Castle Semple 20 March

Allan, Andy, Davie C, Ian, Malcolm, Paul, Rex, Ronnie, Robert

Walk for an hour and a half and then return, or cycle for an hour and a half and then return. What could possibly go wrong?  Unless, of course, you belong to a certain band of retired, professional  gentlemen, where anything is possible.

We met at the car park adjacent to the Visitors' Centre on a dry but cold morning and the decision was quickly made to avail ourselves of a coffee in the café before setting out. As always, the staff were very friendly and accommodating and it was 10.45 before we dragged ourselves back outside.

Paul, Rex and Ronnie set off on their bikes with the instruction to meet back at the Centre at 2pm, giving ample time for a lunch break.

The remainder started off down the cycle track and once in the shelter of the banking on either side of the path, the walking conditions became very good, as long as you were wrapped up. A stop was made at the ruins of the old (gothic?) church before returning to the track and continuing to Fred Flintstone’s bike for a photo shoot. Despite the cold conditions the path was very busy with walkers and cyclists alike.

Lunch was taken on the outskirts of Kilbarchan before the return leg was started. It was when we, the walkers, were within 15 minutes of the Centre that we received a phone call from Rex to say the cyclists would be half an hour late. What would we do? Go straight to the Corner Bar or go back into the café to wait for the cyclists? Strangely enough, the café won the day and cups of hot chocolate were gratefully consumed. 45 minutes later there was still no sign of the three musketeers so we, not for the first time today, uttered the motto and set off for the Corner Bar. However, as we were leaving, Rex came into view followed by the rest of the peleton.

Having got ensconced in the lounge, hold your breath, not the usual one but the one next door, the story of the bikers was related. As we had suspected, they had decided to go as far as Pollok Park before returning. This made their journey much longer than that agreed and for disobeying orders each was given a written warning as to his future conduct. Paul received his standing up as the last few miles had made their mark on his posterior, saying nothing about the minor collision he and Ronnie had had.

Thanks to Malcolm who bought the first round to celebrate the birth of granddaughter Ebay Yvie, and to the staff of the Corner Bar who made us most welcome and provided us with ample quantities of biscuits and cheese. We will be back.

14 March Hill of Stake - Dispelling the myth

Alan, Allan, Andy, Davie C, Davie Mc, Ian, Jimmy, Johnny, Paul, Peter, Rex, Robert & Ronnie

According to the map, The Hill of Stake is a top that sits in the hills separating Ayrshire and Renfrewshire, in the triangle between Lochwinnoch, Largs and Greenock. Those who follow this blog regularly will know that we have attempted to reach this top four times in our existence and each time, for different reasons, we have failed to do so. So, like El Dorado and the Yeti, Hill of Stake has attained something of a mythical status in Ooterland; we know it is there but we haven’t yet proved its existence. That’s why nearly a full complement of Ooters decanted from their cars at the Muirshiel Visitor Centre at ten on an overcast Wednesday morning – we would prove once and for all that the hill of stake exists or not.

The day was overcast with heavy air and a fresh south-westerly that just failed to scatter the miasma that obscured anything more than two or three miles away. But, despite this we were sure of success this time for the met office promised that it would get no worse and we had plenty of time today. So, in confident mood we set off for Hill of Stake.

A group of four consisting of Peter, Andy, Robert and Jimmy set the pace along the old barytes track towards the abandoned quarry. The birders had told us to be on the look-out for hen harries but apart from a couple of covey of grouse and a solitary singing skylark, nothing was to be seen among the heather of the moor as we made our way towards the old quarry. Small chunks of pink barytes littered the track, getting larger as we turned upward into the old mineral workings. Here, in a metal ship’s container that serves as a makeshift bothy, we settled down for elevenses.

Thus far we have been before. And up the path to the top of the quarry we have been before. But for lack of time or for lack of enthusiasm or conceding to rotten weather, we have always cut our route short here. Today we would push on for Hill of Stake. There are no distinct paths beyond the top of the quarry and the going is through rough grass and heather. Nor is the top of our hill visible from here but an estimated compass bearing pointed us in the right direction and we set off upward into the rough stuff. While most followed Jimmy and Rex along the vestiges of sheep pads and short stretches of quad-bike tracks, Paul and Ian chose to plough their own way through the rough stuff. No matter which way was chosen though, the going was easier than it might have been for the winter-dead vegetation was at its shortest - we wouldn’t like to come up here when the vegetation is in full growth, though – and the slope was gentle. The top of Hill of Stake was gained with less effort than has been expended on many a hill.

Celebration was the order of the day. A Celtic-type huddle was formed round the summit trig point, a few whoops and yells were heard and congratulatory slaps on the back were made for at last we had conquered the mythical Hill of Stake. (Steady on chaps, it’s hardly Everest. – Ed.) But the wind was strong and chilling so we didn’t hang around too long on top and Robert started the move off the summit.

Flushed with our great achievement and high on adrenaline and with the clock barely passed noon, we turned our attention to Misty Law some mile and a bit away over some rough ground. But, hey, what’s a wee bit of rough stuff to folk who have experienced the Carsphairn Lane (see 28/9/2011). We would take in Misty Law as well.

But there was some dissension in the ranks. Peter, who is not too fond of the hill, Allan, whose liking for climbing is well documented in these pages, and Johnny who had been feeling under pressure for a while today, chose not to accompany us but made their own way down a burn valley. The rest, though, followed the county boundary fence towards Misty Law.

The down slope was easy; the short grass and the equally short springy heather giving us a comfortable descent. And there was the semblance of a sheep pad beside the fence that eased the way down. But the ground between the two tops was wet. Bright green sphagnum-covered traps lay in wait for the unwary. But we are wary. By dint of our excellent long-jump skills and by making long detours we managed to avoid the worst of these and most of us arrived at the foot of the up-slope to Misty Law with relatively dry feet.

The climb to the top was short and easy. But, like on Hill of Stake, we didn’t tarry long in the wind, just long enough to realise that here was a hill with potential for a clear day. Then we made our way to the lea of the summit to sit down for a bite.

Now, as has been said before, it was all downhill from here. Again, there is no distinct path from the top of Misty Law and we had to judge the route for ourselves. But we had Rex and Jimmy who, between them, managed to find a set of quad tracks that looked as though they might take us down towards the burn where the rebellious trio could be seen on the far side. We made our way down towards them.

It was on this down slope that we saw it. Well, the trailblazers saw it but as yet the scribe is unaware whether the rest saw it. Slinking among the heather then making a bold dash across a grassy area to more cover was a fox. ‘All tail with a little bit of fox attached’ was how Rex described it as it slunk away from us in the direction of the burn gorge. And it was towards this same burn gorge that we now turned our steps.

Going down into the gorge and crossing the burn was more difficult for some than it was for others – remember we have hydrophobes in our midst – but all safely ascended to the safer ground on the other side of the gorge. Now we had only half a mile of grass and heather to negotiate to find the bridge on the barytes track. We crossed the burn by the old bridge – though it was closed off, it was the closer – came on to the track and sauntered back to the centre feeling fair chuffed with ourselves. Another myth dispelled!

Now that the Hill of Stake has been proven, what else needs proving? That there is a view from Ben Lomond? That there is a road from Drumjohn to Woodhead Village? That there are some friendly farmers in Fenwick? The list is open for additions.

FRT today was taken in a bien wee snug in the Corner Bar in Lochwinnoch where Alan treated us all to some of his home-smoked trout. Our thanks to Alan for this and to Johnny for his usual hospitality before the walk.

27 May: A Day in the Saddle: Lochwinnoch-Pollok House-Lochwinnoch

Seven EOs (Davie, Ian, Johnny, Paul, Rex, Robert and Ronnie) gathered promptly at 9.30 am, outside the Vistors' Centre at Castle Semple Loch, Lochwinnoch.

Seven EOs - but very nearly only 5 bicycles. Robert had failed to notice a speed bump in Stewarton which left the bicycle rack holding his and Davie's bike hanging at a precarious angle from the rear of his car.

The weather at 9.30 am was wet and dreich and we all wondered why Davie had not been phoning around to cancel the cycle run. Still, the forecast was for an improvement and we chose to delay our departure in the hope of ameliorating conditions and headed off towards the Centre for a coffee, only to be informed en route that the the cafe didn't open till 10 am. Your correspondent headed off back to his car, to change into shorts, and found it odd that no one else had returned to their bikes. Eventually he spotted Johnny waving frantically from the door of the centre and upon rejoining him found that the rest of the group was tucking into a variety of cakes and biscuits and awaiting the serving of coffee. Quite what charms had been used to elicit this unexpected service can only be speculated upon by your correspondent.

The delayed departure proved to be a wise move because when we emerged from the Centre, filled with coffee, chocolate crisps, banana sponge and goodness knows what else, the rain had more or less stopped .... and the rest of the day proved to be rain-free other than for the very lightest smirr.

Off we set heading north along the route of the old Dalry & North Johnstone Line with Robert immediately steaming on ahead. Had no one told him that this would be a marathon rather than a sprint? There were pleasing glimpses of the loch, and 'The Temple', a folly, which was constructed on Kenmore Hill in 1770, was sighted by those not pedalling nose-to-handlebars. At one point a buzzard swooped low just ahead of us on the track.

Our first halt on an old railway bridge brought forth the expression of a little discomfiture from Johnny. He thought his saddle needed adjustment. Robert was quick to diagnose the problem as 'lack of f***ing preparation'. Ronnie, on the other hand, delved into his tool kit; a tool kit sufficiently equipped to rebuild a complete bicycle. (Why do cyclists buy ultra light bicycles and then load half a ton of scrap iron into their tool kits?)

Without getting too technical Ronnie appeared to take the saddle apart and put it back together again. The only difference your correspondent could discern was that Johnny now appeared to be in grave danger of sliding off the back of the saddle onto the rear wheel of his bike.

Davie too was having trouble. He reckoned that his legs seemed to be too long for his pedals - wisely he chose to adjust the height of his saddle rather than the length of his legs.

Onward we pedalled, skirting Kilbarchan and the northern edge of Johnstone.

Our second halt was also on an old railway bridge and again Johnny expressed some discomfiture in the nether regions. This time a little more vehemently. Suggestions were made that Johnny should nip back to the Morrison's store we had just passed and buy a £59.99 bike - keep the new saddle and dump the rest of the bike in the river - which appeared to be a local custom. Ronnie, however, was not to be deterred. The rest of us stood around in awe as he set about his task of taking apart Johnny's saddle and reconstructing it. It was suggested that Rex should be filming all this for an instructional video on bicycle maintenance. Ronnie's secret this time appeared to be to take everything apart and then reassemble it in a different order. (This works for me with IKEA furniture.)

A perceptive passing friendly native helpfully told us where the nearest bicycle repair shop was.

Having refitted the saddle, Ronnie and Johnny then set about adjusting Johnny's front brakes. The need for adjustment appeared to be a consequence of the saddle adjustment. At this stage it was becoming all too technical and high powered for your correspondent and instead he turned his attention to the shopping trolleys and bikes in the river under the bridge.

Off we set again. At Elderslie we made a rare diversion onto a public road. The Wallace Tavern was spotted. Does anyone know who this Mr Wallace was?

We were soon back on the old railway line and after a couple of miles arrived at Paisley Canal Street station! Facing us was Saucel Hill, rising up to its full height of 42 metres, and with some difficulty we pushed our bikes over the grass to the summit, which afforded a fine panoramic view of Paisley and its environs.

Since a picture is said to be worth a thousand words, here's a picture:




...and here's one of Rex's pictures, posed as we pored over the map, pretending to be lost:



L-R: Robert, Ian, Davie, Ronnie, Paul, Johnny
As we took in the view, there was discussion about where we should go next. Paul suggested the Erskine Bridge. Johnny suggested Lochwinnoch.

So Glasgow it was.

Some of the more daring in the party descended the hill on their bikes, the more sensible pushed. A short ride along a road took us to a more open but also more dodgy area: Injun Territory. However no braves could be seen lining the tops of the grassy slopes which rose up to our right and so we pedalled on at full speed. We passed a host of derelict buildings on the site of the Hawkhead Hospital for Infectious Diseases. This site is now being developed for luxury homes but it looked as if the credit crunch has taken its toll.

And then it was along the banks of the White Cart and over a bridge from which had been dumped, surprise surprise, shopping trolleys, bicycles and traffic cones. Soon we were in Pollok Park, where we had decided to lunch.
A costume drama was being filmed close to Pollok House and Davie took exception to the Extra's sign posted on a couple of the caravans on the set.

We had lunch outside the House at a couple of ideally situated picnic tables alongside the White Cart. The eagle-eyed amongst us spotted a pair of kingfishers flying up the river - a first for Ian - and we were unanimous in our expressions of regret that Jimmy had missed this rare treat.

After lunch arty-farty photographs were taken on the steps outside Pollok House, evidence of which can be seen in Bob's photo above. At one time the intention had been to visit the Burrell Collection but in the event we decided to give it a miss.

The return journey? Well it was like the outgoing journey, only in the opposite direction.

The group split up badly on the return as the miles began to take their toll on some legs and glutei maximi (I hope that's the plural, Davie).

For those in the lead, not that it was a race at all, Davie provided some protection against the wind as he pulled the main peloton along. However, once his usefulness was over he was dropped by Ronnie and Rex as they made a breakaway, pulling out of his slipstream and opening up a substantial gap as Paul tried to hold on to Davie's rear wheel.

Paul then pulled away from Davie and started to close the gap on the leaders as the finishing line came into view, not that it was a race at all, and in the last few metres the gap was closed.

The final résultat de l'étape, not that it was a race at all:

1 Thompson R 3:02:24

2 Porter R même temps

3 Crankshaw P même temps

4 McMeekin D à 25 secondes

5 McGarry R à 3:17 minutes

6 Hill I à 5:13 minutes

7 Matthews J même temps

Not that it was a race at all.

Refreshments were taken in the Corner Bar at Lochwinnoch. We settled in the snug. It was so snug that Rex had to go into the Ladies' toilet in order to take group photograph.

Postscript

In the evening, Paul, Johnny, Ronnie, Alan and Rex enjoyed the splendid hospitality of Davie and Kay as they watched Manchester United being humiliated by Barcelona in the Champions' League final.