14 March Hill of Stake - Dispelling the myth

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

11 June Muirsheil Revisited

‘Blows the wind today, and the sun and the rain are flying, -
Blows the wind on the moor today and now,’

RL Stevenson

We gathered at the Irvine Ooter’s place this morning to see how his recuperation is progressing. It is pleasing to note that he has flung away his crutches and is standing tall, running to the door even. He will be with us again by the end of the summer. His coffee and warm, fresh scones were very much appreciated by the group, as they always are. And it was good to see Peter for a while as well. This visit to Johnny and the promise to return in the afternoon to drink his beer meant that today’s walk was necessarily shorter and more local than of late and Muirsheil was chosen.
The same route was to be taken as the last outing here (7/5/2008). Only the personnel and the weather were changed. Neither Paul or Rex were with us the last time and the weather today was cooler and brighter with the air much clearer. The forecast was for squally showers but did we care? Well, perhaps.
A few spots of rain hit us as we prepared to leave the cars at Muirsheil Visitor Centre. It wasn’t heavy rain and it didn’t last long but it was enough to make the timorous wear the waterproofs. Much to Jimmy’s approval Paul wore a fetching new cap bedecked with saltires and the word ‘Scotland’ emblazoned on it. Rex wore an old cap for his favourite one is still on Arran. And thus protected against the weather we set off long the road to the old barytes mine.
Holly was on her best behaviour today. Sheep and lambs grazed on the moor and alongside the road. Holly was more interested in her stick than the sheep. Davie was complimented on the way he has trained her and he made the most of this for compliments are few in the Ooters.
The sun came out and the wind blew white clouds across the sky. The day was turning pleasant though Davie persisted with the waterproofs just in case. And, as we climbed with the road, the eastern landscape opened out to reveal towns on the valley side. A debate ensued as to their identity. ‘Bridge of Earn’, Jimmy said until it was pointed out that this was actually in Stirlingshire and the place we could see might be Bridge of Weir. Or Kilmacolm. Or Kilbarchan. And Glasgow showed up in the distance. Or was it Paisley? If only somebody had a map……….. Debate continued as we walked in to the barytes mine and the road climbed higher. Elevenses (twelveses actually) were taken at the mine. Davie took off his waterproofs.
After coffee Davie led us into the quarry where only he had ventured the last time. Jimmy was still protecting a sair knee and was dubious about the climb out of the quarry. It hurt. But it did bring us to the same path that we took the last time along the quarry side. We climbed with it. Jimmy remembered the gully from the last time and took to the left hand side. Davie went right. Those who should know better followed Davie and ended up climbing down into the gulley and clambering up the other side.
Once back on the track and climbing, the landscape really opened out and we could see what we couldn’t on the last visit. Ben Lomond was the obvious peak in the north. Rex suggested Ben More was the twin peak to the left. Jimmy was doubtful. And, as we climbed more of the southern highlands came into view. We stopped frequently to examine the increasing panorama. Rain showers, driven on the fresh wind, scudded across the country obscuring what lay beyond for a few minutes then revealing it afresh as they sped on to be followed by the sun. We hoped we could avoid these showers and stay in the sun.
The path ran out and we took to the heather. Though it was slightly taller than it was on the last visit, it was still short and the going was easier than it might have been. Rex had thought that we were just walking on the road and had worn trainers and he had to skip the shpaggy bits, still wet despite the dryness of the month. The rest plunged through. A stunted fir tree could be seen on the horizon and we made for this. It was on the top of the hill. Slake was just to our right about half a mile away and looked inviting but it was felt that if we went there we would not have time to visit Johnny so the original plan was kept to.
Across the hill we went with Davie and Rex leading and Jimmy and Paul coming on behind. Behind us now Ben Lomond was revealed behind the rain. And now Ben More could be seen to its right. The hill that we thought might be Ben More was probably Cruach Ardrain to the north of Loch Lomond. And, to the south, the Galloway hills formed the horizon. Jimmy thought that the high ground immediately south might be Blacksidend but couldn’t be sure. If only somebody had a map!
There was only the briefest of halts on the next top for a few spots of rain were felt and a descent was made towards the small reservoir we saw below us as we approached the hill. The rain appeared to get heavier and the sky behind us got greyer. Davie clambered back into waterproofs. By this time Jimmy was making his way away to the left while the rest bore right following Davie again. (You would think they would know by now.) Came a ‘Coooooooo-eee’ from Jimmy* who by this time was out of sight on the left. The rest followed the call and found Jimmy sitting beside the reservoir. The rain went and afternoon coffee was taken while Holly did her thing in the water.
We followed the path from the dam to find the barytes road again and took this back to the centre.
A a shorter but perfectly good day Though a day of sun and showers, we managed to avoid most of the showers.
Refreshment was taken back at Johnny’s place in Irvine.

* Is he turning Aussie?

7 May Muirshiel Country Park

This was to be, of necessity, one of our shorter walks for we were scheduled to visit our lame friend in Irvine in the afternoon. So we chose an area near here for our outing.
The fine, summery weather of the last few days continued into today. When we drew up at the visitor’s car park at Muirshiel the sun was already shining hazily and the morning was warm. So shorts were worn for the first time in ages, shorts and hill boots for we were for the hill again today. But, first we had the road to walk.
This ‘road’ was the track to the old Barytes Mine. For the aviphiles this was to be a birdie day (Another!!!!) and as we started along the track we could hear the cuckoo calling from a copse of conifers. But, try as we might, we couldn‘t spot it. Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo echoed across the open moor, getting fainter as we walked on. Jimmy and Davie talked of hen harriers for this is the country of such birds and eyes were peeled for these. We think they might be a figment of Jimmy’s imagination for, apart from ubiquitous meadow pipit, nary a bird was seen. Alan did spot a great yellow pipit but this turned out to be a JCB parked by the roadside. We think Alan doesn’t take this bird spotting seriously. And this was how the four kilometres to the old mine was covered, with Jimmy looking for harriers and Alan spotting weird and wonderful things. We all spotted the two walkers in front of us as we approached the mine workings, though. And also the female harrier - at a distance but at least there.
The mine exited some interest and time was spent examining the works and the quarry where the barytes was mined. Bits of pink barytes lay around and were picked up and inspected often. The two walkers were found having a bite at the lip of the quarry and a few minutes conversation was had with them. They were for the hill as well. Davie, however, was now for the end of the quarry for he is of an inquisitive nature and had to explore. He was warned by the strangers that there was no way out at the end and he would have to come back to their end but they underestimated Davie’s Spiderman-like climbing ability. The other three of us, though, opted for the easier route up the lip of the quarry.
Rusty machinery - gears, cogs, bogies etc. - lay on the moor around the quarry and a sluice was found in the burn. These were noted as we climbed a faintly defined path towards the hill. We found Davie and Holly emerging from the pit at the top end and they joined us on the path. But this path became less and less distinct and eventually we lost it completely and took to the heather. Due to the recent dry spell the hill was drier than it might have been and the heather was short. The walking was easy. But none of us had actually been on the hill that we intended to climb and each left the carrying of a map to the others. No map, then. And no real guide to the destination. We picked our way upward through the heather hoping to find a guiding path on the skyline in front. For reasons known only to himself Robert thought the path must be away to the left even though the rest knew it must be towards the right. Bob went his own way though remained in sight. It became obvious that Robert was not coming back our way so we went his for we thought he must have found a path. But there was none and it was now peece time. We sat down.
The landscape had been opening up as we climbed but the day was hazy and the diffuse light flattened the scene and limited visibility. But the day was warm and the breeze now blowing was warm. We sat and enjoyed a leisurely peece.
Peece finished we continued the upward progress and crested the ridge within a few hundred yards. We could now see our objective hill over to the right. Far over to the right. We had no time to visit for the afternoon appointment at Johnny’s was looming. Did we care that we were on the wrong hill. Not a bit of it. We were on a hill and that was the important thing. We could see another top to the left and, below this, a small lochan dammed at the far end. A reservoir? And where there is a reservoir, there is a service road or path.
We strode out on the ridge, through the heather and sphaggy bog and gained the top easily enough. Then we dropped straight down to the reservoir. Alan spotted ducks on the water (Is he taking this bird spotting seriously after all?) but they were too far away for positive identification by the naturalist. Holly, as ever, enjoyed the reservoir when we reached it. She helped the boys enjoy it as well by bring back the stick so that they could take pleasure in throwing it in the water again. Great fun.
We found the path at the dam and followed this back to the road. The cuckoo was still calling in the same copse as we approached but this time it was answered by a call from another wood. When we came to the bridge the second cuckoo flew along a fence and landed on a post giving a good view of itself. It flew over the burn and was joined by the first. ‘Great spot’, said Jimmy. The others agreed. Approaching the centre car park we met two young men. Robert was heard to ask if they had seen the cuckoo. Then he told them of the great view we had. Do we have a fledgling birder in our company? (Sorry about the rotten pun)

We took refreshment back to our lame friend’s in Irvine where he showed us pictures of his break in France. He also showed us pictures of the pins holding it together. We hope he will be back with us before the end of the summer.

Right: A picture of Johnny's break in France and the pins holding it together.