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.

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.

19 January Glen Afton’s Four, Three, Two, or One Top

Alan, Allan, Davie, Ian, Jimmy, Johnny, Paul, Peter, Rex & Robert

Just before Christmas Robert mentioned how easily traditions become established. It seems there is now an Ooters tradition of having stovies in the Mercat in Cumnock after doing the Four Tops walk in Glen Afton. This was the case today and stovies had been booked for 3 o’clock. It was felt by some that we might be pushed for time to get back to Cumnock for three and that might go some way to explaining what happened today.
All seemed right with the world when we gathered in Jimmy’s in Cumnock for an early start. The forecast was favourable and the time for departure was set early enough. But it might have been an indication of things to come when the Kilmarnock contingent arrived to say that Alan had slept in and would be a few minutes late. We delayed departure to wait for Allan. (See us! See compassion!)
The time was approaching quarter to ten when we left the waterworks car park, taking the road we had just driven up for we were to do the walk in the traditional Ooters direction, i.e. clockwise. (‘The best and easiest direction’ say those who know these things.) So we set off back down the road we had come. Conscious of time, Jimmy pressed the pace from the start taking Johnny and Paul with him and leaving the bulk of us trailing on behind. Down beside the river we marched, down onto the floor of the glen we marched, down to the Blackcraig Farm road we marched, and still no let up from those in front. On to the farm road we turned, across the river we came, up to the farm we marched, and at last came a halt for a well earned breather.
Now we were set to tackle the upward slope on the old pony track, a track that would lift us high on Quinten Knowe, on the shoulder of Blackcraig Hill and the pace could be eased - or could it? We strode on upward, Jimmy setting the pace again and stringing the group out down the track. Allan struggled on the upslope but those in front were oblivious to his pain and kept the pace high. The glen might have opened up for us then and given us some superb views – it has done in the past from here – but there was no time to take in the views as the front men pushed on.
Thank heavens for tradition. At our usual coffee stop by the sheep fank, we halted for coffee, the struggling Allan arriving at the coo’s tail. Coffee was taken and we waited only long enough for Allan to distribute his Allsorts. Then we were off again.
The slope steepened but did the pace slacken? No! The front bunch pushed on leaving the rest panting upward in their wake. We were strung out on that track, Jimmy and company shooting on in front and the struggling Allan bringing up the rear. His only consolation as he watched the backs of the rest of us disappear into the distance, was that he had his Irvine companion for company for Johnny also found the pace too brisk on the climb.
The sky had been breaking up ever since we left the waterworks and now the winter sun shone in its full glory. As we neared the cairn on Quinten Knowe, we came into its full glare. With the speed of the walk, the steepness of the slope and the now warming sun, it was a sweaty bunch of speedsters who stopped at the cairn to wait for the strugglers.
We were to stay in the sun for the rest of the walk; well, nearly for the rest of the walk but I will come to that in due course. For the moment we were in full sun and the day was pleasant. Not that it was too pleasant for some of us though, for Allan and Johnny continued to struggle and now came the steepest part of the day. We left the old track at the county boundary fence – well, who wants to walk in Dumfriesshire anyway – and took to the open hill on the flank of Blackcraig itself. That’s where we encountered the first snow, icy snow, solid snow but snow that only lay in patches now that the thaw had worked for a fortnight. The snow was easily avoided. Jimmy did make an attempt to cross one patch but could make no impression on the concrete-like surface. Muttering something about discretion and valour, he joined the rest of us in climbing the steep grass slope to the broad level summit of Blackcraig Hill.
The views on the way up had been mainly to the east across Nithsdale but now, as we walked across the summit plateau to the trig point they turned more to the westward, to Windy Standard and Cairnsmore of Carsphairn. A blanket of fog draped the tops of these hills, shining white in the sun and looking to be rolling in our direction. Sure enough when we stopped at the trig point for a bite, the fog rolled in and we were enclosed in a world of our own on the flat top of Blackcraig Hill. Was our good day gone? It certainly seemed that way for when we were ready to move on after lunch, the clag was still with us. But it was a thin layer of fog that covered our hill blue sky showing through it some twenty feet above us, and it looked as though the sun would burn it off again fairly quickly. And it did. We walked off southward into the fog, south towards Black Lorg, dropping down the steep grass slope. Barely had we dropped off the summit when the sun made its reappearance and stayed for the rest of the day.
Thank heavens for quad bikes. The southern slope of Blackcraig is covered in deep, course hill grass, grass that clings to the boots and makes walking difficult. But the herd has used his quad bike on the hill and quad tracks flattened the grass and made an easier track for us. And the tracks continued to Black Lorg giving a route through the sea of lank grass. We followed the quad tracks, staying more or less together as a group on the down-slope to the col between the two hills.
It is not a difficult climb from the col to the top of Black Lorg but it is long and drawn out. It was ‘heads down and plod on’ time for there was nothing to take the mind off the interminable upward slog of Black Lorg. And, as the usual suspects kept the pace up, the Irvine pair fell behind again. We would wait for them on the top.
Black Lorg is one of those rounded hills that when you are at the summit, you can’t see the flanks. So we waited on top for the Irvine boys to appear over the edge of the rise. And we waited. And we waited. We waited long enough for Ian and Jimmy to walk through three counties (The county boundaries meet here) and for Rex, despite his advancing years, to be able to pee over three counties. And yet we waited. Jimmy went out as scout in one direction while Robert retraced the journey towards Blackcraig. Both returned with no sightings of the missing twosome. We had to conclude that they had skirted the top and were in front of us heading towards Cannock Hill.
With a little anxiety concerning the lost souls, we dropped off Black Lorg following the remains of a drystane dyke towards Cannock. Holly shot off in front recognizing the two red dots in the distance as the missing Irvine men. We were right; they had flanked the hill and were now away in front. They were to stay in front, missing out the other tops as well, till we caught up with them at the reservoir.
Meanwhile, we dropped off Black Lorg at a fair old rate, Jimmy still pushing the pace from the front. While Jimmy climbed to Cannock top and Peter followed, the rest of us chose to follow the Irvine two round its side. Then down off Cannock we sped, to the marsh between here and Craigbranneoch Rigg, the rise onto Steyamrie, the last top. Jimmy had already made up his mind on Blackcraig, succumbing to his dodgy knees, not to make the final climb to Steyamara. The rest of us, with two exceptions, decided enough was enough for the day and opted to join him. The two who chose to make the final climb were Paul and Davie; full credit to them.
We parted company with the peak baggers and dropped down to the side of the Afton Reservoir where we met up with Allan and Johnny. Mobile phones are wonderful things – when you can get a signal. On top of Black Lorg of Glen Afton there is no signal. Those who had been trying to contact others to let them know that they were skirting the hill couldn’t get through; those who were trying to find out where others were couldn’t get through. That’s why we waited and Allan and Johnny went their own way. Still, no harm done and we promise to show more compassion to the slow on the next walk.
We had all of twenty minutes to wait for the return of the peak baggers before motoring back to Cumnock. At 3:02 we were ensconced in the Mercat taking FRT and tucking in to Sadie’s stovies. Many thanks to Sadie for the feast and to Jimmy for organising this.

3 March Blackcraig Hill, Glen Afton

Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.
Matthew 6:34

The day was fair and lightly overcast, which in itself was something of a disappointment considering the superb clear, frosty days we have had this past week or so. The intention of the day was to do Davie’s ‘four tops’ in Glen Afton. A fresh fall of snow in the early part of the week left the hills gleaming white in the frosty sunshine and we anticipated one of those special days on the tops, the kind that keep the hill men coming out again and again. But the day dawned with thin, high-level cloud obscuring the sun and the forecasters suggesting it would remain for the day. So the day was merely fair and we had to put up with it.
The fishers' car park in Glen Afton was under a few inches of icy snow so we opted not to venture up the wee slope to it but to park just off the waterworks road under some old spruce trees. By the time the auld yins got themselves ready – socks, boots, gaiters, jackets, woolly bunnets and walking poles - the time was wearing on to ten o’clock. In fact it was dead on ten when we started to walk back down the road we had just driven up. The gentlest of breezes began to stir and cool the morning air as we walked down the road towards Blackcraig Farm keeping the pace brisk to warm the blood against the chill.
We decide to do the walk the way we have always done it, i.e. from north to south, not because we have always done it this way but because this is the best way to do it, providing the easier slopes and the best of the views. Despite the disappointment of the weather, the hill country looked superb; a monochrome world of white snow contrasting with the bare black rock of the crag tumbling down into the glen. Only the tussocky reeds growing out of the snow on valley bottom and the dark green of the spruces showed any colour for even the sky itself was white with thin cloud this morning. And our hill looked inviting.

The spirits were high as we walked down the road. Johnny talked computers. Your scribe has to confess that he must be turning into a geek himself for he understood everything Johnny said. Davie, on the other hand, just walked quietly on, humming to himself and occasionally trying to change the subject.

At Blackcraig Farm road we left tarmac and immediately met our first snow of the day, soft and powdery but occasionally overlying older icy stuff. We suspected the snow on top would be just as hard and icy for some of it has lain since before Christmas. We looked forward to it.
As the slope steepened, the snow deepened and the pace was slowed accordingly. Holly was first to reach the gate that would allow us on to the open hillside but was closely followed by the rest of us. We were now on the Victorian pony track between Glen Afton and Dunside in the Kello Valley, a track that would take us high on the shoulder of Blackcraig. We climbed with the track.
At the sheep fank well up the glen side we found the only piece of ground in the whole white world that was free of snow and sat down for coffee. Yes, we know it was early but we always stop here for coffee! We did so again. The day wasn’t as cold as we thought at the start and we were now sheltered from the breeze so the opportunity was taken here to remove jackets. We walked for a fair bit in fleeces for the first time this year.
It was during coffee that Rex noticed Johnny’s gaiters – they were on the wrong legs. Aye, they were on Johnny’s legs right enough, but the left was on the right and vice versa. A rather embarrassed Johnny spent the coffee break changing round his gaiters to the right legs. (Well he would have been embarrassed if we had not all reached the age where embarrassment is a thing of the past.) However, Rex promises to make sure Johnny is properly dressed before we leave the cars in future.
With the coffee finished and Johnny properly attired, we set off up the track again. And as we climbed the snow got deeper. Jimmy led us on the first stage, setting a good pace and finding the shallowest of the snow. The rest of us followed in a crocodile line in his footsteps, literally in his footsteps for the snow was soft powdery and calf-deep. Then Davie took his turn breaking a way through and immediately found the deep stuff, knee deep stuff. Our progress was slowed almost to a crawl. But, with each taking a turn to force a way through the snow, we climbed the track to the cairn on the skyline. Then, as the track swung away eastward towards Dunside, we left it and took to the steepest climb of the day, the shoulder of Blackcraig Hill.
Many were the ‘view-stops’ called as we climbed up the slope, ploughing through the soft snow and crunching it under the boots. And the view was becoming good. Beneath us to the left, Glen Afton ran down to the Ayrshire Plain. To the right Tinto showed itself and to the south of this the radar station on Lowther Hill was easy to identify. And the vista broadened as we climbed higher. Now the hills to the west, Cairnsmore of Carsphairn and Windy Standard, came into view. And, higher yet, the high Galloways showed.
Then, as we approached the top and found the breeze again, a longer halt was made to don jackets again. This was where Jimmy found his latest loss. Jimmy is getting a reputation for losing things; bunnet, specs, phone and wallet have all been mislaid during the last year. Now came another loss, a permanent one this time. When we had stopped for coffee, Jimmy took his camera from the pocket on top of his rucksack. Did he not forget to zip it back up again? Somewhere on the slope underneath where we stood lies a bank money bag with two fivers in it. The day was such that Jimmy was not inclined to go back down the hill to look for it and can only hope that whoever finds it has fun spending the tenner. We will need to make sure Jimmy has everything and has closed everything properly every time we stop.
By this time we were on the broad flat summit of the hill and expected to find the solid snow. We were disappointed. The deep, soft stuff persisted. This was tiring stuff and was slowing us up quite a bit. Well behind schedule, we arrived at the trig point on the summit. Here we ate and took in more of the extensive view. ‘The best thing about the haze is that we don’t need to look at Irvine while we’re eating’ said the Cumnock man quite proud of the fact that we could see his house some nine miles away. No doubt the Irvine men will respond in due course.
Davie reckoned we left the trig point at least an hour behind schedule. We had to be in Cumnock by three for we were to partake of Saidie’s stovies in the Mercat there. The snow on the southern slope was just as soft and deep as before and the going was hard. A summit was held as to whether we go on as planned or drop down the hill to the burn, find the new forest road and come back into the glen that way. Since it was felt that we would be late for stovies if we went on, we decided (Well Jimmy made the decision) to leave the hill.
Whether this was a mistake or not will be open to personal interpretation for the going now was really tough. The snow deepened and the ground fell away in snow-covered ‘doogals’. We came down the slope as best we could, kicking mini avalanches before us and finding unexpected holes and boulders. Johnny found a deep, mucky, wet hole into which to stick his gaitered leg and, for some reason or other Rex thought it a good idea to sit down in the snow. Perhaps they did this to take our minds of the tough going. If this was the case they succeeded but only for a few minutes. Then it was back to the travail.
Light relief came near the burn when a deer was spotted on the other side, bounding seemingly effortlessly through up Steyamara through the deep snow. We envied it. Alan was the one to spot the other deer near the crest of the ridge and we watched as the two came together. But this relief was only temporary for we had to cross some rough stuff again.
Stumbling and slipping, we came through the new plantation. We never thought that walking us a forest sheugh would be the easier option but it was, even when the bottom turned to icy brown sludge. Jimmy unexpectedly found the boulder with his backside. Bruised and battered was he, but he was able to stumble on. As we all did. Eventually, and much to our relief, we found the forest road. Though it too was cover in snow, it was smooth by comparison with what we had come through and provided the first easy walking since we left Blackcraig Farm this morning.
We followed the forest road to Craig, crossed the Afton by a bridge and came back to the tarmac at Craigdarroch. Now we only had a mile or so of easy upward walking to get back to the fisher’s car park and the cars. Though it was somewhat disappointing not to have done the horseshoe, the words of St.Matthew ring true for the day. The right decision had been made for each had had enough.

We repaired to the Mercat in Cumnock for FRT, just in time to savour Sadie’s welcome stovies. Much appreciated, Sadie, and many thanks.

1 April Glen Afton – The Four Tops for the fourth time

The year's at the spring

And day's at the morn;

Morning's at seven;

The hillside's dew-pearled;

The lark's on the wing;

The snail's on the thorn;

God's in His heaven -

All's right with the world!
~Robert Browning

We were promised another splendid day on the hill when the sun shone early in the morning, bathing the hills in warming spring light and filling Glen Afton with cloud. It looked as though we might have a superb sunny day with a temperature inversion to look out on from the heights. We all relished the thought. But, as we gathered at Jimmy’s place in Cumnock, the cloud had gathered and the sun was gone. And when we drove into Glen Afton, the temperature inversion had gone as well. It now looked like another overcast day on the hill.
At ten minutes to ten we left the fisher’s car park in the glen and walked the mile and a bit down the road to Blackcraig Farm road-end and the old pony track for Kirkconnel. We were for Davie’s ‘Four Tops’ again. This was old ground for most, only Allan and Ian were newcomers, but it is a good walk and one worth doing again and again. And we were doing it again, for the fourth time as Ooters.





Davie set the pace down the road, and a brisk pace it was. We think it might have something to do with the new boots he was wearing for the first time today. But he assured us he would slow up when we started the climb of the old track. We accepted his assurance albeit reluctantly for we know Davie. He may well have slowed up on the climb but it was difficult to tell as he and Rex disappeared into the distance leaving the rest of us gasping in their wake. Robert in particular felt the pace on this upward section, going from the front to near the rear in a matter of minutes. And the fast two continued to set the pace until they were eventually hailed from the rear by the struggling group demanding a coffee break. They screeched to a halt at the sheep fank where we all gathered for a breather and a caffeine boost.
The landscape was beginning to open up for us and the view to the top of Glen Afton was good, even under the cloudy sky. Steyamara was the main focal point. This was pointed out to Allan as our last top of the day. Allan’s response was that now we have seen it can we go directly to the pub? His new-found love of the hills is beginning to show.
Despite the overcast sky and the coolish southerly breeze, the air by the sheep fank had the feel of spring in it. This feeling was heightened by the burbling of a whaup, heard but not seen, and the singing of the skylark above our heads. We had a very pleasant coffee break. We might have remained seated at the sheep fank for much longer but the mountaineers were eager to go.

We were to follow the old pony track for a while yet. This old Victorian pony track is now in various states of repair. From the farm to well above the sheep fank it has been gouged out by modern machinery and has been left rough and strewn with boulders. This was hard going and we were stretched out once again. But we eventually came to the old, smoother surface and this made for easier walking, especially when as the slope eased. However, we also found the first wet patches of the day. The track-side ditches are clogged up and the moss spills over the track in many places. These soggy areas were unavoidable and tested Davie’s new boots to the limit. And through this wet, we came to the summit of the track.
Now we had a view northward over the East Ayrshire farmland as far as Auchinleck. Eastward, Nithsdale was filled with the cloud we had seen in Glen Afton earlier in the morning but the hills beyond were clear - perhaps the folk of Nithsdale were getting the temperature inversion we had hoped for. And this eastern view increased in scope as we continued the walk.
We left the track to run its course towards Nithsdale and took to the hill. This was the steepest part of the day according to Jimmy. We took him at his word and trudged ever upward. Steep it might have been, but it wasn’t a long steep and it soon eased onto the broad, flat top of Blackcraig. This is an interesting top, the only rocky one in the group and extends over a considerable plateau. Rocky outcrops break the thin soil providing shelter for alpine plants. Deep hollows hide sphagnum bogs and lure the unwary into knee deep mires. We had no option but to wade through some of the shallower of these bogs to come the half mile or so across the top to the trig point that marks the highest point of the plateau.
The view was westward now. Immediately in front of us was Windy Standard. (‘So that’s what it looks like’ said those who had been on this top earlier in the year.) Behind this, Cairnsmore of Carsphairn still held a cornice of snow making it look higher than its two and a half thousand feet. Beyond this, the northern end of the Rhinns of Kells also held snow cornices. The Awful Hand range in the blue distance was patched with snow, showing Merrick at its best, and it was suggested we should go there some day. The sun shone on these western hills and it looked as though it was heading in our direction. We were hopeful.
Some wanted to lunch at the Blackcraig trig point for this was the highest point of the day but we were in a cool breeze and others suggested we wait for the next top, Blacklorg. A compromise was reached when it was suggested we ate in the col between the two tops where we might be out of the wind. Full marks must go to the advanced pair of Rex and Robert who found us a dry, sheltered spot with a view eastward over cloud-filled Nithsdale to the Lowther Hills and Tinto. We ate and rested long. It was turning into a day for long stops.

And as we sat, the sunshine arrived. It was to stay with us for the rest of the day and turn the afternoon pleasantly warm.
In terms of distance, we were more than half way through the walk but in terms of time and effort we were well through our day with the bulk of our climbing behind us. The climb from the peece stop to the top of Blacklorg was easy, well much easier than it looked, and we found ourselves on the second of our four tops standing in the spring sunshine, admiring the view, almost in three-sixty degrees now. We might have spent some time here but we have amongst us those who would rather move on. So, on it was.
Down the line of the old dry-stane dyke we went, beside the fence, through more soggy patches and came to a col between Blacklorg and Cannock Hill. There is a superb view down the glen from this col and Jimmy stopped to take a picture. He was consigned to the rear of the group thereafter for the Ooters are not known for waiting for snappers. Now came the short climb onto Cannock. Rex showed his athletic ability by running up the slope. Some wished him well in his attempt and some reminded him he was an auld man. But this burst of athleticism was only so that he could get high to the front to take a picture. Oh! How we suffer for our art! We hope the picture was worth the lung-bursting effort. Needless to say Rex was first to the top and Jimmy was last.

‘We’re making good time’, said the wise one, he of the new boots. Robert looked at the rocky stub of our last top some mile and a bit away, down and along the ridge. ‘Twenty minutes should see us there’, said he. Jimmy said, ‘A good half and hour’. We set off to test their estimates.
Robert and Alan took off like men on a mission, determined to prove the twenty minute theory. Jimmy, Allan and Ian took their time. They knew it would be half an hour. We were strung along the ridge as the fast sped on and the slow took their time and everybody else straggled somewhere in between. Who was right? Well, Alan and Rex made it in twenty with Robert a minute behind. The slow panted up six minutes later with Jimmy gasping that he hadn’t ettled on some p_p_p_person trying to set a land speed record. (These weren’t his exact words but it’s what he meant. He still reckons sensible folk would take half an hour.) We rested on the peak for a few minutes taking photographs and allowing the speedy to recover before attempting the descent through the rough grass and boulders we knew to be waiting for us.

The descent isn’t as we remembered it. A rudimentary path has been established by local hill-men and this eased the down-slope for us. Rex led the way but it was the tail-enders of Davie and Allan who saw the wildlife. A large hare sped off from under their feet making their hearts pound, as if the slope hadn’t already been doing just that.
Twenty minutes later, and fluttering hearts a bit calmer, we gathered at the dam of Glen Afton Reservoir.
The usual comments on the disgraceful state of the fountain and road weren’t made today for we were full of the joys of a good walk on the hill on a super spring day. We walked casually down the few hundred metres to the fisher’s car park.

Once again, the watering hole chosen for this area was the Mercat in Cumnock. Sadie, the good lady of the place, had promised stovies and duly obliged. While mine host, Ian, poured the refreshment, Sadie served platefuls of the warming stew. We were royally treated by the pair and all for a very reasonable cost. (There was still a smile on our treasurer’s face.) And the ale was good. There is little doubt that we will be back here

.

Report by Jimmy
Photos by Jimmy, Rex, Johnnie

2 July Glen Afton - The Four Tops 3

‘How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills' - R. Burns

Holiday commitments reduced the number to three this morning. When we gathered at the fishers' car park in Glen Afton we wished that the numbers had been reduced even further. The morning was damp, cloud hung low over the tops and there was the threat of imminent rain. And we three were for the hill, the Blackcraig horseshoe which Davie calls his ‘Four Tops’. None of us really had the notion for it but one convinced the other who convinced the first, so the ‘Four Tops’ it was. We set off without enthusiasm, not so much to start the walk but to get away from the midges that drilled into every bit of naked flesh as we changed into walking gear.
We were for the hill but first we had over a mile of road to walk to find the Blackcraig bridge that would see us over Afton. Rain hit us sparking fears of a wet day but it lasted no length of time and there was no need for waterproofing. We could see the hill we were heading for, at least we could see the base of it for anything above the thousand contour was into the clouds. Yet we continued walking towards it convincing each other it was a good idea. The rain hit us again and this time waterproofs were worn ‘just in case’. But the shower passed as Blackcraig bridge was crossed. Beside Blackcraig Farm we found the old Dunside pony track that would take us over the shoulder of the hill.
The track wasn’t as steep as Robert remembered it - memory is a fickle thing. But the other two remembered it as it is for this is the third time the Ooters have come this way in the last three years (22/3/06, 22/8/07), each of them under completely different conditions and, anyway, this is home territory for Jimmy and Davie. Today the view was limited by the conditions. All the tops were obscured by the low sky and the glen looked miserably grey. Yet the Ayrshire plain was clear under the cloud. Auchinleck, Cumnock and New Cumnock were clearly visible and Jimmy looked for his house in Cumnock.
The rain hit again. This time it was serious. It was as though, having missed us the first twice, it was making sure this time. And as we climbed higher it got heavier and was now driven on the fresh southerly. It stung. The path was dry though, well mostly dry and wet bits were easily avoided, and it raised us steadily up the hill through the deluge. A short and wet drinks halt was called at the top of the pass where we had to leave the track.
The way was steep now, ‘the steepest part of the day’, Jimmy said. At least the rain was gone again. Steep, the climb might have been but it was short and took us up to the wide, flat plateau of Blackcraig. And into the fog. We topped out onto a sward of red fescues, club mosses and patches of the least willow broken frequently by frost-shattered rocky outcrops. The walking was easy. And it would have continued that way if we had taken the direct route to the summit cairn. But, given the lack of visibility, it was suggested we follow the fence and this brought us through shpaggy bogs, wide and deep and wet. Davie and Robert crossed the fence and made a wide sweep to avoid these. Jimmy, refusing to enter Dumfriesshire, did a high wire act along the fence. (Actually, he took the lowest possible wire above the water and clung on tightly to the top one). This procedure was carried out more than once before the cairn was gained. And at the cairn we took the peece. Debate ensued as to our next move. Given the weather, one suggested we drop off the hill to the Afton and cut the walk short. It was decided to assess the situation again at the col between here and Blacklorg.
Peece finished, we walked southward and downward from the top of Blackcraig. The fog cleared and was gone for the day but the fresh southerly wind stayed with us. The slope on to Blacklorg hill always looks long and steep from the flank of Blackcraig. Long and steep it may be but this top was our next objective for the day was clearing and the entire walk was now to be completed. Some quad tracks were found to ease the way through the long grasses and woodrushes on the south slope of Blackcraig but these split into two different tracks after a hundred metres or so. Jimmy and Davie took the left branch while Robert took the right. We think it might have something to do with our aftershave. Or Jimmy’s cheese and onion sandwiches. Whatever it was, this is how the descent of Blackcraig was made, in two groups paralleling each other some hundred metres apart.
This is where Davie was heard to be singing ‘Them Old Cotton Fields Back Home’. The reason for this melodious outburst was the bog cotton growing in white swathes across the hillside. We await his musical interpretation of other features of our walks. River Deep, Mountain High? Strangers on the Shore? Homeward Bound? You'll Never Walk Alone?
We all came together again as we started up the slope of Blacklorg. This is not nearly as steep nor as long as it appears and we gained the top easily enough. Davie was for a halt here for the view was getting better as the sky lifted but Bob was for on for the wind was beginning to cool sweat. On we went then, down the west slope of the hill beside Rex’s fence. The view westward showed the wind farm on Windy Standard, a spoiled skyline according to Jimmy. It also showed Cannock Hill, our third top of the day, rising directly in front.
The short snap to the top of Cannock is steep and tested tiring legs, especially Jimmy’s. He left the shorter grass near the fence to show Holly where her stick* had fallen in the longer grass and had to plough his way up through this stuff to the top. Holly was unappreciative and shot off leaving Jimmy to his travail. A welcome halt was called on the top. Then it was downward again towards Craigbranneoch Rig and the last top of the day in Steyamara. The wind was now on our backs and we expected an assist on the long rise to Steyamara. This, we got. Yet Bob struggled on this last ascent, his holiday in France taking the edge off his fitness, but he made it to the top. We all made it to the top and sat down for an afternoon break.
The descent from this last top to the dam was through rank, tussocky grasses and hidden boulders and proved hard going. But at least it was down and didn’t last too long and it took us to the face of the dam. Then it was a gentle stroll down the service road to the fishers' car park, complaining once again about the neglect of a once delightful place. Twenty five minutes from the top of Steyamara to the car. And the midges! The wee b*****s bit mercilessly at naked skin as we changed out of damp walking gear.
This turned out a better walk than we thought it would be when we set off this morning. *Perhaps it should be recorded that Holly picked up a stick on the road to Blackcraig Farm and carried it the whole distance back to the car even though some of us tried to throw it away. Some sort of record?