wet day. This appeared to be it. It was waterproofs from the start for the sky hung heavy and a light but constant drizzle fell as we set off along the Garryhorn road heading for the old lead mining village of Woodhead. Yet the forecast was good; the rain would go away and the sun would come out late morning. And we believe forecasts don’t we? Our intention was to climb Coran of Portmark and there we would decide whether to head on for Carlin’s Cairn or not. For now, though, we trudged up the road in the constant drizzle toward the hills that hid themselves in thick, grey clag. Then the drizzle went and optimism rose. But what water didn’t fall from above crept up from below. Last night’s rain had swollen all the wee burns to raging, brown floods and formed wee rivulets on our road, some a few inches deep in places. On we splashed, feet getting damper and damper. (Especially those of one who is constantly boring us with the quality and longevity of his German made boots!) Then the drizzle came again. At Woodhead we stopped for a caffeine top up. That’s when the drizzle turned to heavier stuff. We took coffee in what shelter was afforded by the roofless ruin of a house, hunched up against the persistent rain - where was that promised sun? - and the hill was still hidden in clag. Allan was first to dissent. He had had enough of the wet and didn’t see any point in climbing in the rain for no view. He would walk back and wait at the cars for us. Then Jimmy suggested a low level walk from here, a suggestion that Allan was willing to accept. Then others decided to join them. Eventually seven, including your scribe, wimped out of the climb leaving Davie Mc, Paul and Robert to head for the top. At the gate on the old road for Drumjohn we split up, the wimps to head on along the road and the imprudent to head up into the clag. We only hoped that we would see them again. Not that we worried about them particularly but Davie Mc had the beer kitty. The Low Level Walk: The old road from Woodhead to Drumjohn and Ayrshire was abandoned when the village was abandoned. At first it is only visible as a flatter area in the landscape then as an overgrown track full of rushes and lank moor grasses but a hundred metres or so beyond the gate it becomes a forest road. We were to follow this road until near its end at Drumjohn. The forest road was just that – a road through the forest. The views were restricted trees or what could be seen along fire breaks on either side. Nor was it worth looking upward for the sky still hung low and a soft drizzle still fell. The only thing that brightened the day was the blethers of fellow Ooters. ‘Whitever the weather, ye ken that the blether, O’ Ooters is heard far and wide’. Comic and serious social comment was made; walks on routes around here were recollected and the road where we had gone wrong the last time we were here was noted (see 28 September 2011), barely three-quarters of a mile from Woodhead; long distant memories we recalled and humorous stories told. The crack, as usual, was excellent. Nobody noticed the rain go and the air turn drier. Where the soggy, peaty pad from Blackcraig found the harder surface of the road (see 28 September 2011), our road turned downward, down through a grove of ash and beech, the first deciduous trees since leaving Woodhead. These trees surrounded the house of Lamloch and extended almost to but not quite reaching the bridge on the Carsphairn Lane barely a hundred metres further on. It was on this bridge that we decided to stop for lunch. Now at last we had something of a view, down the river towards Carsphairn. As we sat at lunch, the sun broke through. Patches of blue sky appeared and the sun began to light up more and more of the landscape. Yet above us Blackcraig still held its cloud and, though we couldn’t see, we felt sure that Coran of Portmark still did as well. But we were in the sun and could enjoy it for as long as it lasted. The sun lasted for the rest of the walk and we could dispense with the waterproofs for the first time today. We followed the road back to Woodhead where a tryst with the high levellers was to be made. One incident on the return should be noted in these pages and that is when new boy, Eddie, tried to impress us with his diving skills. For reasons known only to himself, he decided to walk backwards. That's probably why he didn't notice the boulder lying in wait for him but then again neither did any of the rest of us. When his foot hit the boulder Eddie took off backwards, turned gracefully in mid-air and landed belly first. Why he chose to dive on to the hard surfce of the road is beyond us; he would have been better waiting to find a puddle then we would have been really impressed. As it was, while we admired his effort we had to tell him we had seen better from many of our number - Jimmy at the Falls of Clyde, Davie on the Luss Hills, Allan at the Deil's Back Door to name a few. Still, Eddie, they say that practice makes perfect so keep working on it. The hill men weren’t there when we arrived at the trysting place so we sat on the same stones in the same house where we sat this morning and had another coffee while we waited. Quarter of an hour later we were joined by the others. We look forward to a report from them. The walk back down the road to the Green Well was so much of a contrast to the way up. Now we could saunter down the road in the afternoon sun. (As you realise, Alan, saunter is a relative term!) We arrived at the cars around two and looked back to the hills of the Rhinns bathed in sun. Yes we were late in starting but, as it transpired, not late enough. FRT was taken in our usual howf in Dalmellington where a sociable, good-natured hour or so was spent while trying to decide where or next ‘adventure’ was to be. PS. Jimmy got wet feet today because the sole of his super-duper German boots finally succumbed to age and cracked right across the bottom. New boots for him I’m afraid. PPS. Malcolm promises to remember his own boots in future.