9 October Blacksidend Once More

Davie C, Malcolm, Jimmy & Paul

‘Blows the wind today, and the sun and rain are flying,

Blows the wind today and now’

R L Stevenson

            This must have been the kind of day Stevenson was imagining when he wrote the above lines to S R Crocket from his new home in Samoa. The westerly wind of the past two or three days was veering north-westerly to northerly and strengthening, sending scudding, stinging rain showers and patches of warm autumn sunshine across the Ayrshire landscape. We were still in Ayrshire because the forecast conditions of strong winds and heavy, blustery showers caused us to abandon our proposed outing to Coran of Portmark in favour of a more local one. And the one chosen was to an old favourite in Blacksidend above Sorn. 

            The cars were parked at the empty farm of High Brocklar in bright but cool conditions. ‘Not to worry’, said our optimist, ‘the wind will be on our backs for most of the walk and the rain will miss us’. As he said, the wind was on our back as we set off along the tarmac for Blackside Farm, but the rain didn’t miss us. Those optimists who started off without jackets were quickly rummaging in rucksacks for waterproofs as the first shower of the day hit. But barely had we covered up than the shower scudded on somewhere else. Though the rain didn’t last long - just skidding through on the wind - the jackets remained on for the rest of the day.

            Along the tarmac we came then. Where the road splits - one branch for Blackside Farm, one branch for Blacksidend Farm - we chose not to take our usual route on the left-hand branch but to continue straight on and try to get some shelter from the wind on the ascent of the hill. This we achieved by following a farm track eastward for a few hundred yards then striking off diagonally uphill. The ascent was casual with many stops to take in the view. And as we climbed higher the more view we got. From Arran in the west, through the Ayrshire plain to the Heads of Ayr and Brown Carrick, the high Galloways and the Glen Afton hills to Cairn Table in the east, the view was getting better and better. Sometimes parts of it were obscured as the forecasted blustery showers swept across like a moving curtain; sometimes patches of bright sunlight spotlit the various landmarks of this part of the county; but always the view got more extensive as we climbed.

            It wasn’t until we crested the summit that we realised how sheltered we had been. Now we found the full strength of the northerly, a northerly that threatened to blow us back down the hill. But at least it was a dry northerly and we fought our way through it to the shelter of the cairn on the summit. Now the northern part of the county opened up for us as we sat for a bite – from Arran again, through Irvine Bay and the Cunninghamme countryside, the Renfrew Heights to the giant wind farm of Whitelee filling the horizon for miles. And we took in the northern aspect as we sat in the hollowed out cairn of the summit for a cup of warming coffee.

We thought we were sheltered in the cairn but the wind was still getting to us and beginning to chill so we moved on. We had been well sheltered in the cairn for when we rose up to move on the full force of the gale caught at us rocking us about as we clambered out of it. It seemed a daft idea to fight our way through the gale to Wedder Hill today so an alternative was sought. Jimmy had a plan. (Have we not heard this kind of thing before? - Ed.) We would hang fairly high, drift round to the ridge in the east and drop down towards West Auchenlongford Farm.

Like all Jimmy’s plans, this seemed like a good idea at the time but like most of his plans it involved extensive dougaling*. We struggled over the dougals, climbed over a rusty fence, came through some peat-hags and eventually on to the broad ridge that would drop us towards West Auchenlongford Farm. Then we found some quad-bike tracks that eased our way through the worst of the rough stuff and we wandered casually down the slope losing the extensive view with every stride. A mountain hare, just changing into its white winter coat, started up before us and bounded down the slope much quicker than we ever could but we followed it downward, quickly losing sight of it in the rough vegetation. Near the bottom of the hill we crossed a track that Jimmy said would take us back to Blackside Farm if we wished to take it. The alternative was to come through West Auchenlongford Farm, follow the farm track to the main road and follow this back to Brocklar. We opted for the latter.

The weather had been improving as we came down from the summit of Blacksidend, the scudding showers had all but gone now and the spells of sunshine were lengthening. It was in very pleasant conditions that we came down to the farm. Three dogs, two border collies and a brown labrador, barked what we hoped was a friendly greeting as we approached the steading. They were friendly enough for, though they continued to bark, they never approached within fifteen feet and were quite happy to see us on our way down the farm road.

The road came close to the burn at one point and down to our right in the wee wooded glen, in a wee bend of the wee burn was a wee green, flat holm with a wee low dry-stane dyke holding back the rough slope – the kind of place you might expect the wee people to have their midnight dances. To us it was the perfect place for a wee spot of lunch. We sat on the wee, green holm with our backs against the wee dry-stane dyke and enjoyed a long, leisurely bite.

            ‘But pleasures are like poppies spread....’ The hour approached and we had to be on our way again. Down the farm road we came, and on to the main road between Mauchline, Sorn and Muirkirk. A main road it may well be, but a very quiet main road it proved to be today with only four vehicles passing us on the two mile or so we were on it. Then we turned off this main road onto the minor one for Brocklar, arriving back at the cars in pleasant afternoon sunshine.

FRT was taken in Pussy Nancy’s in Mauchline where for most of the time we were the only customers – ‘A merry core o’ randy, gangrel bodies’

* A term coined by the Ooters to describe the challenges of walking, stumbling and struggling though lank and tussocky moor grasses, the tussocks reminding Rex of the dog Dougal from the TV programme ‘The Magic Roundabout’.

Failford to Stair via Enterkine 18 September

Allan, Andy, Davie C, Davie Mc, Gus, Paul, (Peter), Robert

     I’m leaning on a lamp-post at the corner of the street

     In case a certain little lady comes by

     Oh me, oh my, I hope the little lady comes……. Aaaaargh!!!!!!!

The decision had been made on the previous evening to travel to Failford rather than do the Cobbler. A good decision given the dodgy weather!

We were 10 minutes late in setting off from Failford whilst we completed the checklist for leaving a car unattended i.e handbrake on, leave in gear, chocks under the wheels, handbrake on, handbrake on …. i.e. doing what any sensible person was taught to do.

Some shady autumn sunshine

The seven of us made our way onto the River Ayr Path in what was to be a very changeable day – sunshine, showers, rain, cold wind- and it was one of those days where clothes and waterproofs were on, then off and so on. Robert, Paul, Gus and Davie Mc had set their own brakeneck speed and had decided to take the wee detour to Peden’s Pulpit whilst the rest, travelling at a more moderate pace, and not knowing to take the detour, continued on their merry way thinking the speedy group were still in front. After some fifteen minutes it dawned that they were not in front and logically had to be behind. So they waited, and shouted, and waited, and shouted, and it was not until Holly appeared from behind that their notion had been confirmed. Still there was no reply to the shouts until eventually they could hear a reply from far below – yes the boys had taken the low route and they were on the higher one. Having met up, a coffee brake was called for but those who know better suggested leaving it a bit longer.

Now, where did I leave that toothpick?

The fishermen along the river were having no luck as we passed by and continued up to the diversion at Daldorch from where we crossed over the field and joined the path and road down to Yett. Again coffee was not to be taken, surprising, as a packet of Brakeaways had been produced. The decision was to follow the road up to Enterkine Wood, and then down to Enterkine Mill, passing by Enterkine House and eventually meeting the main road and turning left down to a bench on the way to Gadgirth Bridge. Here, we did stop for a well-earned lunch, brunch, whatever! We ate all we had in our piece boxes before being entertained by wee Davie who gave us five minutes of brake-dancing. How he could spin on his head and eat his banana at the same time was a mystery. For his encore, he rolled down the hill and hit a lamp-post.

From here we turned left at the river, rejoining the path, and passing under the Enterkine Viaduct before continuing up towards Stair. This part of the route had seen some work done and was looking the better for it, and the only real water-logged part of the path only lasted thirty metres or so. Soon we were retracing our steps to Daldorch and beyond, before coming across a vision in the distance. Yes, it was oor Peter, who had come down to join us for FRT but, rather than wait at Failford, had decided to walk up to meet us.

Failford has the attraction of an Inn with real ales, but it would be even more attractive if it would open at times convenient to the Ooters. So it was to Poosie Nansie’s in Mauchline that we travelled. The walk had taken a tad over 5 hours, a strenuous enough day out for some!

P.S. Rumour has it that Jimmy is trading in his car for a shooting brake.

13 June - Blacksidend and Wedder Hill

A select group of five Ooters (Paul, Davie x2, Ian and Peter) gathered at Sorn Kirk on a fine morning - a sentiment no doubt shared by the midges which greeted them.

Peter had arrived by bike and had informed us he was just going to do half the walk - a cracked windscreen and the need to buy paint being his excuse. Peter, of course, has a reputation for doing things by halves, so this announcement came as no surprise.

Whilst the rest took the high road out from the kirk, Peter went via his sister's house to exchange his bike for Holly's soulmate Nula. On the grassy lane above Sorn the nature of the ancient hollowed out stone was again speculated upon and again no conclusions were drawn.

We met up with Peter and Nula at the end of the lane and we turned left  to ascend the minor road towards Blindburn Farm. Holly appeared incredulous with a 'you can't be serious' McEnroe-esque glance at us and at the road ahead. Davie explained he usually turns right at this junction.

Past Blindburn and the deserted Brocklar we continued. At this point Peter took us to see a limekiln he had found by the bridge over the Cleuch Burn. We left the tarmac and wandered through a wooded area but Peter could only half-remember were the kiln was. All we could see was a water-filled hollow. Disappointed, we turned back, but soon to our left we saw the half-hidden limekiln.

Peter suggested we could follow the Cleuch Burn up to Blacksidend Farm but the response was half-hearted at best, for the majority wanted nothing to do with a trudge through the undergrowth, so we retraced our footsteps to Brocklar and a took the tarmac towards Blackside Farm.

Not much progress was noted on the building to the right of the road although one small part was now habitable and seemed to be occupied.

We chose not to stop at the wood for coffee because of the midge menace and instead we carried on to the junction with the Blacksidend Farm track.  There we had coffee on the open hillside. The wee beasties soon found us and Avon 'Skin so Soft' was passed around and proved effective. Break over, Peter and Nula bade us farewell and a vague agreement was made to phone Peter to let him know when we would be partaking of FRT.

A large group of cows and calves, along with one very well-endowed bull, had chosen to wander down the track ahead of us. When it seemed we would all meet up at the gate and stile they kindly headed off to graze. At the gate we stopped to chat to a friendly farmer on his quad bike. As we departed he asked for Holly to be kept on her lead and Davie, ................. now you're getting ahead of yourselves here ............ who already had Holly on the lead, acquiesced.  A dead sheep was noted on the trailer being towed by the quad bike.

It was good to see that the farm was being occupied again as we started our ascent. The group soon split into two - Davie senior and Holly in the leading group, with the rest struggling on behind. This was how it was to be for most of the walk 'on the top'.  We all met up at the trig point (411 m) on Blacksidend and then the leading group disappeared into the distance again.

Underfoot conditions are notoriously bad up here but today it was all relatively dry and easy going. We dropped down to the gap between the two hills and crossed the tributary of the Burn o' Need. By now things had warmed up nicely and without further ado we arrived at the impressive cairn on the summit of Wedder Hill (430 m). Here lunch was taken.

For relatively little effort the views from Wedder Hill were tremendous, even though there was some haze. The coastal plain of Ayrshire with Arran beyond lay to our west, with silhouetted hills in all other directions. It would have been useful to have had Jimmy with us to put a name to all we could see. There were some showers to the south but we were dry.

Then it was time to retrace our footsteps. A large hare was seen running through grass as we rejoined the tarmac beyond Blacksidend Farm. Also seen here at the side of the road was the dead sheep we had spotted being transported down the track. Was it waiting for the brown bin collection?

The beehives on the edge of the small wood were a ...erm ... hive of activity. In amongst the hives,  a satellite dish was spotted - not Sty TV this time, but Bee Sky Bee.

This was an enjoyable walk in good conditions - certainly the first time your scribe was been on Blacksidend without being assailed by rain, wind and cold, and what the day's Ooters lacked in quantity was made up for in quality.

FRT was undertaken at Poosie Nansie's hostelry where, it should be recorded, beautiful pints of Houston Brewery's Slainte were served. Peter joined us later ...for a half.

Sorn to Auchinleck House 25 April 12

Allan, Davie, Davie C, Ian, Paul, Peter, Rex, Holly and Nola

Seven Ooters met at the car park in Sorn for the proposed walk to Blacksidend and beyond but Peter, today’s leader, advised against this and recommended walking to the Auchinleck House Estate and back. Although the weather seemed to be reasonable for the day there were no serious complaints especially from the boys recently returned from Mosset. We look forward to seeing the blog about the sojourn to France but listening to the myriad of tales you get the impression that these guys really shouldn’t be let out on their own any more, and certainly not without their carers. It was hoped that by this time (Wednesday) Robert would have found his way back to his holiday home!

And so we set off from Sorn along the familiar River Ayr walk for Catrine. The morning was dry after some earlier light showers and we progressed at a sensible pace reaching Studio Peter at around 11 o’clock. Having been invited in, we partook of coffee and were shown round by our host. Well done, Peter!

Soon it was time to get on our way again with Holly and Nola leading the way. Holly was having a job staying calm as Nola kept pinching her stick. Justice was nearly done though when Nola followed Holly into the river and then struggled to get out. For a minute it looked as though Peter might have to wade in and pull her out but eventually she was coaxed to safety.

It was one of those days when the jackets were on , then off, then back on again for, although we had little rain, when we hit the wind it certainly had an edge to it. When we reached  Catrine House tearoom Davie suggested deviating to the Haugh but the consensus was to continue towards Auchinleck House. Just before reaching it we cut off down to our usual lunch stop at the ‘cave’ where we enjoyed our piece.

Climbing up from the ‘cave’ towards the ice house was extremely mucky and in fact the next part of the walk through the estate was mainly glaur. It had been noted that the recent horse trials, the course of which we had just passed through, had been cancelled due to the soft nature of the ground. Having reached firmer footing the eagle eyed amongst us noted a pheasant caught in what was probably a trap set for grey squirrels. Luckily help was at hand as Davie C decided to rescue the poor bird and with great dexterity managed to release the trap and pluck the pheasant to safety before releasing it into the adjoining field. Thankfully it seemed OK as it scuppered away- its progress being closely monitored by Nola. What is it they say Davie? A bird in the hand etc. A good job well done!

Next stop was the ruins of the old house before we completed our circle back to the main house itself where, as usual, we couldn’t quite remember the translation of the Latin inscription. (Thanks to Paul for supplying the same.)

It was now a matter of retracing our steps back to Sorn encountering on our way a fifteen minute shower and stopping to chat to a group of fellow walkers from Ayr whom we had met as we left Catrine earlier in the day. They seemed to have the right idea- walk up to the Sorn Inn, have lunch and then walk back to their cars at the tearoom.

The cars were reached at 3.25, almost a five and a half hour day. A good day out in good company.

FRT was taken at Poosie Nansie’s in Mauchline.

19 August Blacksidend 4

The rain it raineth every day,
Upon the just and unjust fella,
But mainly on the just because
The unjust has the justs umbrella.
Those who take advantage of the wonderful Scottish summer by roaming great outdoors will appreciate that it’s not just the falling rain that makes you wet. The effort of a long walk or climb produce copious amounts of sweat which, under damp conditions fails to evaporate, and seeps from the skin to soak clothing from the inside. Some of the Ooters try to lessen this effect by carrying dry shirts into which they can change half way through the day, others just thole the wet. But, no matter whether you are a changer or a tholer, the result is the same, wet clothes at the end of the walk. This was a day for proving the truth of this statement.

It was already raining when we left Peter’s place in Catrine, not too heavy rain but sufficient for us all to waterproof right from the start. The intention was to walk the five miles or so to the top of Blacksidend and back though none of us showed any enthusiasm for going into the rain. Even those who hadn’t yet been on Blacksidend top were something less than keen. But, despite misgivings in some quarters, we set off into the wet, waterproofed to the eyeballs. The route chosen for the day was to follow the River Ayr Way as far as Sorn then by road to Blacksidend farm where we would take to the hill; the return was to be more or less the reverse, a route that has been described before and needs no further description here.

A shaggy grey heron flapped lazily downstream as we walked towards the Voes, an area that some hadn’t seen before and weren’t even aware of its existence. Peter would enlighten them.
The Voes looked good despite the incessant dribble and greyness of the day. Again, it was commented that this was not the kind of area you expect in Catrine, given the popular view of the town. ‘Catrine’s gone up in my estimation’, commented one of the newcomers. When Davie pointed out the swans with one cygnet, it completed what would have been an idyllic scene but for the rain.

It was still through the rain that we turned upriver to follow the River Ayr Way to Sorn. The river ran full and peaty brown from the upland soils. A few fishers cast flies into the swollen waters, ever hopeful. ‘There’s plenty in there’, said one, but as we passed they had still failed to catch any.

In the trees of the river valley, we were sheltered from any wind that blew and the air wasn’t particularly cold. The truism of the wet inside the waterproofs began to be proved. Clothes next to skin got damper and damper as the sweat of the effort failed to evaporate and it was a decidedly steamy group that stopped on top of a rise to look over the river to Sorn Castle.

The rain eased a bit as we dropped down the slope to Sorn’s auld brig; it eased but didn’t quite go away. We crossed the auld brig, came past the kirk and started the climb behind the village. What might have been a good view over the village was a washed-out, grey version of itself today so there was no reason for us to stop. We continued into the dampness.

A quartet consisting of Allan, Davie, Jimmy and Johnny set a steady pace up the road leaving the rest of us trailing on behind. When we stopped for a blether with the chap at the High Brocklar we found ourselves some four or five hundred metres behind the speedsters. But they did wait for us half a mile along the road, on the wee bridge beside the wood at Blacksidend. Why wait here? Because this is where we always stop and this is where we always have coffee. Nothing much changes in the Ooters so we had coffee, taken standing up for the ground was saturated, and rivulets ran in every wee channel. But, at least the rain has stopped for a while.

Now came a revolutionary change for Ooterdom. (What will the world come to if we start making decisions like this?) We didn’t take our usual route to the top of the hill, instead turned on the road for Blacksidend Farm taking the route suggested by Davie. The farm is empty at the moment and required investigation by those who do this kind of thing. The rest followed the quad tracks that Davie said would take us to the top.

The rain came again, heavily this time. When the explorers joined the rest of us at the gate onto the open hill, a decision had to be made - should we go on or do the sensible thing and retire. This decision was left to the Blacksidend virgins. But, in typical Ooters fashion, nobody was prepared to decide. Jimmy eventually made the decision by climbing the gate and walking off up the hill. ‘You’ll thank me for it later’, shouted he over his shoulder. We had our doubts but followed anyway. The rain went and a brightening sky followed. The cloud lifted and the hill in front of us threw off its cap. We climbed into a clearing, brightening day. And a drier breeze had sprung up. Perhaps Jimmy was right. We had hopes for the summit but hedging our bets, waterproofs were kept on.

On the top, we had a better view than we could have expected half an hour before. Though the most of the county sulked under the cloud, the sun actually shone on Muirkirk and Ochiltree. Cairn Table showed well in the east and southward the New Cumnock hills formed the horizon. No Galloway Hills today nor Arran but the coast could be seen at Heads of Ayr. Crosshouse Hospital was pointed out, as was Kilmarnock, Mauchline, Auchinleck, Cumnock and the Barnweil monument rising from its hilltop. Not at all a bad view considering the conditions.
We sat in the cairn and took lunch. It was then that the radio mast (see 16 April 2008) was seen to be missing. Even our tame radio ham didn’t know why but we feel sure that he will find out.

But the radio mast wasn’t the only thing found missing. Allan felt ill - he hasn’t quite recovered from his foreign holiday - and set off for lower ground. Johnny went with him. It was five minutes later that we noticed so did Holly. Davie’s devoted dog and faithful companion had deserted him – and for two Irvine men! ‘Bloody dug!’ exclaimed Davie and set off in pursuit. We set off after Davie.

We found the recovering Allan and his two companions at Blacksidend Farm. Another exploration of the farm was conducted with everybody joining in this time. Jimmy and Peter went off to look at a pile of nettle-bound boulders under a sycamore tree. ‘Must have been the original farm’, they announced on their return. We might have been inclined to go for a look ourselves but the rain came again and put an end to such nonsense. We were for the off again.

The rain was steady and appeared to have set in for the day so a fast return was journey was made, faster than this morning’s outward one anyway. The speedy four escaped again, keeping up the pace by High Brocklar. Holly must have thought she was in doggie heaven when she discovered the pheasants in the field and chased through the glaur into the wood after them. We couldn’t quite see what she was up to in the wood for a high beech hedge blocked our view but her squeals of delight showed she obviously enjoyed this part of the walk. But then she was called back by Davie and the fun was gone.

When we found ourselves at Brocklar, we took the road for Blindburn and down to Sorn.

By the time we reached Sorn, the rain had gone and the speedy foursome realised that the other four were way behind so stopped on one of the benches above Sorn to wait for them. After a good twenty minutes, the slow quartet still hadn’t arrived. Suspecting Peter had taken them a different route, the pacemakers walked on. (Since the scribe was in this group, he will rely on his depute to record anything of interest seen by the other during this split in the ranks though he suspects, given the weather conditions, there might not be much to report.)

Group ‘Davie’ followed the River Ayr Way. Since Holly was showing obvious signs of her chase through the glaur, Davie felt that she needed a bath. To this end, he found a stick and threw it into the river. Holly followed and retrieved it. The process was repeated until she showed black and white again. But, suddenly she was found missing again. Nobody saw her go so we had no idea which direction she went. And no amount of calling brought her back. She had abandoned her worried master once again. The stick was found on the path but the dog was nowhere to be seen. We walked on, ears and eyes searching for the missing Holly.

At the bend of the river under Daldorch a familiar looking figure stood. It was Peter. He and his group had somehow got to the front and were waiting for us here. And waiting along with them was the missing Holly.

(Group ‘Peter’ report)

Together as a group again, we wandered back to Peter’s place in Catrine where, much to our relief, soggy clothing was changed for dry. Those who don’t take advantage of the wonderful Scottish summer to explore the great outdoors wont know the shear pleasure of changing into dry gear after a day in the wet. But, the writer can assure you, the Ooters have found this pleasure many times this particular summer.

FRT was taken in Poosie Nansie’s in Mauchline, the first time many of us had been in this historic howf. It might not be the last.