Wednesday 4 December 2019 Glenbuck Loch and Hareshaw Hill

Ian, Iain, Malcolm, Billy, Rex, Dougie, Gus, Jimmy, Hugh, Paul and Davie Mc.

11 of us met at the new car park opposite where the famous Glenbuck Cherrypickers used to play. We spent some time looking at the boards and memorials which have been erected where the old village stood. Although the cherrypickers were only in existence for a short  time, of the total of  86 players who played for them, no fewer than 50 of them went on to play senior football both north and south of the border and 7 (not 4) were chosen to play for Scotland. An astonishing fact considering that, at its height,  Glenbuck only had a population a third of the size of Darvel.
Eventually we set off making our way back down the recently tarmac-ed road towards the loch, noticing the spring which gushes out of the hillside at the same rate no matter what the season of the year. We  circled the loch in an anti-clockwise direction, crossing over the wee brig and taking note of the old sluice gate just above it. Glenbuck Loch is a man-made loch and the sluice gate was opened at 6 pm  every evening to allow the surge of water to travel all the way downstream in time to power the big wheel at  Catrine Mill.
Davie pointed out the cottage which straddles the border between Lanarkshire and Ayrshire. The gentleman who lives there actually moved from the centre of London to enjoy the tranquil surroundings of Glenbuck Loch!  By the way he pays his cooncil tax to East Ayrshire!
Passing the cottage we proceeded along the old railway line and rounded the far end of the loch and headed for the log cabin where a coffee stop was called for and a discussion was had as to what to do next considering the weather.
Because the rain hadn't been too bad at this point we decided to climb Hareshaw Hill and make a further decision at the top. Jimmy and Iain found the steep going too much for them and soon decided to descend. The rest kept going and  before long the top was reached where we experienced very gusty conditions. With the weather now deteriorating we decided to head back down the same path to meet the other two, the descent actually being rather pleasant.
We headed back to the log cabin to have lunch inside rather than sit outside. It's gratifying to note that since its erection the cabin hasn't suffered any vandalism.
After lunch we returned to the cars stopping to admire the "artistic sculpture" and read the pseudo-intellectual pretentious codswallop on the board about the so-called "artist".
We arrived back at the cars roughly about 3 hours after setting off;  although the weather was not particularly nice, we all seemingly had enjoyed a good work-out.
FRT was taken in the Empire Bar in Muirkirk with those who had ordered the light beer complaining about how sour it tasted.
The canine member of the Ooters was missing today as she has been quite ill with nystagmus, causing extreme loss of balance and nausea.  She has hardly eaten anything for a week but is improving. She hopes to be back soon.

Images of the walk between Abington and Crawford

featuring Alan McQ, Alan S, Allan, Davie C, Davie McM, Dougie, Gus, Iain, Ian, Jimmy, Rex and Robert

Cairn Table - 21 March

Ian, Malcolm, Paul, Rex, Dougie, Gus, Davie C, Alan, Kenny T, Davie M.

Eight people, one dog and three cars assembled at Glenbuck for the walk; with Rex and Dougie, delayed by traffic in Ayr,  phoning to say they would head straight to our official starting point at Kames.

Even our mathematicians were having problems with this logistical poser.  We were considering phoning Robert in France to see if he had a solution when the aforementioned duo turned up at Glenbuck. Now it was simple - 10 people and a dog squeezed into two cars with two cars left behind.

If the blog is to be believed, the Ooters last visit to Cairn Table was on 31 August 2016 and the record shows that on that occasion we all had the opportunity to admire Gus's plums.

So this was a new walk for some and a long overdue repeat for others.

The weather was dry, with a cool wind and the promise of rain later.  From the start the pace was fast and once we started the climb proper we were soon well spread out on the hill. Ian and Gus, the drillies, raced off into the distance with the rest of us pechin' behind them.

Fortunately, the previous Cairn Table blog had been written dictated by Davie M and  he recorded a time of 1 hour 30 minutes to the top. This time he announced "1 hour 20  minutes", which was a fine achievement for a septuagenarian, but still 10 minutes slower than the time the young bucks had  registered.

Attached to a post near the cairn, and fluttering in the wind in the style of a Tibetan prayer flag, was a brand new Rangers scarf. Whether it had been placed there to seek divine intervention, or whether it had been left there in disgust after the home gubbin' by Killie, we couldn't be sure but Malcolm took all the barbs with admirable restraint.  We were sorry that Jim wasn't with us today, but Kenny took some photos for him.

It was chilly on top so we were soon up and going again - or at least the last to arrive were.

Ten Ooters managed to find half a dozen different ways off the hill but we all gathered beyond the ramshackle footbridge over the Douglas Water (that's its name according to the map) where the shooters' track ends.

The rain we had been expecting had now arrived and full waterproofs were donned, though the rain was never particularly heavy.  We continued beyond our usual lunch spot, finding shelter  on low banking at the side of the track. Then we completed our descent to Parish Holm, where the verges of the track to the A70 were carpeted in snowdrops.

After skirting Glenbuck Loch we were back at our cars, completing the walk 10 minutes faster than in 2016. Again we all piled into the two cars, though Holly was a bit reluctant to sit on Alan's knee.

FRT was taken at the Empire Bar. We were sorry  not to be asked "Does your dog bite?" since the regular at the bar has been in hospital for several weeks. We wish him well.

Distance 9.5 miles.

Muirkirk to Glenbuck via Cairntable

With Alan, Davie C, Davie Mc, Ian, Kenny R, Kenny T,  Rex, Malcolm and Paul
(T Rex  - LOL! the typist)

Route - Kaimes car park, Muirkirk - Sanquhar Bridge - Cairntable - Parishholm - Glenbuck Loch

Weather - a cold wind ascending Cairntable and a 10 minute heavy shower going down the glen but glorious sunshine going round the loch.

first to the top

Time taken - one and a half hours to the top of Cairntable, 4 hours and 5 minutes in total.

How many Ooters to open a plastic bag? Nice plums, Gus, BTW

FRT taken in the Empire Bar as usual when in Muirkirk.



Report by Davie McM

26 February A Soggy Day in Muirkirk

Davie C, Gus, Jimmy, Rex & Robert

While, tumbling brown, the burn comes down,
And roars frae bank to brae;
And bird and beast in covert rest,
And pass the heartless day.

            The distinction between hardiness and foolhardiness has yet to reach the Ooters; in fact both of these qualities might be said to be embodied in the same people. Whether it was the five hardiest or the five foolhardiest that gathered in the rain at the Kames car park in Murikirk this morning has yet to be decided, even after the event. But sense of a kind had already broken out when, in view of the forecast, we decided to abandon the hills of Dumfriesshire in favour of a more local and lower level walk. The one chosen was the old favourite – The Lunky Hole at Muirkirk.

            As for the walk itself? Well, waterproofs were worn from the start. Even Jimmy whose aversion to waterproof trousers is well known in Ooterland admitted defeat in this instance and happed up from head to toe. Thus, thoroughly defended against the elements, we set off into the weather. It was not torrential rain, it was more a steady falling, but it was driven on the slightest of south-westerlies and it was wetting. Up the Sanquhar road we came, heads down into the rain. At Springhill we turned right to come down to Tibbie’s Brig and found the rain being blown into our faces. We plodded on heads down partly to avoid the stinging rain and partly to see where the next mucky puddle was. The rain was adding to already saturated ground and puddles were developing into ponds. At Tibbie’s Brig He Who Knows These Things suggested that we stay on the track rather than our usual route down the burn-side path. ‘It will be drier and less mucky’, said he.

            It was drier. At least it was until the wee rivulet that was running down the track decided that it wanted to be a loch and spread its cold, brown waters right across our path. On to the soggy, slippery moor then, to avoid wet feet or worse. Still, first hazard bypassed, we climbed onto the old railway where we were slightly sheltered from the worst of the wind-driven rain. A slight respite was also had at Adam’s Grave but it was only a temporary one. When we reached the river we were back into the incessant rain. And the path was turning into a burn in places. It was difficult to keep to a dry area. Still we plodded on, down the riverside to the Cumnock Road.

            Crossing the road, we kept to tarmac for a while. At least now the feet could be kept out of the water even if the bodies were still being soaked from above. At the Sorn road a decision had to be made. Should we continue with the planned walk or cut it short and return by the main road? On a vote of three to two, we continued up the tarmac to Netherwood. The fellow in the covered quad was amazed and amused to see five bedraggled walkers coming up the road. So amazed was he that he took delight in stopping, winding down his window and telling us how dry he was. Our comments are not suitable for those of a sensitive disposition. We left him smiling his way down the road while we trudged upward, still into the rain.

            We left tarmac at Burnfoot and took to the forest track. This was a quagmire but there was no other way than to grit the teeth and wade through the wet, slimy, mud that used to be a track. Firmer footing was found on the rise on the other side of the bridge and the firmer footing would be with us for a while. Up into the forest we came, up to where the old mine workings were. Now we looked at our route out to the Stra’ven road. Hardly surprising that the road by the wee pond was flooded given the kind of winter we have had. There would be no dry way through here. So He Who Knows told us to go straight on and it would bring us down into Smallburn. This we did. And it did.

            Now you would think that we had nothing else to do than walk along the road to the Furnace Road and come back to Kames. But no! A plot had been hatched by Jimmy and Gus to turn us right, come across the river at Airdsmill to Kames Farm and across the golf course. We followed meekly, splishing and splashing our way over the golf course. Wonder upon wonders! As we approached the club-house, the rain stopped! Now we could finish the walk – all four hundred yards of it – in the dry.

            Whether we were the hardy five or the foolhardy five we will leave you to decide but, boy, were we happy to be finished and changed into dry clothes. This must be the quickest ever round of the Lunky Hole walk. You might have notice that there was no mention of lunch. We did stop for a coffee, a standing up coffee, on the banks of the river but there was no halt for lunch. In fact, apart from the coffee stop and the five minutes with the farmer in the quad, there were no halts at all.

           

The hour spent in FRT in The Empire Bar was well earned today.

21 August Muirkirk to Dalblair

Alan, Davie C, Davie Mc, Malcolm, Jimmy & Ronnie

There is a great swathe of wild country to the south of Muirkirk, one that is bounded by the valleys of the rivers Nith, Clyde, Douglas and Ayr. On the whole this is hill and high grassy moorland fit only for sheep and forestry and broken only by the valleys of Glenmuir, Duneaton and Douglas waters with their minor tributaries. It is a vast, pathless waste with only farming and shooters' tracks following the watercourses into cul-de-sacs and with no through roads: none that is except for the long-abandoned Muirkirk to Sanquhar turnpike. It was into this waste and on this old turnpike that we set our feet today.

            The logistics of this through walk were overcome when only five of us turned up in Cumnock with three cars. Two of these were left at Dalblair in the Glenmuir valley and the other carried the five of us to the institute in Muirkirk. That’s where we met Davie Mc. and Holly, they having come the short way from Darvel. It looked as though the forecast for the day was to be fulfilled for the overnight rain and the morning drizzle were gone and there was a brightening in the western sky. We had our hopes high as we came along the front of the institute to find the old Sanquhar road.

            The Muirkirk to Sanquhar turnpike has been described in these pages before so no further description is needed here. We wandered on, enjoying the open moor and the brightening sky. Along past McAdam’s Cairn we strolled, round the Whisky Knowe we ambled and, at the Sanquhar Brig we stopped for a rest from all this exertion. Then came the steep bit! The old road used to be maintained for shooters but now it isn’t and is beginning to deteriorate, particularly towards the head of the pass. The use of recreational quad bikes/motor bikes has taken its toll here and the old road is churned into a quagmire. We had to be careful with our steps. So careful were we looking to our steps that we didn’t notice the weather deteriorating as well. Then we reached the head of the pass and saw the rain coming in from the west.

            So carefully did the turnpike’s surveyor, John Ainslie, plan this next section of the road that it rises and falls no more than four feet in the next two miles or so. This might have been great for the coaches, carts and horses of the eighteenth century but two hundred years of weather and rain have turned this flat section into a bog, a bog cut by the occasional drainage ditch, a bog to trap the unwary and soak the feet. We had to be even more careful of the moor grasses on this section, grasses that still held last night’s rain and soaked the legs even when we managed to avoid the bogs. And that’s where the rain hit us. So now we were absorbing water from above as well as below.

At first the rain was a light drizzle, then a heavier drizzle and by the time we stopped in the Range Cleuch for coffee it was a downpour. We sat as long as was necessary for coffee and to let the rain abate somewhat before climbing out of the cleuch and continuing to follow the old road, hopeful that the rain would clear. And it did.

At the sheep buchts we, well Davie Mc and Jimmy, made a decision. We would normally walk to the south end of the buchts and hang high towards the Deil’s Back Door but the decision made was to cut through the buchts, through the long, wet grasses and thistles and head straight down over the moor to the burn and Glenmuirshaw. Easier said than done!  As has already been said, this is a trackless, pathless waste and the going through lank moor-grasses and hidden potholes and sheughs was tough. Stumbling onward, lifting feet over tussocks of grass or out of hidden ditches, we followed Jimmy who seemed to know where he was going. Seemed! Down into one burn we dropped and climbed out the other side. Then into another we dropped and climbed. Then another. And all the time through the long, tussocky moorland grasses. Rebellion was brewing in the ranks. But Jimmy ‘kenned whit was whit fu’ brawlie’ He had spotted the quad bike tracks, tracks that he hoped would lead us out of the wilderness to the safety of the road-head at Glenmuirshaw. And they did – eventually. Taking Jimmy’s lead, we came down to Glenmuirshaw everyman for himself, Jimmy to the front and Ronnie bringing up the rear. And, just to add to our enjoyment, the rain came again and went again as we did so.

Eventually a drookit and starving Ronnie found the drookit rest waiting by the sheep fanks of Glenmuirshaw looking into the gorge of the Deil's Back Door. But were we to have lunch here? No way! Half a mile down the rough, sandy track was the abandoned steading of Glenmuirshaw. We would lunch there. And, much to Ronnie’s relief, we did.

The farm track into Glenmuirshaw appears to have been abandoned to maintenance as well now for grass and weeds were growing thick and wet along it. And the grass and weeds continued to be there, less thick and less wet though, as we walked to the uninhabited farm of High Dalblair. Then the surface improved and we strode out the few remaining miles to Dalblair enjoying the ease of walking after the slog through the moor and watching the weather improve from the west. Too late for us now though for, by the time the sun came, we were at Dalblair.

We arrived at the two parked cars, piled into them and drove back to Muirkirk.  

Our usual howf for FRT at Muirkirk is was closed so we tried a new place, the Empire Bar on the Glasgow road. We think we will change howfs for this one was much more to our liking.