16 March Glen Afton’s Five Tops – A Day For Superlatives

Alan, Allan, Davie, Ian, Jimmy, Johnny & Rex

It has been suggested that the scribe should inject some humour into his scribblings, so here goes. A man walks into the Ashoka and asks ‘Dae ye dae cairy-oots?’ ‘Aye’ says the bloke behin’ the coonter. ‘Well whit’s 212 minus 87?’
Now that the humour’s out of the way, I will get on with the narrative. Today’s walk started and ended at the waterworks in Glen Afton so, even though we strayed a wee bit from the Glen, this walk will be called Glen Afton’s Five Tops (not to be confused with Glen Afton’s Four Tops of 19/01/2011 et al.) Rex had come prepared with the route draw out on his map. ‘It’s thirteen kilometres over four two-thousand plus tops’, said he. But we didn’t care about length or height of tops, on a day like this we would carry out the planned route no matter what.
The rain and snow of yesterday had cleared the country and an overnight frost had given us a morning of cloudless sky and dazzling white, snow-covered hills and with the forecasters predicting settled conditions, we couldn’t help but be hopeful of a super walk. And we were not to be disappointed.
The clock had barely cleared the ten when we left the waterworks and took the road up through the trees to the face of the dam. Already the sun was warming and many started without jackets for the first time this year. (Indeed the hardy even considered shorts for a while.) The air felt still to us yet when we topped the dam, the water of the reservoir was rippled as the slightest of breezes stirred its surface. The photographers were disappointed that they had no reflection photos to take away, though why they could be so on a morning as nearly perfect as this is beyond most of us, but they were and the cameras stayed in the cases. However mild disappointments like this couldn’t last long on such a morning and were in lighter mood again as we took the forest road along the western side of the reservoir.
We encountered the first of the snow on this road, lying in crunchy, icy patches but knew that more, much more, lay in wait for us on the hill. And almost immediately we left the road to take a quad bike track towards the Source of the Afton, we were into it. Despite the snow – or maybe because of it – the climb to the source and the head of the pass was easy, well much easier than expected. As we gained height, the snow deepened to around boot depth but it was soft and powdery and dry, and many were the halts called to take in and photograph the scene around us. The ‘windmills’ on Windy Standard stood out white against the deep blue sky and the light on the snow was low and soft, offering many opportunities to the cameramen. While they stopped to take pictures, the rest of us stopped to watch; they had photographs but we had memories to take away. The slow pace and these frequent stops made the climb to the top of the pass as easy as we’ve had any climb and, as casually as this, we crossed the bog that is the Source of the Afton and climbed to the fence that marks the head of the pass and the county boundary. Here we had a longer halt, a halt for coffee. So far, the day had been superb.
But the time soon came to carry out the rest of the planned route. The boundary fence rises up the flank of Alhang and we had to rise with it. The climb was steeper than before, not unduly so but enough to raise the heart-rate and take away the breath. But the day was such that many view stops could be called, and many were. The hillscape opened up to us as we climbed; firstly to Windy Standard, then beyond this Moorbrock, and Beninner, and Cairnsmore of Carsphairn; then the view south-westward over the Glenkens to the distant snow-capped Cairnsmore of Fleet; to the south above the sea fog that marked the far Solway, the peaks of the Lake District fells appeared; and all sunlit under the clear blue sky. We stopped as often as new vistas presented themselves. Absolutely magnificent!
Then we found ourselves on the top of Alhang. But we also found that slight breeze that rippled the waters of the reservoir, a breeze that blew from the south-east and blew over the snow, chilling as it did so. There was no point in hanging about too long on this top in the nippy breeze so we moved on to our next two thousand foot plus objective, the top of Alwhat barely a kilometre away.
We stopped on the top of Alwhat for now a different perspective presented itself, eastwards now towards the Lowther Hills and south-eastward over the valley of the Nith, a valley that was smothered in fog, a thin grey streak in the hillscape. Then there was the Scaur Valley and the Shinnel one and the Dalwhat, and between the last two rose the hills of the Striding Arches (see 4/8/2010). Yes, there was the arch on Benbrack and further to the east and just to the side of the trees, the one on Colt Hill, all visible to the naked eye. Fantastic! We revelled in the winter-brown valleys and the snow-covered hillscape as we walked towards our next top, Meikledod Hill.
Below us now, down to the left, the waters of the reservoir lay as a deep blue splash surrounded by winter-brown grasses and olive coloured conifers rising up to meet the snow on the surrounding hills. The photographers tried hard to take away the scene in the camera. But beyond the dam, the plain of Ayrshire all but hid itself for a bank of clag hung over the low country restricting the northerly aspect to around ten miles, just enough to show Cumnock and Auchinleck. Yet through this clag could just be distinguished the snowy white mass of Ben Lomond, some ninety miles away, with an unidentifiable peak to its right – Ben More? Ben Ledi? We couldn’t be sure. What we could be sure of, though, was that the Alpine peaks rising through the clag to the west were the northern hills of Arran. Spectabulous!
As we dropped off Alwhat top there were calls for lunch. So in a wee sheltered spot between here and its subsidiary top of Brown Hill, we halted and sat down on a snowy bank for a bite of peece.
Now there were mumblings of dissension in the ranks for from our peece stop we looked over to the slopes of Black Lorg, slopes that appeared steep and long. Only Jimmy and Rex were prepared to carry out the original plan for others suggested skirting this particular top and taking a way round the side. But, no matter what route we decided to follow, we still had to cross Meikledod Hill. When we left the peece stop, the way was still downwards. We could see a scar cut across the face of Meikledod, a scar that Jimmy said was an old forest road type of track running from the Shinnel to the Kello. It would take us to the foot of the slope of Black Lorg. So, to appease the dissenters, we climbed the hill as far as the scar and turned along it to the foot of Black Lorg, missing out the top of Meikledod, but not by much.
At the foot of Black Lorg Jimmy and Rex kept the momentum going, fully expecting the rest to turn across the hillside. But Davie had had a change of heart and followed on with Ian, leaving only three to carry out the rebellion. The climb onto this top wasn’t as steep nor as long as it appeared from the peece stop but it was steep enough to take away the breath and halt all conversations. The quiet of the hill was broken only by the crunching of the snow beneath the boots and the pounding of heartbeats as the slope took its toll. But, as I said, the slope wasn’t as long as it appeared and it soon began to level onto the top. After a few minutes Rex and Jimmy were joined on our fourth top by Ian and Davie.
The views from this top were every bit as special as before and now we could look beyond Cairnsmore of Carsphairn to the high hills of Galloway, glowing just as white as the rest. For a few minutes we stood on this top just to absorb the views before we started the descent towards the lower top of Cannock Hill, a top that is surrounded by higher ones.
We lost the distant views as we dropped down the south-western slope of Black Lorg. This slope caught the afternoon sun and as the altitude dropped and the temperature rose, the snow turned increasingly wet and slippy. We slipped and slid our way down the slope to the start of the rise onto Cannock. It seemed that Rex and Jimmy were determined to rein in the dissenters and already were opening up a gap to the trailing two. The path, a pad really, skirts the top of Cannock about fifty feet from the top. The speedsters took this path. But Ian and Davie are made of stronger stuff and were determined to complete the six tops. So on to Cannock top they climbed, whooping and jeering at the other two speeding off down the northern slope of the hill.
It was all downhill from here. We lost the snow on the Cannock slope but the wet boggy slope of Craigbranneoch Rigg leading down to the reservoir was just as treacherous. Feet slid and slipped on the wet peat before we found safer ground by the dam. That’s where the rebels were caught, waiting in the afternoon sunshine for the rest to arrive. Davie and Ian, the only ones to have completed the tops, were last to arrive but compassion compelled us to wait for them; that and the fact that they had the car keys. Then we all sauntered casually back to the car park. One word to sum up the day? Excellent! Cracking! Fabulous! – take your pick for all applied today.

We found ourselves back in the Sun in Cumnock for FRT today an’ it wisnae even rainin’.

PS. Actually, the joke at the start of this account should read - A man walks into the Ashoka and asks ‘Dae ye dae take-aways?’ ‘Aye’ says the bloke behin’ the coonter. ‘Well whit’s 212 minus 87?’ - But we prefer it the way Davie tellt it.

PPS. See how many carry-outs or take-aways you can find in the above account.

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.

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