Durisdeer 1 May

Alan, Allan, Davie C, Davie Mc, Gus, Hugh, Ian, Jimmy, Malcolm, Rex

The forecast had not been that good for the Durisdeer area, but we travelled in hope and, unfortunately, were disappointed. The persistent, very light rain that we encountered at the parking spot was to remain with us until it relented just as the walk was finished. Such was the dreichness that we never saw the golf ball (or football) all day.

Anyway, we were well wrapped up in waterproofs as we set off just after ten past ten and headed up to Kettleton Bothy. As always, particularly as it was a mild day, this got a sweat going, and by the time we sat down for our coffee, we were wetter from the inside than the outside. Derval Davie took time to record our visit in the bothy’s book and was reminded not to make any errors with his apostrophe’s!

The next leg took us to the highest point of the day before we started the descent down the track above the reservoir. Before long, Davie Mc, Gus Hugh, Ian and Rex headed off down the slope towards the dam with the intent of crossing over and going across the fields to Morton Castle. Alan saw them going but decided, correctly, that they had cut off too early, so he led the rest down the track for a bit before leading his group safely over the burn and up the adjacent steep wee path. They could see the first group crossing over the dam and then heading down to join them. Gus apparently had fallen on his bum going down the slope. He had survived, but his umbrella was well and truly broken. On the walk down to the castle Holly had to be put on the lead as the fields were full of sheep, some with lambs and some ready to produce, and it was a feature of the day just how many sheep and lambs we saw.

On reaching Morton Castle, the rain seemed to get a wee bit heavier and, as it was coming straight down (no wind), it was difficult to get a dry spot for our lunch, but, eventually, nooks and crannies were found for shelter.

The walk along the road back to the cars, the dreariest part of the walk, was done at a very smart pace, meaning we arrived back at two o’clock. By going overland to the castle rather than walking round the road shaved a mile or so off the distance, and despite the gizmos offering different information, we settled on approximately nine miles in about three hours and fifty minutes. The area at the back of the church, where the Queensberry Marbles are housed, offered shelter to get changed out of very wet gear and into pleasantly dry stuff. As was said earlier, the rain had not been that heavy but had just been persistent meaning that wet weather gear had remained on for the whole walk. Biggest problem of the day was trying to get out of Durisdeer because, as the convoy moved off, it came to an abrupt stop as the driver at the front had stopped to pick rhubarb growing at the side of the road!

As we drove back to the Black Bull in Mauchline for FRT, and thanks again for the complimentary nibbles, the weather changed and the sun appeared, making for a satisfying end to a good day out, despite the weather.

Durisdeer 5 March

Allan, Davie C, Gus, Jimmy, Johnny, Malcolm, Rex, Robert

On the way up

The skies were overcast as we met at Durisdeer for the Morton Castle walk. Robert assured us that the weather was going to be fine so we set off in an clockwise direction passing beside the cemetery and following the track up to Kettleton Bothy. When the backmarker arrived - guess who! – he was surprised to see the assembled company having coffee alfresco. “There are three guys in there still asleep”, said Jimmy, explaining the situation. It was later determined that the boys were from Thornhill, ‘getting away for the night’.

And down

By 11.15 we were on our way again and were soon at our highest point, looking down on Kettleton reservoir and beyond to Thornhill. The skies were lighter by this time and fine views were to be had. Having gone downhill and onto tarmac we reached Morton castle for lunch at about 12.45.

“An hour and a half back to the cars”, exclaimed Jimmy who, having left the house without camera or wallet, was still trying to find a friend who would buy him a pint.

Morton Castle in the distance

And closer up

Where's Malcolm's hand? It brought a smile to Johnny's face!

It is a measure of the pace that was set that we got back to Durisdeer in a tad over the hour. No bad thing as the rain had begun, but Robert had been right in that the day up to now had been much better than the BBC had forecast.

FRT was taken at our usual haunt i.e. the Crown in Sanquhar where we were warmly received. One of the regulars even asked after the ‘big man’ and seemed genuinely concerned that he had been poorly. However, the rest of pub asked after the dug.

Durisdeer 17 October

Alan, Allan, Davie Mc, Jimmy, Paul, Peter, Rex, Robert, Ronnie

At the Crown in Sanquhar there is a star

It’s the lady who works behind the bar

Took pity on some drookit souls

With two big plates of sausage rolls

The weather forecast had been poor with heavy rain expected and as we journeyed down to Durisdeer for the Morton Castle walk the rain got heavier and heavier. However, as we changed into our wet weather gear in the church, the decision was made to go at least as far as the bothy before reviewing the situation. The route has been described on previous blogs so suffice it to say that, given the conditions, we didn’t hang about (now there’s a surprise!) in making our way up the puddle-splattered track to the howff. As we dried out and, with Rex having started the fire in the stove, the steam rose and coffee/lunch was partaken amidst the haze. It is probably the earliest lunch stop we have ever had since we had started walking at about 10.15 and the trek had only taken about 40 minutes. Most were of the opinion that we end the walk there and return to the cars whilst one or two (who shall remain nameless to protect their guilt) were in favour of continuing the circular walk.

As we blethered and as Davie entered our details in the bothy log we were joined by two lads from Dumfries, Ryan and Nicholas, who, being self-employed window cleaners, had been washed out for the day and had come up to the hills for a walk. As Holly ‘greeted’ their big dug, a convivial conversation ensued and Ronnie took the opportunity to get his varifocals cleaned by experts. A miniature set of windscreen wipers will be fitted before the next wet walk.

When it was time to bid them farewell we assembled outside the bothy where by this time the rain had almost gone off. “Who’s for the circular walk to Morton Castle?” asked Jimmy. The silence was deafening.

And so we returned down the track to the cars and dry clothes, although it has to be said that the weather had improved markedly on the descent. But, as our leader suggested, more heavy rain could not be ruled out.

Our usual haunt in this neck of the woods is the Crown in Sanquhar and we hit our watering hole much earlier that we usually do. As always we find the atmosphere most welcoming and, as we supped up, the barmaid presented us with a large plate of lovely, hot sausage rolls. “There’s more on the way”, she said and before long a second one arrived. Brilliant!

Many thanks for the hospitality! We’ll be back.

Over the last year or two we’ve had stovies at the Mercat in Cumnock, shortbread at the Corner Bar in Lochwinnoch, our Ne’erday in the Black Bull in Darvel and scones at the Coachhouse in Muirkirk.

With a welcome like those it’s no wonder we continue to support the wee local pubs. And to think that after spending a fortune at a recently done-up hotel in Arran they wouldn’t even give us some nuts for the table! Say no more!

16 February Durisdeer – Morton Castle Circular (Fourth time)

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

For a change this year the weather men were forecasting a reasonably dry and sunny Wednesday so our much postponed Durisdeer jaunt was on for today. Yet when we gathered in Jimmy’s in Cumnock, the day looked far from promising; a wet night had given way to a dull, damp and dreich morning. Still, optimists as we are, we believed the forecasters and set off to Durisdeer with the intention of playing it by ear – if the sky lifted and the day was fine, we were for the hill; if not we would take in one of our favourites, the Morton castle circular.
The morning was still dreich when we reached Durisdeer with extensive hill fog hanging down to the eight hundred contour. There were those among us who began to doubt the forecast and waterproofed up from the start. And, despite protestations from the hill men, the consensus was for the low level walk. But, to make it different and appease the hill men, it was decided to do the walk in the reverse of our usual i.e. anticlockwise today. So, with some dressed for the rain and some for the dry, we took to tarmac down out of the village.
At the crossroads we left the Lang Glen and took the road for the Gateslacks (See Burns’ ‘Braw Wooer’), with Davie and Jimmy setting a fair auld pace. And that pace was kept on the flat stretch of tarmac to East Morton Farm, the waterproofed among us feeling the heat as bodies were warmed up with the effort. Yet, with the sky still hanging heavy, there was a reluctant to disrobe, even though Jimmy gave the assurance of a sunny day. So we walked on some of us expecting rain and others waiting for the sun to arrive.
In the tree-lined wee gorge of East Morton bodies, well some bodies were crying out for a caffeine boost for it was a while since breakfast and tongues were beginning stick to dry mouths. But, despite pleas from the parched, Davie insisted that we make Morton Castle before we stop for coffee and without waiting for arguments, pushed on along the road. The rest followed, some with tongues hanging out.
We made Morton Castle around half-eleven and sat down with our backs to the ancient walls and had a well earned coffee. To cheer the birders among us, a pair of Goldeneye bobbed and ducked in the waters of the loch and a gaggle of geese could be heard in the field beyond a drystane dyke only showing as stretching wings seen through gaps. Across the water a new path could be seen running uphill, a path that we’ve now noted for future jaunts in this area.
As we sat taking this in, Rex complained as the first spot of rain hit him and he questioned the weathermen’s ability. He needn’t have wasted his breath for no sooner had the rain come than it was gone again and to cheer even the non-birders, blue sky began to show through the grey.
Yet, even this brightening in the sky failed to convince the cynics who remained happit in waterproofs.
With caffeine levels restored to normal, we moved on. The day was certainly brightening when we left the wee narrow road from Morton Castle and turned down the slightly less narrow road to the bridge over the Kettleton Burn. Then, almost immediately we turned off this on the road past Burn Farm and the sun came out. Snowdrops in cultured bunches and natural-looking swathes decked the roadside banks and nodded in sunshine in the gentlest of breezes and the day turned almost spring- like. At last the pessimists conceded and stripped off their waterproofs. Good job too for we were now approaching the steepest climb of the day.
Tarmac ran out at the waterworks at Shaw and we took to the un-tarred estate road. This would lift us steeply on the flank of Par Hill, high above the Kettleton Reservoir. The sun was now driving the remaining cloud away and blue was filling the sky above us. But the day was wearing on and stomachs were rumbling. We reached the sheep fank and Rex suggested lunch. In this he was supported by Paul. Peter was easy but Jimmy, Davie and Ian were set on pushing on to Kettleton and the bothy there. Johnny sided with Rex so the final decision rested with Allan. We would continue to Kettleton for lunch. And continue the climb on Par Hill.
The warming day and the steep climb were taking their toll and many were the view stops called before we crested the rise. And what view greeted us at each stop. Initially this was in front of us, over the reservoir. We tried to reckon where the new path from Morton Castle led to and to work out a new route to the reservoir. Then, as we gained height, the view was behind, over Lower Nithsdale and the Cairn Valley to the hills of the west. Then higher still and we looked through a gap in the hills, Mid and Upper Nithsdale came in view, Corsencon Hill marking the Ayrshire boundary. Higher yet and the snow covered Lowther Hills shone in the sun. Then, as we crested the rise, we could see the Durisdeer group that had been covered in clag this morning were similarly blanketed in white. Pangs of disappointment stirred in the mountain men but this was as close to the hill as we would get this day.
Hunger eventually overcame Rex and he sat down by the side of the road to satisfy it. Davie was the one who joined him for the rest were still intent on pushing on to the bothy. And push on to the bothy we did. The road ran slightly downward now, down over a wee burn interestingly named Clintycleuch Gutter and on to the shepherd’s station at Blackhill. Two hundred metres further and we sat down at Kettleton Byre Bothy for the peece.
Paul knows where his bread’s buttered – he tells us it’s on the kitchen table – for this was the day he forgot his peece. In walking on with the crowd he had a greater choice of sandwich than if he had stayed with Rex and Davie. Such is the generosity of the Ooters that Paul dined better than if he had brought his own food. Next week everybody is going to forget his peece and be fed by everybody else. Or something like that!
Anyway, Rex and Davie joined us at the bothy and we spent a good half hour or so sitting in the sun outside the old byre.
‘It’s all downhill from here’, said one. We all knew this for many’s the time we’ve struggled up the steep in the opposite direction. And, yes, it was downhill almost immediately we left the bothy. Down then, past more intriguingly named landscape features; past Jock’s Cleuch; past Lane’s Loup; past Sleepy Cleuch and down into Glentaggart (No, Allan, there hisnae been a murdur). Over the ford in the Sheiling Grain we came across the upturned bole of an ancient tree, cut to form a table. By the number of annual rings Paul counted, it must have been in the region of a hundred and fifty to a hundred and seventy years old when it was cut. But why it was upturned and why it was here was beyond our simple understanding. Another of the same ilk was seen further along the glen, as was a man who appeared to be re-building the hillside.
As we approached the man, a man much younger than us, he stopped his labours for a blether. He was a gemmie on the estate and he was setting cage traps for weasels and stoats. What we took to be a re-adjustment of the landscape was him cutting turfs from one side of the road to disguise the trap on the other side. His justification for this was that the vermin eat the eggs of ground nesting birds such as lapwing, curlew and hen harrier. We know the real reason is to protect the pheasant and grouse so that some townie with a gun can have more of them to kill! He also told us the reason for the upturned tree stumps – to provide the shooters with a table on which to have their lunch. Now why didn’t we think of that?
Anyway, we left the young gemmie to get on with his work and continued along the glen. Now a gentle amble in the afternoon sunshine brought us by the cemetery and back into the village.
This was another good walk for this year. What started off so inauspiciously turned into a super afternoon. Well done to those who had faith in the weathermen.

FRT was taken in our usual howf for this part of the world, The Crown in Sanquhar.

7 January Durisdeer 5 - Morton Castle Circular

'Far up into the wild hills there's a kirkyard lone and still,

Where the frosts lie ilka morning and the mists hang low and chill.'
Durisdeer by Lady John Scott

Our fist walk of last year was rearranged from the Lowthers to the Morton Castle circular. At our Christmas curry, we arranged our first outing of this year to be the Lowthers but, for some reason or other, this was rearranged for the Morton Castle circular. So exactly a year to the day we gathered at Durisdeer to repeat our opening to last year. Deja vu or what?
Nine of us gathered this morning - only Robert was missing, having a bout of the sniffles - and, apart from Davie, Jimmy, Paul and Rex who did this walk last year, this was to be a new territory for us. It had been suggested by the veterans that we do the walk in reverse but this idea was soon abandoned when we turned on to the Durisdeer road and found it coated with an inch of crunchy, frozen snow. We opted for the same route as last year in the hope that this snow might be thawed by the time we gained tarmac in the early afternoon. Not that there was any sun to aid this thawing for a thick mist closed around us and anything beyond a hundred metres or so vanished into the whiteness. This mist was to stay with us for the rest of the day, in varying thicknesses and occasionally combined with drizzle and we could appreciate Lady Scott's word today.
In the village, the mist was more of a smirr so waterproofs were donned immediately. Peter might have donned his waterproofs as well if he had remembered to lift them from home. But the Ooters are nothing if not sympathetic and Peter was soon furnished with a spare waterproof jacket.
We left the kirk square around ten-thirty and crunched our way down the brae to the track along the side of the cemetery. However, we are gentlemen of a certain age with pressing biological needs so the old ruin beyond the cemetery saw our first halt of the day, the first pee-stop, barely five hundred metres from the start.
A bit lighter now, we continued along the track. This was not as icy as we imagined it might be and the walking was easy. Our next halt came at where the burn crossed the track. The burn was running fast but not particularly deep and the water was crystal clear so clear in fact that every stone on the bed was as obvious as if there had been no water there at all. But we have among us those who are allergic to running water (perhaps there is some black magic gene in their make-up for it’s a well known fact that witches and warlocks can’t cross running water - ‘A running stream they dare na cross’.) However, with a little judicious placing of feet and careful transfer of weight, all were safely across the burn with dry feet and we turned our attention to the climb ahead.
The climb is still on the track and is not greatly difficult but it is steep enough for the exertion to build up a sweat inside the waterproofs, a sweat that failed to evaporate in today’s smirry mist. And this mist thickened as we approached the head of the climb. We were quite happy to reach Kettleton, remove the waterproofs, sit in the bothy for elevenses and hope that some of the sweat would dry off. Even so, Allan changed into a dry shirt and felt the better of it. We all felt the better of the coffee.
The first quad-bike passed us as we came out of the bothy and the next a little along the track. The third drew up alongside us for the driver, a chap of our age or slightly older, was for a blether. They were looking for any tups left on the hill. No, there were no sheep where we were heading. Yes, it was ok to let Holly run. No, there was no chance of the mist lifting. Yes, we seemed to have made the right decision to stay low. Five minutes we stood blethering to our newfound friend before the chill of the fog drove us on, he to look for tups and we to climb slightly higher into the fog on the flank of Par Hill.
The gin traps were spotted nailed to planks laid across the burn. The expert was asked what they might be set to catch. He wasn’t sure what they were meant to catch but they would catch anything that tried to cross the burn by the planks. He said that these things weren’t designed to kill but simply to hold the animal by a leg smashed by the gin until shock or starvation killed it. Cruel, indiscriminate and completely illegal traps these. We should have destroyed them there and then but apathy on our part has probably condemned some poor creature to a painful, lingering death. Shame on us that saw them and did nothing.
On a cheerier note, when we reached the high point of the day, he who knows these things pointed out the landscape features. Kettleton reservoir lay below us, Drumlanrig Castle was to the west and lower Nithsdale stretched away southward. This would have been a superb view but for the fact we could see nothing but whiteness beyond a hundred metres or so. Even those who had come this way last year couldn’t confirm what he said was true for the same conditions prevailed then. We will need to come back on a clear day to see if his description is accurate. Until then we will have to take his word.
The track dropped quite steeply now and deposited us on Tarmac at the waterworks. Our decision to do the walk in this direction was justified for the icy snow had now gone from the roads, the fog had thinned to a mist again and the walking was on the level and easy. It was to stay easy for the rest of the day. We kept to tarmac and came to Morton Castle.
Morton Castle sits on a promontory high above a loch of the same name. It provides historical and archaeological as well as scenic interest for those who make the effort to get there. Today, the inside provided another pee-stop for those with old bladders and the outside a good place to sit for lunch. We leaned our backs to the castle wall, looked out over the frozen loch and ate.
Post-peece, we kept to tarmac - only three miles left said Jimmy. These ‘three’ miles were occupied by setting the world to rights as is the habit of GOO’s (Grumpy Old Ooters). After four miles, Peter was asking how far we had to go. And asking. And asking. Eventually he was told politely to stop complaining. ‘I’ll just shut up then’ said he. Johnny timed his silence at forty-five seconds, something of a record for Peter, before he returned to his loquacious self.
The five road miles from Morton Castle to Durisdeer were passed in banter for there was very little to see through the mist and very little of interest on this stretch of road. At Gateslacks, Jimmy asked the same question he had asked last year and got the same response. He warns us all to be prepared for the same question next time.
When we reached the road for the village, the juvenile amongst increased the pace and started the race for the finish. This tested legs that have been inactive during the festive period, especially when the slope steepened to the kirkyard. The burn set in rapidly and some were dropped off the pace. Most flagged. Johnny won the race, the big wean that he is! We weren’t really trying anyway.
For one, the adventure was not finished with the walk. Peter, who had come in Davie’s car with Jimmy and the dug, was somehow left behind when Davie drove off. It was a mile and a half before he was missed. (The two in front though he had fallen asleep!) Fortunately Paul, Johnny and Allan rescued him and carried him safely to the watering hole in the Crown in Sanquhar .
A good day despite the weather and a fine start to the new year.

Durisdeer - the route

Distance 16.4 km

10 September Durisdeer 4 - That'll be Steygail there then!

Facts are cheils that winna ding!

Robert wasn't to blame this week. It was Jimmy who suggested Durisdeer and the wee hills to the north of the Well Path so if anybody is to blame it is him. There was a gap between two weather systems that, if we were lucky, would give us a reasonable day and the sun shone when we left the cars. Our weatherman said the rain wouldn't arrive before two so we expected a dry walk for we were to be down off the hill by that time according to he who knows these things. And underfoot conditions shouldn't be too bad either for these were dry sandstone based hills.
We took the Well Path as we had done before, Robert setting the pace into the valley and Paul and Johnny going with him. This group were so busy convers talki yapping that they passed the gate in the dyke that gave access to the Roman fort. They had to be shouted back for the newcomers to the area wanted to visit the fort and Jimmy said this was the best access for a track would take us directly there. We all went this way.
Yes, there was a track but on the bottom of the valley, this was less of a track and more series of puddles. At one point, it was under mucky brown water for around twenty metres. The sensible took to the grass on the high side. Johnny, confident in his gaiters, ploughed through the flood. This might have been successful had the track not dipped into a rut. Johnny was up to the knees with cold, mucky water oozing up into his gaiters and down the top of his boots. Wet feet for Johnny, I'm afraid. A hundred metres further on there could have been wet feet for others as well for there was a real burn to negotiate before we could tackle the climb to the fort. Jimmy said the hills were dry but said nothing of the valleys.
The fort was gained with most feet dry, though, and we stood for a while as the first timers examined what was left of it. 'An overnight marching fortlet', said the expert, 'on the road between the major forts of Dalswinton and Lanark. Probably capable of holding a century'. All that remains now is a playing-card shaped ditch and earth rampart with traces of the road beside it. Imagination populated the fortlet with Roman auxiliaries and the hills around with tartan clad Celts tending their flocks. Today, the fort was populated by Ooters and the hills by sheep and cattle. However, tempus fugit and we had to move on.
We took to the hill immediately behind the fort, Penbane it is called, for it was suggested that this wouldn't be nearly as steep as the climb from the head of the Well Path and at first the climb was easy on short-cropped grass through a herd of cows and a small flock of sheep. Somebody let Rex get to the front. Bad move! There were many calls from behind for 'view stops' for Rex can set a fair pace on the upslope and today was no exception. These calls became more frequent when the short-cropped grasses gave way to the courser hill stuff and the slope steepened. It was every man for himself on this steep section. Then Jimmy found the sheep track and the rest followed. The pace was slowed as he took the lead and the group was together again although strung in Indian file along the narrow path. This led us round the side of the hill, across the face of a steep slope to the pass under Well Hill. Coffee was called and we sat down, took coffee and looked at the hill in front of us and let the sun disappear behind some high cloud.
The morning fog was clearing from the high Lowthers just to the north of us. Davie set about naming the tops - Lowther Hill with its 'golf ball', Auchenlone or East Mount Lowther, Steygail..... 'Steygail my a**e!', exclaimed Jimmy, 'That's Steygail there!'. But Davie was sure of his facts. So was Jimmy. Davie was adamant. So was Jimmy. The wager was laid and the map was to be consulted in the pub.
The debate continued as we climbed Well Hill and continued when we stopped on the top. Now the surrounding hills were free of fog and the view was extensive to the north, east and south and we could see Steygail or not according to who you listened to. However, the Lowthers apart, we could look across to Tinto and the Culter Hills, south over Durisdeer Hill to Scaw’d Law and down Nithsdale to Criffel. Davie was disappointed that we couldn't see the Daer Reservoir for Roger Law was in the way but the view was good anyway.
We came off Well Hill in roughly the same direction we had climbed it, only slightly further north, quad tracks taking us this way. Rex and Jimmy set the pace on this downward section. They could see in front the way the quad tracks would take us down into a wee gorge so opted to stay high on a sheep path beside a fence. Davie followed the quad tracks. The others followed Davie. They changed their minds when they saw the way the tracks were going and crossed the deep grasses to follow the sensible pair. The hill began to rise again and Jimmy made back towards the quad tracks. The rest followed Jimmy. The quad tracks ran out and Jimmy took to the long grasses. The others followed. ‘A path would be a fine thing’, shouted Robert from the rear as he struggled though the tussocks. Jimmy and Rex took pity on him and found a new set of tracks that took us to the top of Black Hill ‘The first tracks were taking us towards Steygail’, said Jimmy. ‘That’s no’ Steygail!’, retorted an exasperated Davie, ‘That’s Steygail there!’
Hunger called on Black Hill so we dropped of the top into the lea of the hill for the peece. We could see both versions of Steygail now for the view was now in the westward. Still the Lowthers dominated but now we could look up Nithsdale to Corsencon and the Glen Afton hills, westward to the Galloways and Cairnsmore of Fleet and southwards to Criffel.
Peece finished we came back to the summit of Black Hill for our route lay down the south ridge of this. It was downwards all the way from this top and Robert set the pace, breaking into a run at one point. He is faster on the down-slope than on the up and set a cracking pace which some failed to keep up. However, the slope wasn’t long and the speedy waited at the bottom for the slow. We returned to Durisdeer as a group.
The Durisdeer Marbles had to be visited for we had newcomers to the area with us today. The story of the jewelled ring and brooch was told to the newcomers and the damage to the marble pointed out. The craftsmanship of the Italian sculptor was admired by the artist in our company and was appreciated by the others. All agreed they are worth seeing.
Then we retired to the pub, the Crown in Sanquhar, for the result of the great Steygail debate. Davie produced the map. Jimmy opened it and immediately conceded. His ‘Steygail’ was in fact Pettylung. Davie is correct but is he one to gloat? You bet he is and no doubt Jimmy will suffer. And suffer. And suffer. However, a pint is forthcoming, Davie.