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.

17 February - Coran of Portmark circuit

The drifts lay deep on the grizzly Rhynns, 
An' the deep-scarr'd rugged Meaul ; 

An dim through the haze, the stately Bow 
Loom'd ghostly, grim, an' tall. 

Eight Ooters (Alan, Allan, Davie, Paul, Rex, Robert, Ian and Johnny) gathered outside the Dalmellington Inn at 9.30 am, not to await opening time, but to proceed to the Green Well of Scotland from where they would repeat last February's (February 4th to be exact) Coran of Portmark circuit.

Last year, this had been Ronnie's first ooting with the Ooters and it had left such a lasting impression upon him that he was missing at roll call. This had been a spectacular walk on ice and snow so it was pleasing (to the majority) to see, as we headed towards Carsphairn, that a fresh fall of snow was lying on the tops.

Leaving the cars on the abandoned bit of road to the west of the main road (more of this anon), we took the old miners' road to the ruins of Woodhead lead mines. We approached the bridge, and even in Jimmy's absence, the question was put:

"When was this bridge built?"

Robert reckoned the 1830s, Paul reckoned 1936. Both were wrong. It was 1935. Robert commented it was hard enough remembering his name, let alone when some bridge in the middle of nowhere was built.

Garryhorn Farm was reached. The walled garden by the farm was a blanket of white from the countless snowdrops. Meanwhile, the dogs we met on our previous visit were cooped up, but we could hear them barking as we passed. There was no farmer around for Robert to insult this time.

As we approached the Woodhead mine buildings no discussion was necessary as telepathically we headed for the ruins of the old school to take our morning coffee.

We were now into the wet snow as we climbed a stile, left the stony path and headed up the hill. The wet snow soon gave way to the real thing and we paused more than once to observe the view, the peace being disturbed only by a couple of RAF jet planes.

The top of Coran of Portmark (623 m) afforded fine views, especially to the north where Troon and Irvine could be made out and to the west over Loch Doon towards Lochs Riecawr and Macaterick.

Looking south towards Meaul something/someone was spotted on the track ahead. A walker? A quad bike? Some of us could see it moving, others weren't sure.

Off we set again. Davie and Robert took the path over Bow (613 m). The rest took another path which skirted the hill. They were advised by Robert that he and Davie were on the right path. We kept to the wrong path which seamlessly rejoined the right path a little further on. Here, on the col between the Garryhorn valley and Loch Doon, the snow was deep and the barbed wire fences were coated in ice. There were some threatening clouds around which looked as if they might bring more snow but the day remained dry.

The walker/quad bike some of us had seen moving down the hill earlier turned out to be a bale of barbed wire. It certainly wasn't moving as we passed it.

Now began the steep ascent of Meaul. Last year this had been an icy stretch but today the fresh snow covered the ice below and gave a relatively firm footing. The length of Rex's strides in the snow were remarked upon and discussion naturally turned to inner leg measurements. After more stops to admire the view, the trig point on Meaul (695 m, 2280 ft in old money) was reached and the view to the south opened up to reveal the Solway, the snow covered Lake District hills and possibly the northern tip of the Isle of Man. And unlike the last time Davie and Paul 'spotted' the hills of the Lake District (from Byne Hill?) they didn't drift across the sky.

At this point Allan was asked where he would like his lunch (with Davie suggesting Carlin's Cairn, in the distance). Allan replied by suggesting he would have liked his lunch at the foot of the hill he had just climbed! Touché.

Because of the cold breeze on the summit we decided to have lunch in the lee of the wall just below the summit. It wasn't the most comfortable spot, with the choice of seating being a cold snowy rock or cold snowy snow. Johnny, of course, had brought his own seat with him.

After lunch we followed the wall down the steep side of Meaul, with snow, deep in places and more underlying ice. Then up to Cairnsgarroch and the Shepherd's Cairn at 659 m for the last climb of the day.

Last year we had cut across the top of Cairnsgarroch as we headed back to Woodhead mines, but the descent was found to be steep and rocky. This time we skirted round the eastern edge of the hill, but it was no better. Instead of rocks we had dougals and walking laterally along the slope was tiring and sore on the feet (of some of us). The snow gave way to slush and then to bog. Robert slipped twice prompting Alan to suggest he needed a zimmer. All in all this short stretch was a bit unpleasant. We vowed that next time we'd find a better way down.

The Garryhorn Burn still had to be negotiated and 8 Ooters appeared to find 8 different ways across. Some crossed by jumping part the way across and getting a wet boot, others crossed using poles and fencing which had been built over the burn whilst Davie disappeared into the distance only to re-appear at our meeting point by a mine shaft with a beautiful stone wall around it. How he got there, no one knows.

And so we set off back down the miners' track to the cars.

'Concatenation' had been the word of the day and quite late in the day Davie announced that the word was derived from the Latin 'concatenare' - to link together, which in turn came from 'catena' - a chain. He added for good measure that the Italian football defensive tactics 'catenaccio' came from the same root.

Was that impressive, or was that impressive? Had he been saving this erudite exposition until late in the day or had he just remembered?

And he still had one trick left. As we approached the farm buildings near the foot of the road he announced that he would offer the kitty (or was it just a bit of the kitty?) to anyone who knew the name of this farm. Of course the kitty was safe, so he proudly announced that it was called Holm of Daltallochan. And to prove it he went to show us the sign bearing the name ....except it was no longer there. Did we believe him? Of course not.

After our 6 hour excursion we were back at the cars, to be met with a large trailer which had been deliberately placed across the exit from where the cars were parked.

"I've had words with this farmer before" said Davie, "he's a miserable old ....".

Ten minutes later a tractor drew up and a youngish friendlyish driver got out .... his mood perhaps tempered by the sight of 8 Ooters awaiting him. No harsh words were exchanged although he pointed out we had blocked an area he needed for turning his tractor and trailer. That was all, and off he went with his trailer. It had the potential for another Dollar incident but it was averted.

And for the second successive week we found ourselves in the Dalmellington Inn.

A great walk repeated in similar conditions to last year. We must make it an annual event!


Computer problems have prevented me from mapping the walk but based on last year's walk I reckon it was approx 17.5 km.

4 February Coran of Portmark and Meaul

‘Saw ye ever anything to beat that?’
‘Man, look at the sun glintin’ on Luce Bay, and loch Dee lying like a silver tray on a purple table-cloth. Was there ever a bonnier view?’
‘Ey,’ answered Colin.
‘Where?’
‘Frae the Coran o’ Portmark,’ It was said so quietly, but so decisively, that all eyes turned towards him as he pointed towards that mountain.
Andrew McCormick, Galloway

The weather gods who had deserted us in January blessed us today with a day of still, frosty air, snow at higher levels and, for a change, bright, and at times warm, sunshine. Nine of us gathered at Green Well just north of Carsphairn for a walk on the north end of the Rhinns of Kells. Rex was in warmer, but hardly sunnier, climes and Alan was enjoying snowbound Northumberland but we were joined in their stead by new recruit Ronnie Thompson.
We walked towards the hills, along the Garryhorn road. Somebody asked the date on the bridge but for the life of us, we couldn’t remember the exact date carved on the parapet. Davie was closest with 1936. The date carved was 1935. We should have known this for it was probably built at the time of the Ken/Dee Hydro-electric scheme. We will remember for the future. Maybe!
The road continued through Garryhorn and we continued with it, avoiding the frozen puddles, some nearly coming to grief on the icier patches. But without real mishap, we came to the abandoned lead mining village of Woodhead. Here we encountered our first snow, fine and powdery but barely two inches deep. And here, a mile and a half and half an hour after leaving the cars, we stopped at the remains of the old school for coffee.
Here Ronnie was introduced to the foibles of the different Ooters - Davie’s propensity to stray in the fog, Robert’s sartorial elegance, Ian’s lunchbox and so on.

‘Wad some pow’r the giftie gie us,

Tae see ourselves as ithers see us’

We were prepared to spend some time here but the cold was seeping into old bones so we moved on.
The snow got deeper as we started the climb but not unduly so. Yet, it was enough to hinder progress and make what should be an easy climb, just that wee bit more tiring. ‘View stops’ were called frequently. And the views were worth stopping for, ever changing as we rose higher. First Cairnsmore of Carsphairn took all the attention, gleaming white under its coating of snow: then the New Cumnock hills with the ‘windmills’ on Windy Standard barely moving in the still air: then the lower hills of the Glenkens with Loch Kenn just visible in the south.
The view remained in the east and south for the height of the ridge lay to the north-west and obstructed any distance in that direction. But the eastern views were only a prelude to those we had when we gained the ridge on Coran of Portmark summit.
We reached the summit in a staggered group. Some were staggered by the wintry aspect, some were staggered by the brilliance of the day and some just staggered. But we all made it to the top and, once there, and once the breath was recovered, we took in the new landscape. Loch Doon lay below us, immediately to the north-west, its entire seven mile length visible from our viewpoint: on the western skyline, the snow-capped Awful Hand ran south to terminate in the magnificence of Merrick: in front of this, Hoodens Hill and Mulwharchar dropped their rocky flanks into the olive-green forest of the Gala Valley: and the broad ridge of the Rhinns of Kells stretched away southward. All of this under a clear, blue sky. Yet north-westward the distance was becoming obscured as the threatened weather front headed in our direction
It was southward along the Rhinns, that we turned our steps now. Peter led us down from Coran summit to rise onto Meaul. Old snow, frozen to pavement hardness, was occasionally found and provided firm footing and some relief from the energy sapping powder that covered the ridge and the ascent onto Meaul. The day and the hillscape before us also helped to ease our way to the top. Lunch had been suggested by the starving (No, it wasn’t Ian this time) on the Coran top but the well-breakfasted preferred to keep up the momentum until Meaul summit. Now, on that top, came lunch. And not before time said some. (It was noted that Peter, who suggested lunch on Coran, was first to the top of Meaul)
We might have stayed longer at the peece stop for the sun was warm and the air still but the cold seeped into the bones from below, from the snow and frozen ground. We moved on. This was much to Peter’s displeasure for he was eating still. We moved on anyway.
We came down a slope, which under normal conditions would be easy, but today, with icy snow, proved anything but. Care had to be taken. Each took his own degree of care and we were staggered once more down the slope. We came together on a col between Meaul and Cairnsgarroch. Under different conditions we might have spotted the King’s Well but the snow blotted out small landscape features so we missed it. Not that we would have stopped anyway for the momentum of the down-slope was used for the upslope onto Cairnsgarroch.
By now, we had lost both the westward view and the sight of the lead mines. With the loss of this reference point navigation might have been difficult but with the instinct of homing pigeons, Robert and Jimmy led us across the top to the steep descent of the end of the ridge. Again care was taken on the rough, snow-covered terrain. As we dropped the snow gave way but the ground became more tussocky and more difficult. Jimmy had noticed the quad tracks beside the fence earlier in the day and so made for the easier ground.
The quad tracks took us down to a ford in the burn. The water was running only ankle deep but it looked icy cold and probably was for it ran off the snow on the hill. The ford was approached with trepidation by most and abject horror by some. But there was no mishap to record and everybody was across the water safely and we now found ourselves climbing gently back to the ruins of Woodhead. An afternoon drinks stop was called. We sat by a ruined wall and reflected on the snowy ridge we had been on and magnificent views we had enjoyed barely an hour before.
The walk down the road, though having its own charm, was something of an anticlimax after the high snow. Johnny was heard to enquire if they had somehow added a mile or so onto the road since this morning. It certainly felt like it. However, we arrived back at the Greenwell in plenty of time for fluid replacement therapy in Dalmellington.
This was a longer walk than many envisaged (17 Km, according to the 3D cartographer) and, given the soft snow we walked through, there will be a few stiff legs tomorrow. But it was a day not to be missed and ranks among the best of the Ooter’s outings.

Distance 17.0 Km


photos and map by Paul

Coran of Portmark

Here is a selection of pictures from Wed 4th Feb 2009. Hope you enjoy .

Robert