Showing posts with label Cumnock. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cumnock. Show all posts
Thursday, 12 February 2026
Thursday, 11 January 2024
Cumnock Circular 10 January
Allan, Davie C, Davie Mc, Gus, Hugh, Jimmy, Johnny, Paul, Rex, Robert
The weather was much calmer than it was a fortnight ago when we met in the same car park in Cumnock for the day’s walk. After the bright, but cold, past few days it was overcast with the temperature just above freezing. Good walking conditions though. Jimmy led us across the path through the new playing fields to the bridge over the Lugar and on to the riverside trail which we followed to the grounds of Dumfries House. Coffee was taken at the rotunda, sadly locked, but with enough external seating to accommodate us.
Just after eleven o’clock saw us cross the Chinese Bridge and take a right up the steps and on to the path which took us to the entrance road into the estate, a road we followed up to the main road, the A70.
Now, when they same that auld age disnae come itsel’, they might be right, as our guide had a senior moment and took us down to the right before realising after ten minutes that we should have gone left. We weren’t too sore on him, as we soon retraced our steps and continued towards Cumnock until we turned right on to Station Avenue which we followed relentlessly upwards until the old estate station was reached. It had been years since most of us had been here and we were reminded that the last time we had come this way the snow was thick on the ground. Anyway, after a short view stop, we continued on this road until we came to Skares Road. Turning left and we would have been back in Cumnock in jig-time, but we turned right and headed past what remains of Garrallan school (where Derval Davie’s dad attended) before taking a left and stopping for lunch at the side of the road.
It was about half-past twelve when we moved on, taking a left on to Cairn Road, and continuing down to Cumnock. Unfortunately, the road back into Cumnock was marred with litter and bigger deposits of fly-tipping, a topic we have covered many times in the past. However, we crossed the bridge over the bypass and took a left into ‘the Glens’ housing estate, where we stopped to be informed that the flat we were looking at was where Davie was born, and the one across the road was where Jimmy was born. No blue plaques on display to commemorate these momentous events, but we look forward to future walks when the twosome can take us take us to places where further important events in their development took place. Well, maybe not!
We eventually came out at Hearth Road, across from Aldi, and it was just a short walk back to the cars. As said before, the weather had been overcast and we had encountered some moisture, more like low cloud than actual rain, but all in all it had been a good day out having covered eight miles in three and a quarter hours. FRT was taken in a very quiet Black Bull in Mauchline where we were very well received and supplied with sausage rolls and biscuits. Hospitality like that deserves to be rewarded. We will be back!
Thursday, 19 April 2018
Taps Aff! 18 April (Cumnock to A-Frame)
Alan, Allan, Davie C, Davie Mc,
Dougie, Gus, Jim, Jimmy, Johnny, Kenny T, Malcolm, Paul, Rex, Robert
There was a very healthy turnout at
the Cumnock Swimming Pool car park prior to our journey up Glen Afton for the Four
Tops walk i.e. Blackcraig. Blacklorg etc. However, for a variety of reasons,
Allan, Davie Mc, Jimmy, Johnny, Malcolm and Robert decided that a shorter low-level
walk would suffice, and so they set off for Dumfries House and Ochiltree,
whilst the rest headed off for the hills. The weather was overcast, with a hint
of moisture, but the forecast had predicted an ever-improving scenario.
Following the Lugar, the six reached
the estate in jig time and made their way up to the café at Dumfries House for
scones and coffee, as had been previously decided. On reaching the entrance to
the café they were dumbfounded to see the rest of the guys making their way in. The
weather up the glen had been so bad – low mist, rain, and wind - that they had
decided that discretion was the better part of valour and had returned to join
us.After a leisurely coffee break, the returnees got changed and joined the walk up to the Barony A-Frame, a traditional lunch spot. Although parts of the route were muddy, they were not as bad as we have seen them and certainly not as bad as last week. The weather by this time was brighter and warmer, although there was a fair wind blowing, not an issue for those who managed to get a seat in the wee shelter for lunch.
 |
| Not as dramatic as Paul's pic |
The day had taken an unexpected turn with those doing the shorter walk walking further (just over eight miles) than those who wished the bigger walk, having been on the go for the best part of four hours.
FRT was taken in the Black Bull in Mauchline where Davie C treated us to the first round in celebration of his eldest daughter’s recent marriage.. Thanks, Davie, and we are pleased that everything went well. We were also treated to sausage rolls and pizza in the Bull. Thanks again!
This turned out to be a three-day pint, or whatever! A good day out.
Tuesday, 27 December 2011
21 December Cumnock to Ochiltree via Dumfries House Tearoom
Alan, Allan, Davie C, Davie Mc, Ian, Jimmy, Johnny, Malcolm, Paul & Robert
Some diseases are infectious and some are contagious – that’s medical fact - but never in his wildest dreams did your scribe think that accidents are infectious. Last week Jimmy appeared with a plaster on his forehead the result of walking into a door. (So he said but we suspect differently!) This week the entire Kilmarnock contingent arrived with plasters on their foreheads. Jimmy has yet to see the joke.
The plan for the day was to have a walk near Cumnock taking in the old mining village of Skares. This was so that Paul, our junior football expert, could see where the famous Skares Bluebell FC once played. But the weather, as it has been many times this year, was dull, damp and dreich with the threat of rain anytime. When we gathered in Jimmy’s place in Cumnock a change of mind was in the offing; we would abandon the Skares idea in favour of a mid-winter saunter down the River Lugar from Cumnock to Ochiltree.
This itself was a straightforward affair and one we have done often before (6/01/2010, 2/02/2011 inter alia) so merits no further description here. Only one or two details should be reported for the sake of the record. The first was a diversion to Dumfries House, not so much for the house itself but for the tearoom there. Because this is the festive season we decided to treat ourselves to an indoor cup of coffee. The waitresses were delighted to see us for they had had nobody in this morning before us and reckoned that they would have nobody for the rest of the day. We were a pleasant distraction from the boredom of doing nothing – at least we were some sort of distraction. A nice half hour over coffee (and Malcolm’s macaroon bar) and we were on our way again.
The next stop was at the Barony ‘A’ Frame. Those who knew that there was only enough seating there for six and who could count that there were nine of us, sped up the track to get the benefit. The three slowcoaches had lunch standing up while the rest enjoyed what comfort a perforated metal bench afforded.
Lunch was followed by a quick tour of the information boards then we headed back down the track to the river again.
A rather unpleasant incident occurred beyond Mill Affleck. The tail-enders - who incidentally had just been listening to a rather Johnny-like rant from Jimmy – came across a dog in some distress. It was one of those ‘Staffie’ type of devil-dugs and it appeared to have something stuck in its mouth. While it was happy to be clapped, it would not let any one of us – well Jimmy, the dug whisperer, anyway – near its blood spattered mouth. A few minutes later a young woman with another of the same type of dug came back along the path. She had been walking along talking on her phone and never even noticed the dog was missing. While the dug whisperer held the other on a lead, the woman bent down, opened the jaws of the distressed devil dug and prized the offending stick from between its teeth. Relieved of its torment now, the devil-dug was a calm and docile as any pet. The woman and her twa dugs kept us company to Ochiltree.
We took the bus back to Cumnock where the Sun provided festive FRT. A special mention should be made of Karen, the barmaid in The Sun who patiently suffered all our festive banter and returned it with a smile. Thanks Karen.
Tuesday, 31 May 2011
25 May The Deil’s Back Door
Allan, Jimmy, Johnny, Paul, Rex & Robert
Six of us ventured into the wind and rain today; wind there was for the storm that battered the country on Monday hadn’t quite subsided yet, and the rain that drummed on the car roofs as we drove to Jimmy’s place in Cumnock didn’t bode well for the day. Nevertheless six hardy souls were prepared to venture into the elements. (Peter did turn up at Jimmy’s but had already decided that a walk wasn’t for him today so it was down to the hardy six.) The walk was to be a straightforward in and back on the same route so we might, if so inclined, to walk until we were fed up with the weather and then turn back.
Though the sky remained overcast, rain that fell as we left Jimmy’s had gone by the time we drove the five or so miles to Dalblair where we intended to start and some even began the walk jacketless. We would see how long this would last.
Dalblair is a collection of houses, kennels and a farm stretching in a line beside the Glenmuir Water on the bottom of a narrow valley. What this meant for us of course was that within a few hundred metres we were climbing steeply up that valley side to the high grass moor that lies between Cumnock, Muirkirk and Sanquhar. Fortunately for us there was a road, a farm type road, to take us up the valley side and to within a few hundred metres of our destination of the Deil’s Back Door.
When we cleared the shelter of the valley we met the wind. Through it was on the right shoulder, it was fresh and blew through fleeces. The jacketless weren’t too long in donning them as a wind-cutting layer. And the jackets would stay on for the rest of the day for the wind didn’t let up at all. But, one thing about the wind, it seemed to be keeping the rain at bay – so far.
The Glenmuir Water cuts a deep glen for itself into the high moor. And in the glen, far below us, a herd on a quad bike tested the strength of a rickety wooden bridge thrown over the water. Whether he saw us or not we couldn’t tell for there was no acknowledgement and we could only assume that he was too busy to notice us high above him. We walked on.
According to the one who knows these things, this section of our ‘road’ was built in the late eighteenth century as part of a projected route from Cumnock to Crawfordjohn but was never complete beyond Glenmuirshaw. It has been maintained as a farm road and a shooter’s road ever since. We were glad it was for the moor around us was rough with tussocky grass doogals and the walking there would be extremely tough. But we were on the road and it took us to the abandoned homestead of High Dalblair. Since it was nearly that time and the drystane wall surrounding High Dalblair offered the only shelter from the wind for miles around, we settled down for coffee.
The next abandoned habitation we came to was Glenmuirshaw. After coffee we had continued along the old road splitting into two groups according to pace. And it was the first group who saw the owl as they approached the old farm. By the description given to the birder among us, it would seem to have been a tawny owl but it had disappeared up the ‘shaw’ by the time the second group including our bird man arrived on the scene. Though we waited for a few minutes, there was no sign of the owl returning. We walked on with the agreement to spend a few minutes ‘birding’ for owls on the return journey.
The road runs out at the Shaw but a grass track continues to a sheep fank. It was here that we left the track and followed a quad-bike trail to cross Glenmuir by a rather ancient and precarious looking bridge into the gorge of the Connor Burn. The burn was running high with this month’s rain and doubts were expressed as to whether we would be able to cross it. These doubts were not unfounded for the usual crossing points were all under nearly a foot of fast-flowing, peat-coloured water and we were forced to clamber round the steeper parts of the gorge. Then came a part some fifty metres from the waterfall where we little option but to clamber up the bank out of the gorge – at least three of us did, the other three choosing to have lunch where they could look up the burn to the waterfall known as the Deil’s Back Door. The clamberers took their hint and on the top of the gorge, only looking down into the pool at the base of the falls for the cascade itself was hidden from view, they settled for lunch.
The wild flower display was at its best today, blooms almost glowing under the overcast May sky. Among the usual moorland plants we had already found a clump of white saxifrage of some species in the gorge. Now it was purple orchids, violets and pale mauve mayflower that decorated our lunch stop. Our nature lover attempted to capture them with the camera.
After a few minutes the groups we reunited for the gorge lunchers had decided that clambering up the steep side was the lesser of two evils, preferable to clambering round the slippery rocks above the burn. And with us all together again, we set off on the return journey, a return that was to be the reverse of the outward.
We came back to Glemuirshaw via the lip of the gorge and the rickety bridge and we stopped here for the promised spot of owl hunting. No owls to be seen this time, though Jimmy did find a swallow’s nest complete with half a dozen hungry beaks gaping wide at his waggling finger. And wheatear kept us amused as we made the return along the old road.
The wind that was on our right shoulder on the way out had now swung round and was on the left shoulder on the way back. And the rain that almost threatened only once to come on had stayed away and it was a more comfortable walk back than we had expected.
We were nearly back at Dalblair when we met the herd. As is our usual, we stopped for a blether. This was the chap we saw in the valley this morning. Yes, he had seen us. ‘It’s guid tae see folk oot walkin’, said he. He was impressed that we had been as far as the Deil’s Back Door (I think he was impressed that we had been as far as the Deil’s Back Door at our age!) and was even more impressed when Johnny handed him our blog card. ‘Aye, I’ve got a computer’, said he, ‘but I’ll need to get the weans tae show me how tae work it’. We left him our card anyway.
We lost the wind when we dropped into the valley at Dalblair and a comfortable, slow meander brought us back to the cars around two.
This was a better day than we could have expected given the morning and the walk was easier than some remembered. Though we never got right up to the falls, this was a good day in the wilds of east Ayrshire.
FRT was taken in the Sun in Cumnock.
Six of us ventured into the wind and rain today; wind there was for the storm that battered the country on Monday hadn’t quite subsided yet, and the rain that drummed on the car roofs as we drove to Jimmy’s place in Cumnock didn’t bode well for the day. Nevertheless six hardy souls were prepared to venture into the elements. (Peter did turn up at Jimmy’s but had already decided that a walk wasn’t for him today so it was down to the hardy six.) The walk was to be a straightforward in and back on the same route so we might, if so inclined, to walk until we were fed up with the weather and then turn back.
Though the sky remained overcast, rain that fell as we left Jimmy’s had gone by the time we drove the five or so miles to Dalblair where we intended to start and some even began the walk jacketless. We would see how long this would last.
Dalblair is a collection of houses, kennels and a farm stretching in a line beside the Glenmuir Water on the bottom of a narrow valley. What this meant for us of course was that within a few hundred metres we were climbing steeply up that valley side to the high grass moor that lies between Cumnock, Muirkirk and Sanquhar. Fortunately for us there was a road, a farm type road, to take us up the valley side and to within a few hundred metres of our destination of the Deil’s Back Door.
When we cleared the shelter of the valley we met the wind. Through it was on the right shoulder, it was fresh and blew through fleeces. The jacketless weren’t too long in donning them as a wind-cutting layer. And the jackets would stay on for the rest of the day for the wind didn’t let up at all. But, one thing about the wind, it seemed to be keeping the rain at bay – so far.
The Glenmuir Water cuts a deep glen for itself into the high moor. And in the glen, far below us, a herd on a quad bike tested the strength of a rickety wooden bridge thrown over the water. Whether he saw us or not we couldn’t tell for there was no acknowledgement and we could only assume that he was too busy to notice us high above him. We walked on.
According to the one who knows these things, this section of our ‘road’ was built in the late eighteenth century as part of a projected route from Cumnock to Crawfordjohn but was never complete beyond Glenmuirshaw. It has been maintained as a farm road and a shooter’s road ever since. We were glad it was for the moor around us was rough with tussocky grass doogals and the walking there would be extremely tough. But we were on the road and it took us to the abandoned homestead of High Dalblair. Since it was nearly that time and the drystane wall surrounding High Dalblair offered the only shelter from the wind for miles around, we settled down for coffee.
The next abandoned habitation we came to was Glenmuirshaw. After coffee we had continued along the old road splitting into two groups according to pace. And it was the first group who saw the owl as they approached the old farm. By the description given to the birder among us, it would seem to have been a tawny owl but it had disappeared up the ‘shaw’ by the time the second group including our bird man arrived on the scene. Though we waited for a few minutes, there was no sign of the owl returning. We walked on with the agreement to spend a few minutes ‘birding’ for owls on the return journey.
The road runs out at the Shaw but a grass track continues to a sheep fank. It was here that we left the track and followed a quad-bike trail to cross Glenmuir by a rather ancient and precarious looking bridge into the gorge of the Connor Burn. The burn was running high with this month’s rain and doubts were expressed as to whether we would be able to cross it. These doubts were not unfounded for the usual crossing points were all under nearly a foot of fast-flowing, peat-coloured water and we were forced to clamber round the steeper parts of the gorge. Then came a part some fifty metres from the waterfall where we little option but to clamber up the bank out of the gorge – at least three of us did, the other three choosing to have lunch where they could look up the burn to the waterfall known as the Deil’s Back Door. The clamberers took their hint and on the top of the gorge, only looking down into the pool at the base of the falls for the cascade itself was hidden from view, they settled for lunch.
The wild flower display was at its best today, blooms almost glowing under the overcast May sky. Among the usual moorland plants we had already found a clump of white saxifrage of some species in the gorge. Now it was purple orchids, violets and pale mauve mayflower that decorated our lunch stop. Our nature lover attempted to capture them with the camera.
After a few minutes the groups we reunited for the gorge lunchers had decided that clambering up the steep side was the lesser of two evils, preferable to clambering round the slippery rocks above the burn. And with us all together again, we set off on the return journey, a return that was to be the reverse of the outward.
We came back to Glemuirshaw via the lip of the gorge and the rickety bridge and we stopped here for the promised spot of owl hunting. No owls to be seen this time, though Jimmy did find a swallow’s nest complete with half a dozen hungry beaks gaping wide at his waggling finger. And wheatear kept us amused as we made the return along the old road.
The wind that was on our right shoulder on the way out had now swung round and was on the left shoulder on the way back. And the rain that almost threatened only once to come on had stayed away and it was a more comfortable walk back than we had expected.
We were nearly back at Dalblair when we met the herd. As is our usual, we stopped for a blether. This was the chap we saw in the valley this morning. Yes, he had seen us. ‘It’s guid tae see folk oot walkin’, said he. He was impressed that we had been as far as the Deil’s Back Door (I think he was impressed that we had been as far as the Deil’s Back Door at our age!) and was even more impressed when Johnny handed him our blog card. ‘Aye, I’ve got a computer’, said he, ‘but I’ll need to get the weans tae show me how tae work it’. We left him our card anyway.
We lost the wind when we dropped into the valley at Dalblair and a comfortable, slow meander brought us back to the cars around two.
This was a better day than we could have expected given the morning and the walk was easier than some remembered. Though we never got right up to the falls, this was a good day in the wilds of east Ayrshire.
FRT was taken in the Sun in Cumnock.
Tuesday, 24 August 2010
18 August A Brief History of Cumnock
Malcolm, the new lad, made a mistake. When Jimmy offered to show us some of the historical sites in the Cumnock area, Malcolm quipped, ‘What History? In Cumnock? Cumnock hisnae got a history!’ This was enough to spark Jimmy off and treat us all to the history of every bump, stone and blade of grass in the area. And what Jimmy missed out, Davie, also a native Cumnockian, filled in.
It was the day of Paul’s bus pass do and a short, local walk was called for. So when Jimmy suggested the Cumnock area, this was accepted and we all met at his place for a nine thirty (ish) start. OK, before the Talbot boys get their undergarments in turmoil, some of the walk was in Auchinleck Parish but it was still the Cumnock area.
The transport was left in the car park at the swimming pool (the new one apparently) and we set off along Auchinleck Road towards the town centre. Barely two hundred metres later we were stopped outside a tall, grey sandstone building for the first lesson. This was Lochnorris and was the home of James Keir Hardie, the founder of the Labour party. (See www.spartacus.schoolnet.co.uk/PRhardie.htm) It is still a private home but a small plaque on the wall commemorates Keir Hardie’s connection with it and the town.
Lesson one past, we continued along the street, still heading into town. At the Lugar Bridge we left the main street and took the road for Woodroad Park. ‘All Our Yesterdays’ kicked in with the Cumnock boys for this was the scene of their youthful frolics. The outdoor swimming pool was here (built 1936 and one of the first and finest outdoor pools in the country - see John Strawhorn, A New History of Cumnock, 1966), the putting green was here, the carnival was held here – Ah, nostalgia! As Davie wiped a nostalgic tear from his eye, we walked on through the park. Her Majesty, the Queen visited here in 1956 and made a speech from the bandstand. ‘Us weans thocht she was juist a wee wummin’, said Jimmy, ‘We were expectin’ flowin’ robes an’ a crown at least’. And with this observation ended lesson number two.
One thing Jimmy forgot to mention in his speech was that the Cumnock Cycling rally was also held here during the forties and fifties. It was their hill climb section that we tackled next as the road climbed steeply through the wood to Templands Farm.
Holly was amused by the chickens and ducks in the farmyard and some of the rest of us were more amused by the pigs and goats. We feel sorry for those who don’t get out often.
The last time we came this way as a group, it was chucking down with rain. Today made a pleasant change for the early morning rain had gone and the sun was trying to make an appearance. We took to the Broombraes footpath and continued the climb. Somewhere up the slope we halted to remove fleeces as the heat of the day and the slope took its toll. But the climb didn’t last long and we were soon dropping down through the trees to meet the river again. Jimmy had us halted for another lesson. ‘This is where they quarried the stone for Dumfries House back on the mid seventeen hundreds’ (Lesson three). Peter, our lithophile, wasn’t content with seeing the quarry from the top, he was for down into it to examine the rocks. Ian went with him. The rest stayed where they were and awaited the interesting report.
No report was forthcoming so we wandered on. The path came down to the river and brought us out to the main A70 at the west end of Lugar village. We turned through the village. The neat rows of single storey, brick-built, cottages - iron-worker’s cottages originally - and their gardens were admired as we wandered along to the other end of the village.
Lesson number four came at Rosebank Park, the home of Lugar Boswell Thistle FC. The gate was open and we wandered in. Paul, our expert on all things junior football, was asked about Lugar Boswell’s claim to fame. ‘They used to play in the senior leagues’, said he, confident in his answer, ‘playing the likes of Rangers and Hearts’. But this was not the answer the inquisitors were after. Apparently Lugar developed the tactical system of playing two full backs, three midfielders and five attackers using two flying wingers, a system that was used universally for fifty-odd years before the Italians came up with four – two – four and effectively killed the game. Well, were we gobsmacked or what? We Walked on.
Fifty metres along the road we were stopped again, this time it was to have a look at Bello Mill Farm. Bello Mill was the birthplace on 21 August 1754 of one William Murdoch, inventor and engineer. (See en.wikipedia.org.wiki). Murdoch (later Murdock) whose most famous work, gas lighting, was developed here at Bello Mill, in a riverside cave under the present farm. (Lesson five) This cave just had to be explored. But the burn was high and access today would be difficult and would probably result in wet feet, so the visit was postponed. We did however see the original Mill where Murdoch was born.
Fifty metres beyond the farm, at the entrance to the gorge of Bello Pass, are the remains of a Neolithic stone circle, evidence of a very early history for the place. Had Jimmy not pointed them out as such (lesson six), we would have walked past and noted only a pile of stones.
Then we were into the gorge. Bello Pass was the scene, in 1688 of a skirmish between covenanters and government troops when a party of covenanters ambushed the troops taking the covenanting minister David Houston from Ayr to trial, and probable execution, in Edinburgh. Houston escaped but local man John McGeachan was mortally wounded. He is buried on his farm of Meikle Auchengibbert above Cumnock. (See www.cumnock.net/) We would maybe see his monument later. Until then, we walked on.
Up through Bello Pass we went then, on the busy Muirkirk road. At the top of the pass we took a minor road on the right. Lack of coffee was beginning to tell on the caffeine junkies for it was now after eleven and at least an hour since coffee in Jimmy’s so, somewhere along this wee road, on the parapet of a bridge over a wee burn, we stopped for coffee.
The road rose sharply after coffee; rose beside a wee wood into which Peter constantly looked in search of mushrooms, another of his passions. But, mushrooms there were none so we continued up the hill without hindrance to top out in a flattish, mossy area. A few spots of rain hit us, only a few spots but the sky behind was ominously black and the few spots were sufficient to make the wary don the waterproofs. This however was enough to make the rain go off in another direction and that was the last we were to get for the day. It wasn’t the last we would see, though.
The moss we encountered at the top of the hill was dominated on the right by the spoil-heap of another opencast coal works. This elicited some interest for it just wasn’t here the last time either Davie or Jimmy came up this road. Peter, he of the interest in things rocky, was interested in this, as was Ian, our physicist so a short stop was made here to examine the workings, or what we could see of the workings. ‘Part of Cumnock’s new history’, said Jimmy. Lesson seven?
We followed the road yet. Along past where Glenmuir School used to stand (now swallowed by the opencast), down to a bridge on Glenmuir water, took a right turn on Glenmuir Road and climbed again by Darmalloch Farm. At the top of this hill we left tarmac for a while and took the service road for Avisyard (pronounced Aisyard) Farm and the phone mast we could see on the summit of Avisyard Hill.
The farmer stopped his car and rolled down the window. ‘Are you heading for the mast?’ he asked. When we replied in the affirmative he told us there were kye with young calves in the field and warned us that they could be dangerous. ‘Especially wi’ the dug’, said he. It looks as though he didn’t want us to be there. We told him we would take our chances and were ready to spout the freedom of access laws to him. But without further comment, he rolled up his window and drove on. We walked on.
Just after we parted company with the farmer Holly disgraced herself. Jumping the fence, she entered a field with young beasts. When nosy young cow approached her, she started barking and chasing. No matter how much Davie called her, she refused to give up the fun. Well, that is until all the other cattle joined in the chase. This time it was Holly who was the chased. Discretion being the better part of valour, even in the canine world, and especially with twenty cows running after her, Holly beat a hasty retreat and joined us back on the farm road. She knew then that she was in disgrace for she was leashed.
The field, up through which the track to the mast ran, did contain kye, young beasts and nosy. But they presented no threat to us and we walked up to the mast with a mini herd of young cattle going before. And we reached the mast and trig point on top of Avisyard Hill dead on Jimmy’s schedule of 12:30.
We didn’t stop at the mast, the breeze was cool and there was no shelter. We walked westward down the hill to find the remains of a drystane dyke along which we sat and had lunch.
It had been commented often that you don’t have to go particularly high in Ayrshire for a view. Here was another. From Corsencon in the south, through the Afton Hills, Blackcraig and Windy Standard, Cairnsmore of Carsphairn, Ben Beoch above Dalmellington, Brown Carrick at Ayr to Blacksidend in the North, the whole of central Ayrshire was laid out. Cumnock lay below us and the towns of East Ayrshire could be picked out as the low ground of the county stretched down to the sea. Yet, the day was such that Arran, normally a prominent feature of Ayrshire views, remained hidden.
We took our time over lunch, enjoying the view and resting in the sun. And as we sat, we watched another heavy cloud drifted in from the west dragging a dark streak of rain below it, obscuring the landscape as it came. But we were in sunshine and we watched as the rain fell on Auchinleck and parts of Cumnock before heading up the Lugar water towards Muirkirk. But we were in sunshine and so it would stay.
It was all downhill after lunch – literally. We walked down to the corner of a wood where we found another track. ‘Do we follow this track?’ asked Robert. ‘Aye, it’s bound to take us somewhere’, replied our leader. It took us down to the farm of Borland Mains. Over to our right was the farm of Auchengibbert and in a field surrounded by trees could just be seen John McGeachan’s grave.
The farm road took us down to tarmac again. Turning right then left, we crossed the railway bridge and came to Craigens. ‘All Our Yesterdays’ kicked in again. This was the boyhood haunt of Davie and Jimmy and they revelled in nostalgia. ‘Do you remember the duck pond?’ This asked as we passed Craigens Farm. ‘Oh, aye. An’ the horse? Whit wis its name?’ ‘Auld Davie’ ‘Auld Jimmy Craig wis the fermer, crabbit auld bugger’. Ah, the good old days.
In this bout of reminiscence, they had had us down into Netherthird where they were brought up. Twisting and turning through the streets, they had us past where Davie stayed; then where Jimmy stayed. It seemed to keep them amused. What amused Robert though, were the Unionist flags hanging out of windows. For this was the middle of the marching season. He immediately broke into a swagger and started whistling The Sash much to the amusement of some, not least himself. But the sensible amongst us just admired the carved wooden birds in a garden. And the two natives wallowed in nostalgia as we wandered down through Netherthird.
At the bottom of Netherthird sits The Thistle Inn. Adopting our new philosophy of doing something different, this is where we took today’s FRT.
But we weren’t yet finished with the walk, or the history lessons. We left The Thistle and came down Glaisnock Road past the cemetery. ‘That’s where James Keir Hardie is buried’, nodded Jimmy. (Lesson eight)
We stopped outside the town hall to admire Benno Schotz’s bronze bust of Keir Hardie. And outside the Dumfries Arms Hotel for lesson nine. ‘Finished around 1771, it was where Burns stayed once on a journey from Dumfries to Mauchline. But it’s not the oldest building in the town’. The oldest apparently was the one facing us as we crossed Ayr Road, The Craighead Inn. ‘Don’t know the exact date but it’s pre-seventeen hundred’.
Then we entered The Square. ‘You’re walking on top of the old medieval cemetery. The present church dates from 1866 but there’s been a church on this site since the middle ages’. (Lesson ten).
From the Square we made our way back along Auchinleck Road to the cars, not quite exhausted from the walk but totally ‘history’d oot’. Bet Malcolm won’t make that mistake again!
Distance: 16.6 kms by Paul
It was the day of Paul’s bus pass do and a short, local walk was called for. So when Jimmy suggested the Cumnock area, this was accepted and we all met at his place for a nine thirty (ish) start. OK, before the Talbot boys get their undergarments in turmoil, some of the walk was in Auchinleck Parish but it was still the Cumnock area.
The transport was left in the car park at the swimming pool (the new one apparently) and we set off along Auchinleck Road towards the town centre. Barely two hundred metres later we were stopped outside a tall, grey sandstone building for the first lesson. This was Lochnorris and was the home of James Keir Hardie, the founder of the Labour party. (See www.spartacus.schoolnet.co.uk/PRhardie.htm) It is still a private home but a small plaque on the wall commemorates Keir Hardie’s connection with it and the town.
Lesson one past, we continued along the street, still heading into town. At the Lugar Bridge we left the main street and took the road for Woodroad Park. ‘All Our Yesterdays’ kicked in with the Cumnock boys for this was the scene of their youthful frolics. The outdoor swimming pool was here (built 1936 and one of the first and finest outdoor pools in the country - see John Strawhorn, A New History of Cumnock, 1966), the putting green was here, the carnival was held here – Ah, nostalgia! As Davie wiped a nostalgic tear from his eye, we walked on through the park. Her Majesty, the Queen visited here in 1956 and made a speech from the bandstand. ‘Us weans thocht she was juist a wee wummin’, said Jimmy, ‘We were expectin’ flowin’ robes an’ a crown at least’. And with this observation ended lesson number two.
One thing Jimmy forgot to mention in his speech was that the Cumnock Cycling rally was also held here during the forties and fifties. It was their hill climb section that we tackled next as the road climbed steeply through the wood to Templands Farm.
Holly was amused by the chickens and ducks in the farmyard and some of the rest of us were more amused by the pigs and goats. We feel sorry for those who don’t get out often.
The last time we came this way as a group, it was chucking down with rain. Today made a pleasant change for the early morning rain had gone and the sun was trying to make an appearance. We took to the Broombraes footpath and continued the climb. Somewhere up the slope we halted to remove fleeces as the heat of the day and the slope took its toll. But the climb didn’t last long and we were soon dropping down through the trees to meet the river again. Jimmy had us halted for another lesson. ‘This is where they quarried the stone for Dumfries House back on the mid seventeen hundreds’ (Lesson three). Peter, our lithophile, wasn’t content with seeing the quarry from the top, he was for down into it to examine the rocks. Ian went with him. The rest stayed where they were and awaited the interesting report.
No report was forthcoming so we wandered on. The path came down to the river and brought us out to the main A70 at the west end of Lugar village. We turned through the village. The neat rows of single storey, brick-built, cottages - iron-worker’s cottages originally - and their gardens were admired as we wandered along to the other end of the village.
Lesson number four came at Rosebank Park, the home of Lugar Boswell Thistle FC. The gate was open and we wandered in. Paul, our expert on all things junior football, was asked about Lugar Boswell’s claim to fame. ‘They used to play in the senior leagues’, said he, confident in his answer, ‘playing the likes of Rangers and Hearts’. But this was not the answer the inquisitors were after. Apparently Lugar developed the tactical system of playing two full backs, three midfielders and five attackers using two flying wingers, a system that was used universally for fifty-odd years before the Italians came up with four – two – four and effectively killed the game. Well, were we gobsmacked or what? We Walked on.
Fifty metres along the road we were stopped again, this time it was to have a look at Bello Mill Farm. Bello Mill was the birthplace on 21 August 1754 of one William Murdoch, inventor and engineer. (See en.wikipedia.org.wiki). Murdoch (later Murdock) whose most famous work, gas lighting, was developed here at Bello Mill, in a riverside cave under the present farm. (Lesson five) This cave just had to be explored. But the burn was high and access today would be difficult and would probably result in wet feet, so the visit was postponed. We did however see the original Mill where Murdoch was born.Fifty metres beyond the farm, at the entrance to the gorge of Bello Pass, are the remains of a Neolithic stone circle, evidence of a very early history for the place. Had Jimmy not pointed them out as such (lesson six), we would have walked past and noted only a pile of stones.
Then we were into the gorge. Bello Pass was the scene, in 1688 of a skirmish between covenanters and government troops when a party of covenanters ambushed the troops taking the covenanting minister David Houston from Ayr to trial, and probable execution, in Edinburgh. Houston escaped but local man John McGeachan was mortally wounded. He is buried on his farm of Meikle Auchengibbert above Cumnock. (See www.cumnock.net/) We would maybe see his monument later. Until then, we walked on.
Up through Bello Pass we went then, on the busy Muirkirk road. At the top of the pass we took a minor road on the right. Lack of coffee was beginning to tell on the caffeine junkies for it was now after eleven and at least an hour since coffee in Jimmy’s so, somewhere along this wee road, on the parapet of a bridge over a wee burn, we stopped for coffee.
The road rose sharply after coffee; rose beside a wee wood into which Peter constantly looked in search of mushrooms, another of his passions. But, mushrooms there were none so we continued up the hill without hindrance to top out in a flattish, mossy area. A few spots of rain hit us, only a few spots but the sky behind was ominously black and the few spots were sufficient to make the wary don the waterproofs. This however was enough to make the rain go off in another direction and that was the last we were to get for the day. It wasn’t the last we would see, though.
The moss we encountered at the top of the hill was dominated on the right by the spoil-heap of another opencast coal works. This elicited some interest for it just wasn’t here the last time either Davie or Jimmy came up this road. Peter, he of the interest in things rocky, was interested in this, as was Ian, our physicist so a short stop was made here to examine the workings, or what we could see of the workings. ‘Part of Cumnock’s new history’, said Jimmy. Lesson seven?
We followed the road yet. Along past where Glenmuir School used to stand (now swallowed by the opencast), down to a bridge on Glenmuir water, took a right turn on Glenmuir Road and climbed again by Darmalloch Farm. At the top of this hill we left tarmac for a while and took the service road for Avisyard (pronounced Aisyard) Farm and the phone mast we could see on the summit of Avisyard Hill.
The farmer stopped his car and rolled down the window. ‘Are you heading for the mast?’ he asked. When we replied in the affirmative he told us there were kye with young calves in the field and warned us that they could be dangerous. ‘Especially wi’ the dug’, said he. It looks as though he didn’t want us to be there. We told him we would take our chances and were ready to spout the freedom of access laws to him. But without further comment, he rolled up his window and drove on. We walked on.
Just after we parted company with the farmer Holly disgraced herself. Jumping the fence, she entered a field with young beasts. When nosy young cow approached her, she started barking and chasing. No matter how much Davie called her, she refused to give up the fun. Well, that is until all the other cattle joined in the chase. This time it was Holly who was the chased. Discretion being the better part of valour, even in the canine world, and especially with twenty cows running after her, Holly beat a hasty retreat and joined us back on the farm road. She knew then that she was in disgrace for she was leashed.
The field, up through which the track to the mast ran, did contain kye, young beasts and nosy. But they presented no threat to us and we walked up to the mast with a mini herd of young cattle going before. And we reached the mast and trig point on top of Avisyard Hill dead on Jimmy’s schedule of 12:30.
We didn’t stop at the mast, the breeze was cool and there was no shelter. We walked westward down the hill to find the remains of a drystane dyke along which we sat and had lunch.
It had been commented often that you don’t have to go particularly high in Ayrshire for a view. Here was another. From Corsencon in the south, through the Afton Hills, Blackcraig and Windy Standard, Cairnsmore of Carsphairn, Ben Beoch above Dalmellington, Brown Carrick at Ayr to Blacksidend in the North, the whole of central Ayrshire was laid out. Cumnock lay below us and the towns of East Ayrshire could be picked out as the low ground of the county stretched down to the sea. Yet, the day was such that Arran, normally a prominent feature of Ayrshire views, remained hidden.
We took our time over lunch, enjoying the view and resting in the sun. And as we sat, we watched another heavy cloud drifted in from the west dragging a dark streak of rain below it, obscuring the landscape as it came. But we were in sunshine and we watched as the rain fell on Auchinleck and parts of Cumnock before heading up the Lugar water towards Muirkirk. But we were in sunshine and so it would stay.
It was all downhill after lunch – literally. We walked down to the corner of a wood where we found another track. ‘Do we follow this track?’ asked Robert. ‘Aye, it’s bound to take us somewhere’, replied our leader. It took us down to the farm of Borland Mains. Over to our right was the farm of Auchengibbert and in a field surrounded by trees could just be seen John McGeachan’s grave.
The farm road took us down to tarmac again. Turning right then left, we crossed the railway bridge and came to Craigens. ‘All Our Yesterdays’ kicked in again. This was the boyhood haunt of Davie and Jimmy and they revelled in nostalgia. ‘Do you remember the duck pond?’ This asked as we passed Craigens Farm. ‘Oh, aye. An’ the horse? Whit wis its name?’ ‘Auld Davie’ ‘Auld Jimmy Craig wis the fermer, crabbit auld bugger’. Ah, the good old days.
In this bout of reminiscence, they had had us down into Netherthird where they were brought up. Twisting and turning through the streets, they had us past where Davie stayed; then where Jimmy stayed. It seemed to keep them amused. What amused Robert though, were the Unionist flags hanging out of windows. For this was the middle of the marching season. He immediately broke into a swagger and started whistling The Sash much to the amusement of some, not least himself. But the sensible amongst us just admired the carved wooden birds in a garden. And the two natives wallowed in nostalgia as we wandered down through Netherthird.
At the bottom of Netherthird sits The Thistle Inn. Adopting our new philosophy of doing something different, this is where we took today’s FRT.
But we weren’t yet finished with the walk, or the history lessons. We left The Thistle and came down Glaisnock Road past the cemetery. ‘That’s where James Keir Hardie is buried’, nodded Jimmy. (Lesson eight)
We stopped outside the town hall to admire Benno Schotz’s bronze bust of Keir Hardie. And outside the Dumfries Arms Hotel for lesson nine. ‘Finished around 1771, it was where Burns stayed once on a journey from Dumfries to Mauchline. But it’s not the oldest building in the town’. The oldest apparently was the one facing us as we crossed Ayr Road, The Craighead Inn. ‘Don’t know the exact date but it’s pre-seventeen hundred’.
Then we entered The Square. ‘You’re walking on top of the old medieval cemetery. The present church dates from 1866 but there’s been a church on this site since the middle ages’. (Lesson ten).
From the Square we made our way back along Auchinleck Road to the cars, not quite exhausted from the walk but totally ‘history’d oot’. Bet Malcolm won’t make that mistake again!
Distance: 16.6 kms by Paul
Tuesday, 9 March 2010
3 March Blackcraig Hill, Glen Afton
Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.
Matthew 6:34
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.
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.
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