19 August Muirkirk to Sanquhar – Tenth Anniversary Walk

Davie C, Davie Mc, Gus, Jimmy, Paul, Peter & Robert.

On the third Thursday of August, 2005 (the eighteenth, if memory serves) three newly retired teachers from Kilmarnock Academy went for a walk. Little did they know that ten years later they would still be walking together for this was the genesis of the walking group known as The Early Ooters. The walk they chose was the old turnpike road from Muirkirk in Ayrshire to Sanquhar in Dumfriesshire. Ten years almost to the day we decided to commemorate the birth of the Ooters by doing the walk that led to its creation.

It was slightly disappointing to note that only seven turned out for what is a long but easy walk but those who did turn up were treated to an enjoyable day out. The walk has been described in these pages at least once before and really needs no further description here. It follows the long abandoned eighteenth century turnpike through the wild moorland of east Ayrshire to the more verdant pastures of Nithsdale in Dumfriesshire. We find that it is always better to walk from Muirkirk for the sign there says that Sanquhar is twelve miles away whereas the sign in Sanquhar says that Muirkirk is seventeen miles away and we object to walking further than we need to. So, Muirkirk was our starting point and we took the bus from Cumnock to Muirkirk.

            We set off along the old road passing the usual landmarks - McAdam’s Cairn, The Whisky Knowe and the Sanquhar brig. So far the old road has been well maintained and the going easy. But beyond the Sanquhar Brig, on the climb to the head of the pass, the road has been abandoned and nature is taking over again. The going was reduced to good sections of road interspersed with rutted, wet bits. The pace was slowed accordingly.

Half way up the climb we came across a new landmark: A shiny, new metal seat has been placed here in memory of Bert Bradford (1955-2015). That Bert was a fisher was clear from the fretwork of the back but why his seat should be placed here, well away from any fishing water, is a source of speculation to the imaginative amongst us.

At the top of the brae we came to the part of the old road that has been a long time abandoned - nigh on two hundred years abandoned - and exists now only as a level section through the moss. Only where water has cut across it can the surface of the road be seen; the rest has been returned to the moss – the soggy and wet moss. We squelched through this for the next mile and bittock, avoiding the worst of the wet as far as possible though wet feet were had by the unwary. At the cleft known as the Ra’en’s Cleugh we settled down for our first coffee of the day.

On the other side of the cleugh the going was considerably drier and the road more obvious again and we could look around us instead of constantly watching where we put feet. There was a suggestion that we take in the Deil’s Back Door while we were her but this was rejected by six votes to one. (Actually we didn’t take a vote: It was simply said to the proposer ‘Awa an’ bile yer heid’. Or words to that effect.) We walked on to the edge of the forest where we left Ayrshire and entered Dumfriesshire.

The last time we came this way the path through the trees provided some difficulty being wet, muddy and overgrown. Surprisingly, given the wet summer, this was dry today and not as overgrown as we remembered. We found the forest road without difficulty, the forest road that follows exactly the line of the old turnpike. A sign here told us that Sanquhar was eight miles way and Muirkirk seven. We would follow this road downward for the next three miles to Fingland. A mile or so later another sign told us that Sanquhar was eight miles away and Muirkirk seven. Eh! A third sign giving us exactly the same information would be found further down the road. A couple of red deer hinds were startled by our approach and took off down the road in front of us before taking to the open hill. (Unfortunately the pair at the front who stopped to remove jackets missed them.) The path up to the Blackgannoch conventicle stone was noted in the passing but there was no visit today. Then we arrived at Fingland and a lunch stop was called.

As has already been said, this was an anniversary walk and Peter, one of the original three, dug into his rucksack and produced an anniversary cake. Unfortunately it was too windy to light the candle but the cake was appreciated and devoured with relish. Thanks Peter.

We found the tarmac at Fingland, tarmac we would follow all the way into Sanquhar. We also found the second and probably the longest climb of the day. And the rain came. It was a hot steamy climb to the top of the Bale Hill pass under waterpoofs. Then the rain went and waterproofs could be dispensed with. And now it was downhill. We could see Sanquhar lying down in the valley some two to three miles way but no matter how far we walked the town never seemed to get any closer. Down we walked. On the other side of the valley a great swathe of drizzle obscured the hill but yet we were in the dry. Sanquhar never got any closer. Another mile down the road and Sanquhar didn’t get any closer. This state of affairs continued until we crossed the railway bridge and suddenly we were crossing the Crawick Water and entering Sanquhar.

The feeling was that we should get the next bus back to Cumnock for FRT. So we headed for the nearest bus stop, the one at the police station, and waited ten minutes for the bus to arrive. FRT was taken in our usual howf, The Sun, in Cumnock.

Now, for our twentieth anniversary ...............................

26 March Wanlockhead to Sanquhar

An unusual picture of Davie Mc. The only view we normally see is his backside disappearing into the distance.

Alan, Davie C, Davie Mc, Gus & Jimmy



Down Church Street

      Though it was an early start for some to catch the 8:58 bus at Sanquhar for the short journey to Wanlockhead, the five who made the trip were well rewarded for their effort for today the sun shone, the air was clear and the views extensive. We were to follow the Southern Upland Way from Wanlockhead back to Sanquhar, not a long or particularly arduous walk but one which is turning into a favourite.







Past the old graveyard



      A cold south-easterly breeze, blowing off the top of Lowther Hill, greeted us as we left the bus in Wanlockhead but it was a light breeze and it was on our backs so didn’t bother us unduly as we started off down through the village. Down Church Street we came, down past the abandoned church, down past the barking dog who met its match in Holly, down past the old cemetery, down past the beam engine, down past the slag heap, all the time enjoying the sun and the downward slope of the tarmac. Then the tarmac gave out to an unsurfaced road but still the progress was down the valley. The sun went behind one of the clouds being created by the hill country of the Lowthers and the breeze was chill but this was only a temporary blip in what was to be a great day. We crossed the Wanlock water by a footbridge and our downward progress stopped.



A view down the Wanlock Valley from one of our many 'view stops'

      Now came the first climb of the day, a climb up the valley side, a climb that was eased by being on an old track, but a climb nevertheless. We would follow the track over the hill to the ruined farmstead of Cogshead but that was still in the future. As we climbed the track, the sun made a re-appearance and stayed with us for the rest of the day. The climb was warming up and Davie Mc hadn’t quite recovered from his chest infection so ‘view stops’ were called frequently. The view down the Wanlock valley was opening up for us as we climbed and the abandoned farm of Duntercleugh looked almost Highland with its red corrugated iron shed beside it. And beyond the valley Cairntable at Muirkirk was bathed in sunshine. Not so the Lowthers though for when we looked back they brooded ominously dark under heavy clouds. But these clouds wouldn’t reach us and we climbed on in the sunshine. Against our tradition, a halt for coffee was called at the top of this climb and in a spot sheltered from the south-easterly, we settled down for a casual coffee.



      After coffee our progress lay downward again, still following the remains of the old track, down to the ruins of Cogshead. Again, against our tradition, no halt was made here. Instead we tackled the second and last climb of the day, up the stey slope of Willowgrain to the pass by Conrig Hill. Again this was taken in stages but the top of the pass was reached more easily than expected and another halt was called here, this time for lunch.

Our afternoon stop on the Sanquhar Moors

     Now our progress was all downhill and easy. The views from so high on the side of the Nith Valley ware extensive today; from Criffel in the south to Corsencon in the north, the whole of Nithsdale was spread before us; away in the west Cairnsmore of Carsphairn and the Rhinns of Kells showed that the spring had not yet quite sprung by still holding on to patches of the winter snow. And it was this view as well as the warming sun – we were well sheltered from the cold wind now – that cheered us as we dropped down to Brandleys. Another halt was called and we settled down for a break in the sun. The skylark sang high above us and it took some time to spot it high in the blue. And a whaup burbled its evocative moorland song to remind us that spring is indeed just round the corner. And it felt it as we relaxed in the early afternoon sunshine.

      Gus, the first timer on this walk, was asked if he wanted to view the famous Black Loch. Why he declined was beyond us. Maybe it was because we said we would wait for him coming back. Anyway, nobody viewed the Black Loch today, we just kept on our downward progress over the Sanquhar Moor.

      We came into the town by the Coogate, walked along the High Street and partook of an excellent and well merited FRT in the Crown.

      A great day out. And a hint of days to come?

1 May Wanlockhead to Sanquhar

Allan, Davie C, Davie Mc, Ian, Jimmy, Malcolm, Paul & Robert

            May Day, the beginnings of summer: The bus dropped us off at the Lead Mining Museum in Wanlockhead on what should have been, according to the forecast, a lovely spring morning; should have been but wasn’t. The sky hung heavy, pregnant with rain. Already it had plattered on the bus window on the way up to the museum and it threatened to come any time again.

The intention of the day was to walk part of the Southern Uplands Way from Wanlockhead to Sanquhar, an easy and not too long a walk and a very pleasant walk in fine weather. So, given the glorious spring weather of the day before and the forecast for today, we looked forward to a pleasant walk in fine weather. Now it looked as though all we could look forward to was a soaking.

            But it was still dry when we left the bus strop to follow the Wanlock Water down past the old lead workings. (Which Paul helped to restore as he keeps reminding us!) Down past the old cemetery we came and the first spots of rain hit. It didn’t last long, just a slaver in the wind. But, as we crossed the Wanlock Water, it came again. This was enough to have the pessimists among us don the waterproof trousers. Jimmy & Robert were the optimists who walked on regardless. This passing shower took its own time to pass and we walked up the old track towards the pass on Glengaber Hill in the constant downpour.

            We topped the pass and Robert succumbed to the weather and donned the waterproof trousers. This might have been an easier task if his trousers hadn’t been soaking and his boots just as bad. To watch him struggle, standing on one foot, pulling and tugging at his waterproofs and trying desperately hard not to land on his backside was our only enjoyment on this particularly dreich part of the walk. Eventually he succeeded. He shouldn’t have bothered for no sooner than had he the waterproofs on than the rain went and we came down to the ruined farm of Cogshead in the dry. And was that the sky beginning to break up? We would see.

            We had coffee/lunch at Cogshead while Davie Mc delighted in drawing Allan’s attention to the path climbing steeply up the slope of the unnamed hill opposite, Allan whose dislike of climbing is legend in the Ooters. And it was to this path, whether Allan liked it or not, that we headed after coffee.

 The slope was not quite as steep as it looked, just steep enough and long enough to catch the breath and burn the legs and string the group out in a long crocodile. But the sky definitely cleared as we climbed and this cheered even the most reluctant of climbers. By the time all of us had reached the col between this unnamed hill and Conrig Hill and looked down on Nithsdale, the sun was out and the fresh breeze was chasing the rain south-eastward. And waterproofs were dispensed with, such was our cheering up. ‘It’s all downhill from here’, said out expert. And so it was – mainly.

We dropped down in the sun towards Brandleys Cottage then through a boggy stretch and through a wood. Some were calling for lunch/coffee so we made the four hundred and ten metre detour from The Way to the Black Loch where we had our second break of the day. Some waterfowl rose from the lochan at our approach. ‘Four tufted duck and a pair of mallard’ announced our birders. We couldn’t argue, and didn’t. We sat down beside the Black Loch for lunch. Like Dr. Johnson said of the Giant's Causeway, the Black Loch and its crannog are worth seeing but not worth going to see. Some were disappointed but we all sat in the sun and enjoyed our peece.

Back on the way, we still came down, down past the riding of the marches centenary fence and down into Sanquhar by the Coo Wynd.

As Shakespeare said ‘All’s well that ends well’. This was a day that started poorly but ended in lovely spring sun and we had a fine walk after all.  

FRT was taken in our usual howf in Sanquhar, The Crown (Established 1739) where we were treated like long lost friends. We can highly recommend this hostelry for its homely atmosphere and friendly staff and clientele.

While we sat there enjoying our fluid replacement therapy another heavy rain shower soaked the streets of Sanquhar. How lucky were we!

Wanlockhead to Sanquhar 1 May

Looking back to Wanlockhead

The rain should be off soon

Coffee stop whilst Allan ponders Davie's 10 minute climb - aye right!

The sun, at last, shines on the righteous

Downhill all the way now, except for the odd wee uphill bit!

3 November A Wet Day East of Sanquhar

Allan, Jimmy, Johnny, Malcolm, Paul, Rex, Robert

Seven stalwarts sojourned south to Sanquhar. Why we should have gone anywhere though, given the rains of the night, the overcast sky and the threat from the met office of more rain through the day is way beyond reason. But we went to Sanquhar to investigate Rex’s new walk, optimism overcoming discretion once more.
The Southern Uplands Way comes through Sanquhar somewhere but we weren’t sure exactly where. Jimmy had a vague notion that it was towards the south end of the town so we set off in search of it in that airt. Luckily we bumped into a local fellow who pointed us in the right way. Good job too that he was walking his dog in this road for the sign for The Way was high on a wall and hidden from us coming in this direction. Are the Dumfriesshirers trying to prevent good Ayrshire folk from finding The Way? Anyway our Good Samaritan pointed us in the right direction and we wandered under the railway bridge and out into the country.
We had just started to climb away from the town when the first rain came, sweeping down Nithsdale in a dirty grey mass driven on by a freshening breeze. Even those who were silly enough to start off without waterproofs donned them now for the rain was threatening to get serious. They were to stay on for the rest of the walk.
There was no stopping for views as we climbed the Coo’s Wynd up onto Sanquhar Moor; there was no point for the rain obscured everything beyond a mile or so and that which wasn’t hidden was a washed out version of itself. We plodded on, upward towards the hills that form the eastern boundary of Nithsdale. At least the rain was on our backs and it appeared to be lessening as we climbed onto the moor. And the path levelled out. Things were looking better, not much better but better.
The path is well constructed and way-markers make it easy to follow. Only once were we offered any sort of challenge. The path dropped off the moor into the shallow and soggy valley of the Loch Burn where, for fifty metres or so, tufts of rushes grew in wet slimy earth and puddles. Where these gave way to deep patches of sphagnum or open water, boardwalks have been constructed but over the years these have been twisted and tilted off the level and are coated with slimy green algae. Today they presented us with extremely treacherous footing. With a little judicious placing of feet and careful transfer of weight, considerable weight in some instances, all crossed safely even if one or two chose to jump the burn rather than cross the last one.
A style in the fence fifty yards beyond the burn saw us on to the service road for Bogg Farm and fifty yards along this we took the branch for Brandleys. We were to stay on this road for around quarter of a mile as it climbed slowly round the corner of a plantation. Then we left it and took to the open hillside over a style on a drystane dyke.
The path still rose gently to the top of Coupland Knowe. There must be a view of sorts from this point but, though we could see where the Lowthers rose from Nithsdale, there was no sign of the hills themselves. Nor was there much of a view over the dale either for there was more rain sweeping in from the west. So ignoring the possibilities of views, we turned our backs to the weather and pushed on.
We could see the path rising steeply in front of us, a dark scar on the hillside rising up the snout of a rounded ridge, and before long we were rising steeply with it. It took us to our highest point of the day, a col between Conrig Hill to the north and Glendyne Hill to the south, a col that seemed an ideal place for coffee. Barely had we settled for coffee when the rain hit. Though our col wasn’t particularly high, at around the fourteen hundred contour it was high enough to feel the strength of the westerly wind and high enough to turn some of the rain to hail. We took coffee with our backs to the fresh wind, looking down into the next sodden valley and listening to the wind-driven, hail-salted rain battering on waterproof hoods.
The prospect didn’t look good – the valley in front of us brooded darkly through the rain and the sky showed no signs of breaking up. A decision was made. (We are getting better at these decision things.) Discretion seeming the better part of valour, we would retreat for the day and leave the walk for another. So back down the path we came, back to Coupland Knowe and guess what? Yes, the rain went and the sky lifted. But it lifted only sufficiently to show the other side of Nithsdale and Blackcraig at Glen Afton still gloomily grey under heavy cloud.
Back down the Coupland Knowe and back over the drystane dyke we came. Somebody suggested lunch and we found a comfortable spot on the lip of an old, shallow quarry and settled down to eat.
On the outward journey we came across a sign pointing along a level path to Black Loch four hundred and ten metres away. The leading trio of Jimmy, Paul and Rex opted to take in the Black loch. It turns out that this is open water to the extent of half a football pitch with a reedy island near the western end. A notice pinned to a board told us that this was an SSSI and that when the loch was partially drained in 1861 a log boat and a crannog were discovered. We could see why the loch was of historical interest but why it should be of scientific interest, we couldn’t quite fathom out. Perhaps we will need to return in the summer to find out.
When the trio returned to the path the rest had gone on ahead. We were not to come together again until we reached the cars in Sanquhar.
This was an unfortunate day with the weather but the walk looks good and it has been added to the ‘to do’ list for the spring of the year.
As is our wont, the Crown in Sanquhar provided the FRT today, the second time in a fortnight that we have been here.

2 November - Sanquhar route

Distance: 11.7 km (including detour to Black Loch)

27 January Wanlock Water Circular

Since the big freeze went, the weather has been mixed, sometimes frosty, bright and sunny but mainly damp and dreich. Today was to continue the dreich pattern.
The intention of the day was for a walk on the Lowther Hills before the snow went completely and when a fresh fall came earlier in the week, we were hopeful of a pleasant snowy walk. But, when we gathered in Jimmy’s place in Cumnock, the day was dreich with damp air and a lowering sky. Some were for a local walk round Cumnock fearing a repeat of last week but Davie suggested that we go to Wanlockhead and if the conditions for a climb were poor we could have a low level walk. It was Jimmy who pointed out that Wanlockhead sits somewhere above the fourteen hundred contour and there could be no ‘low level’ walking around there. However, we knew what Davie meant and his suggestion was accepted. We headed for Wanlockhead.
The village was free of snow but great icy drifts lay in the cleuchs and we suspected more lay on the tops; suspected, for there was no way we could see for sure for the tops rose into claggy hill fog the base of which was barely a hundred feet above our heads. There was no way we would get the veterans of last week’s soaking up into that fog so a ‘low level’ walk it would be.
The first spots of rain hit as we prepared to leave the cars, not heavy rain nor long lasting but enough to make us waterproof from the outset.
We set off down through the village, down past the old lead works buildings – ‘I helped excavate this in the nineteen seventies,’ said Paul and we were suitably impressed – and down the valley of the Wanlock Water. The drizzly rain went as we approached Meadowfoot Cemetery. We have amongst us those who love to explore old cemeteries. (It has been said that we only do this because, at our age, we are only sussing out future lodgings.) We interrupted our walk to investigate. That the cemetery is still in use is evident from the modern gravestones but its antiquity – it dates from 1751 - is also evident from the old stones. The earliest we found today dated from 1774 and the grandest was that of the mine manager on the late eighteenth century. The historian suggested that, if Maria Riddel’s account is to be believed, this may well have been the man who showed Burns and the Riddel group round the mines here in January 1792. We have only his suggestion for this but it is an interesting theory.
By the time we had exhausted the cemetery’s possibilities the rain had gone but the sky still showed no sign of lifting. We walked on down the valley on a forest-road type track that dropped imperceptibly down beside the burn, opening and closing jackets as the drizzle continued to come and go. Even when it went there was no drying and sweat built up inside the waterproofs. Then the track crossed the burn by a bridge and started to climb the valley side.
The abandoned farmhouse of Duntercleuch sits above the burn, on the side of the valley. Since it was mow nearing eleven, we stopped here, leaned our backs to the wall of the house and had coffee.
It was a good choice to have coffee at Duntercleuch for a few minutes after we had started on the climb again the rain came once more, this time in more serious mood. And it was up through the rain we climbed to enter the plantation clothing the side of Duntercleuch Rig. Our weatherman had suggested that the rain would go for it was just a front passing through but, at that moment, it didn’t look like it. The rain came straight down and it looked as though it was bringing the sky with it and we would be walking in fog again. Yet we climbed on with the road, Rex and Davie setting a cracking pace on the upward, splitting the group into two parties. And we continued to climb on what most thought would be the last on this ‘low level’ walk.
Somewhere in the mizzle and the trees the fast waited for the slow to catch up, and then they were off again. We continued to climb with the road. Quite suddenly and unexpectedly, the trees gave way and we came into a more open hillscape. The rain eased and was the sky clearing? Would our weatherman be right after all? It certainly seemed that way. We left the road and, at another abandoned, and this time ruinous, farmstead a hundred yards across the hill, we sat down for our peece.
Davie, being first to the ruin, found the only bit of shelter from the remaining drizzle under the still intact roof of the porch and the rest had to make do with an outside wall. But the rain went, and we were first to see the sunshine. A patch of blue sky floated above us and the first shaft of sunlight swept across the hill, to light and warm us. Were we jealous of Davie’s shelter? Were we heck! Now that the rain had gone, some took the opportunity to change into dry shirts. It’s a good job we had finished the peece for semi-naked Ooters are not a pretty sight and we of a delicate nature may well have been put off our food. As it was, we were finished the peece and were ready to set off again.
With the brightening weather came a brightening in the attitude of the group. A brightening until we found out that we had another mountain to climb. We slanted up grassy field to find a green track slanting up the hillside. Davie was being called all manner of uncomplimentary things. He said it was to be a ‘low level’ walk and here he was dragging us up another mountain. But, at least the track was good and well graded up the slope and, with the clearing weather, the views began to open out. The effort of the climb was rewarded by a super view from Wedder Hill. South-west, the hills around Moniaive showed well and in the west Nithsdale ran into Ayrshire with the Afton Hills on one side and Corsencon guarding the other; in the east, the bulk of Tinto looked close; due north, Cairntable and the Muirkirk hills had the wind-farm at Lesmahagow as a backdrop and through a gap, the Ochils were bathed in sunshine. This was a remarkable view for so low an eminence, one which was completely unexpected for us today given the weather at the start. Yet, to the south the Lowthers still held onto the clag as they would for the rest of the day so Davie’s choice of the ‘low level’ walk turned out to be a good one. His ears stopped burning as the comments turned more pleasant and perhaps we will let him choose some other walks in the future.
Wedder Hill was the high point of the day. Now we had to drop back into the Wanlock Water valley. The path found another track. We would follow this downward. This wasn’t as straightforward as it would seem for great wreaths of icy, rotting snow lay across it and these had to be negotiated with some caution for they were slippy. The Irvine two certainly took their time. But this is to be expected of those from the coast who think a heavy frost is a severe winter. But, remembering (eventually Rex and Davie) the new axiom of the ooters, we waited compassionately for them on the bridge over the Wanlock.
An easy saunter saw us back up the valley into the village. But Rex and Davie hadn’t finished with their exploits. In front of the main group, they were seen to veer away to the right, onto the old railway track. But enough was enough for the rest of us who kept to the road through the village. Wrong move! Davie knew exactly where he was going and the fast pair beat us all to the cars, having taken the shorter route.
A good end to a poor start today but as yon English fellow said, ‘All’s well that ends well’. And all was well with us as we took FRT in the Crown in Sanquhar.

7 October The Scaur Valley 4 or Sloe, Sloe, Pick-pick, Sloe

Eight Ooters gathered in Jimmy’s place in Cumnock. No Bacon rolls this morning but scones (Tesco’s finest) and coffee was more than welcome. Had Rex stopped gallivanting abroad at the drop of a hat, and Alan had taken a rest from playing builders and Paul remembered that he had bare feet when he kicked the garage doorpost, there might have been a full complement. However, Ian was returned from abroad and Peter returned to the fold after a long absence – it was nice to have him back again – so eight of us gathered in Jimmy’s place. Then we left for the long drive to the start of the Scaur Water walk.
The weather picked up as we drove down Nithsdale, the morning cloud breaking and the sun showing through. Davie’s car with the sensible group stopped in Penpont at the start of the walk but Ronnie, at Robert’s insistence, drove through the village and on to Moniaive. Why? Well, last week Robert was given the task of intimating the proposed walk on the blog, but mistakenly put Moniaive as the starting point and, either by neglect or intention, those who knew better failed to point out his error and he had Moniaive fixed in his mind. Robert and his companions ended up in the latter village before realising the mistake. It should be noted for future reference that there is no mobile phone reception in Moniaive so, despite our valiant efforts to contact them, we had to wait for a sheepish Robert and his companions to make the six miles return journey before we could start the walk.
By the time the lost boys rejoined us, the sun had come out. It was to stay with us for the rest of the day and give us a pleasantly bright and warm autumn day.
Only for Ronnie was this new territory and the rest looked forward to an enjoyable flat road walk for a change, and in superb country. It was suggested that we do the walk in reverse for this is our fourth visit here and we have always gone clockwise round the walk. This was agreed but for some reason everybody started walking in the same old direction. Nothing much changes in the Ooters and it would appear that memories are short.
It seemed that the purpose of our being in Nithsdale today was to gather sloes for another sloe-gin competition. Johnny loves his competitions and is still fair miffed that he lost out in the last one due to a technical error. No prizes then for guessing whose idea the new competition was. We were barely started the walk when we were stopped picking sloes.
We had come along the Moniaive road and turned up the minor road designated Scaur Valley and immediately found a blackthorn bush hanging heavy with sloes. ‘Not very big berries’, said the knowledgeable one, but this didn’t deter the avaricious sloe pickers who were determined to fill their plastic boxes right reason or none. Ten minutes picking and the plastic ice-cream tubs, margarine tubs and Tupperware boxes were almost full and it was time for us to move on.
Given where we were, the time of year, the nature of the day and the absence of Rex, this was to be a relaxed walk at an easy pace. We walked on, chatting away in one group, allowing Robert to dictate the pace from the front. And he set an effortless pace.
We thought Robert was lost again when he overshot the path down towards the river, but the wee man refuses to get lost twice in one day. (He says!) He knew where he was going all right, for he found an alternative entrance a bit up the road and joined the rest of us on the path a few yards inside the wood. We walked down to the side of the river.
The Scaur cuts a gorge for itself through the whin-stane here and the water roars and rushes spectacularly through it. And we stood above this gorge for a while, mesmerised by the white water roaring through. Metal fishers' ladders, anchored to the naked rock of the gorge, led down to natural platforms above the torrent. Robert volunteered to test the solidity of one of these and climbed down into the gorge. We would have left him there but the ladder was fastened to the rock too securely for us to move. Robert managed to escape and joined us as we walked on through the wood.
The last time we came through this wood Peter found mushrooms – ‘Bollies’, he called them – but no such luck today. Try as we might, nary a fungus could be seen. So we walked back to the road. We were to stay on the road for the rest of the walk.
The day was turning pleasantly warm and the crack was good. We ambled on. Then Robert and Ronnie were found to be missing. Nobody had noticed them go so we had no idea where we had lost them. Somebody suggested they might just want to be alone, so we wandered on enjoying the sunshine, unworried about the missing pair. When they caught us up again, Robert drew from his pocket all the sloes that they had been collecting, much larger berries this time and juicy looking, and added them to his collection. We only hope the effort was worth it.
The light on the landscape was superb, the low autumn sun picking out every detail with warm highlights and deep shadows. Cameras were used more than usual. Jimmy got some verbal treatment when he stooped to get a better composition in one shot. 'Thinks he’s David Bailey 'Just stick your bum out a wee bit further' were the more printable comments. It didn’t put our arty-farty friend off in any way though; he would repeat the posture later. But not before lunch.
Lunch was taken on the wee bridge on which we always take lunch and for no other reason than we always take lunch here. As has been said before, we are creatures of habit. Holly must have been hungry today as well for, for the first time in her life, she sat and watched us eat, devouring any morsel that was given to her. Hardly surprising that she was hungry for she covers at least twice the distance we do and at double speed. Once again, we were jealous of her fitness.
The road continued up the valley and after lunch, so did we. We wandered down by Knockelly towards the bridge on the river. The light on the hills of the upper valley was superb and the high ground looked particularly inviting. A proposal to walk these hills was made and was generally accepted but not today, today was to be an easy walk on the road and it would stay that way. We added this area to our ‘to do’ list and walked on. We crossed the river and made our way upward to Druidhall before turning back towards Penpont.
The buzzard was heard before it was spotted being harassed by crows. Then Robert, our fledgling birder, stumped the naturalist. ‘Do buzzards mate for life?’ was the question. The naturalist replied that most birds of prey do but wasn’t sure of buzzard specifically. He would find out, though, now that the question had been raised.*
We stopped beside a sign pointing into a field and telling us that the Roman Bridge was only three miles away, along a faint track. Again, if we had time enough, or energy enough, or inclination, we might have gone along to see the ‘Roman’ bridge. But we had none of the three today, we would continue on the road. So, with another walk added to the ‘possible’ list, we walked on.
We would have kept to the road for the remainder of the walk but Peter veered off into the trees. We followed and found Peter rummaging about in the fallen beech leaves. Well, we weren’t quite sure of his behaviour until he unearthed a mushroom, then another, and another. Chanterelles (Cantharellus cibarius), he said. Most were past their best but there were enough good ones for Peter to pick and place in the box he had brought specially for the purpose. We hope he enjoys his free food and is still with us next week.
We returned to the road and now we kept to it.
The way was downward now, two miles of gentle slope that took us off the higher ground and down beside a wee burn running through some trees. The infantile started to up the pace as we approached Penpont and even broke into a run at one point, well as much of a run as they could muster at their age. There are times when we wish they would grow up. But, as has been pointed out by them, growing old is inevitable, growing up is optional. And they opted to act young again.
This is how we came back into Penpont – the childish racing and the more mature (lazy?) taking their time, all having had a great walk on a super autumn day.

The Crown in Sanquhar provided the FRT today.

PS Note to Robert: Buzzards do indeed mate for life though ‘divorces’ have occasionally been reported.

21 January Endurance on Lowther Hill

Cauld blaws the wind frae east tae west,
The drift is driving sairly,
-------------------------
When a’ the hills are cover’d wi’ snaw,
I’m sure it’s winter fairly.
R. Burns

A great debate ensued when we met at Jimmy’s house in Cumnock: some were for the Lowther hills as planned and some were for an easier local Cumnock walk. The Lowthers contingent kept reminding us that the forecast was good and we should get great views and some snow today. The locals were wary of snow on the road on the climb to Wanlockhead and were for staying low. Rex had the deciding vote when he arrived for we were tied at four votes each. Unsurprisingly, the Lowthers it was to be.
We travelled to Wanlockhead with anticipation or trepidation depending on your viewpoint and encountered the first snow on the climb out of the Mennock valley. The road was clear but snow lay all around us. The lower hills that we could see were white and we knew that snow lay on the higher summits we were heading for. When we reached the village, snow lay deep and ploughed into ridges at the side of the road. All the car parks had snow too deep to allow entry so we were reduced to parking at the side of the road.
Even before we had left the cars, we picked up a companion in the shape of a champagne coloured poodle-type canine who took a fancy to Holly. He was to stay with us for the entire walk and was to give Holly plenty of exercise loupin’ sheughs and sklimmin’ hillocks in the snow - ‘Twa Dogs that were na thrang at hame’ enjoying each other’s company. Perhaps he thought he was into the squirrel dance but Holly was for none of it so they just ran through the snowdrifts together.
The cloud hung over the hills we were for but we knew the forecast was for brighter weather so were undeterred by this. We started walking. When we left the road, we came into the snow immediately. This was ankle deep to start with but deepened as we climbed. And as we climbed, we came into the fog. When we left the hard surface to come onto a path designated Southern Uplands Way, we were into a world of deep snow and thick fog. And a breeze began to stir. This was not a day for sunbathing.
The path was now fairly steep and was made to feel even steeper by the underfoot conditions. The climb was strenuous. And we tackled the climb smartly to build up a heat against the cold conditions. The effort and the speed were too much for the inexperienced Allan and he felt ill. While we agreed to slow the speed and encouraged him with the news that the service road for the ‘football’ was only some two hundred metres away, Allan decided he didn’t want to hold us back and decided to return. Johnny went with him. (We await a report on the walk they did at the lower level.)
Reduced to seven now, we continued to follow the Southern Uplands Way, each taking turn to break the path through the drifts. Red grouse whirred away into the greyness, telling us who invader their white world to ‘G’back, g’back, g’back’. With the snow deepening and the wind strengthening, we should have listened to them and gone straight back down to the pub. This was also Peter’s opinion and he persisted in frequently telling us how the sun was shining in Cumnock. But we ignored both birds and Peter and trudged on, heads tilted into the wind.
Jimmy led us into the cleugh through two foot of snow. We knew there was a burn to cross and nervousness started to grow in some. But there was no need to worry for this is an official long distance way and there is a wooden bridge over the burn, albeit with a covering of two or three inches of snow today. Jimmy, going before like a latter-day Moses, led us boldly over to the other side. Then came the problem. The drift on this side was deep - three feet at least - and Jimmy’s wee legs just disappeared into it. He was up to the a*** in snow. Yet, like a hero, he ploughed on before, breaking a way for us to follow. (Would you just stop boasting and get on with the narrative!) Once the drift was cleared, we were onto firmer footing with heather poking up through the four inches of white. And the posts marking the route of the road appeared out of the fog some twenty metres in front. Jimmy took a beeline for the nearest post and we found some relief from the deep snow.
Relief from the deep snow it may have been but it was hardly easy going yet. The road had been ploughed, throwing ridges of frozen stuff to the sides and leaving two or three inches of brown sugar on the surface. Every step involved some sort of slip back. It was energy sapping to trudge upward through this stuff. Then the snow hit - tiny pellets of snow, driven on the wind and stinging into every bit of exposed flesh. What should have been a pleasant walk was turning into an endurance test. Yet the Cumnock proposers said nothing. We trudged upward with only the banter to relieve the effort and counting the bends in the road to see how far we had to go for shelter.
Eventually, the ‘football’ solidified out of the fog and we knew this would be the extent of our endeavour for the day even before it was spoken. We found shelter from the wind by a garage door and took an early lunch.
Most of us ate standing up but Ian had the perfect solution to the conditions. He produced a narrow, one person, orange bivi-bag and proceeded to wriggle his way into it. By his gyrations, we suspect the bag has shrunk since it was last used. It was a tight squeeze. After lunch, we were for leaving Ian inside his bag for he struggled unwrap himself from his orange sausage. Alan took pity on him though and helped pull him out.
We were just about to set off again when the garage door opened and a blast of heat hit us. Two workers stood inside. ‘You must be off your f***ing heads’ said one and promised a deterioration in the weather for the afternoon telling us that the weather changes quickly in the hills. Davie kept his own counsel but we knew that he knew these hills better than the speaker did and was well aware of the vagaries of the hill weather. However, we had already made the decision to return by the road.
The decision to abandon the walk at this point was a relief to us all for we didn’t fancy stumbling and slithering through the deep drift that we suspected lay further on. We stuck to the road. It was a lot easier going down the way and, forty minutes after leaving the summit, we were walking out of the fog into Wanlockhead.
Holly’s new friend deserted her here for it saw its own folk and made a joyful beeline to join them - without even a thank-you to us for taking it a walk.
Here we met the other two who had just returned from a lower level and sunnier walk than we had.
The B-team report.

Wanlockhead – Cumnock? What a debate! People changing their minds! Paul! Sixty year olds behaving like six year olds – wanting to play in the snow. We B-teamers were certainly outvoted, and so it passed that democracy prevailed (there being no executive to make wise decisions for the time muddled drink befuddled masses) and so it was that we set off for the snowy heights of Wanlockhead. Allan made the attempt to keep apace with the whippets and testosterone loaded but heart and mind did for him as his honed logic and advanced reasoning bid the question “ whit the f…. are we daing here?” So Allan and his faithful friend decided to seek an alternative to this heart stopping climb.

Leaving the Magnificent Seven to explore the cold misty snowy top, Allan and yours truly returned to the level that was Wanlockhead. This splinter cell, now recovered in spirit and body, decided to walk the railtrack to Leadhills station. This was not a walk in the park! A driving wind and foot deep snow gave enough excitement to cheer us. On our return we made a circuit of the village of Wanlockhead. It was here that a local chronicler spotted us and sought to capture our image. We obliged. Well exercised we retired to the comfort of Allan’s carriage and partook of a welcome lunch. Just as I drained the last from my second cup of coffee Allan spotted the Return of the Magnificent Seven(not as good as the original IMHO). All, Brothers in Arms once again, retired to the Crown in Sanquar. No need to debate right or wrong, good or bad decisions – all just glad to be able to be here to ‘decide’ next Wednesday’s outing.

22 October Scaur Valley 2 - A fast sloe walk

'They don't hang about much, do they?'

Allan Sim, 2008

An off-the-cuff remark by Jimmy when we did the Killie to Darvel walk back in August was taken as a promise. He must learn to keep his mouth shut. What he innocently said, while passing a copse of blackthorn, was 'I haven't made sloe gin for while. I quite fancy making some again'. What was heard by the Ooters, who are fond of a small libation, was 'I'll make everybody sloe gin this year'. Throughout the autumn, Jimmy was constantly reminded of this 'promise' and the day would dawn when we would go in search of sloes for his brew. This was the chosen day. The Scaur Valley was the chosen place for Davie said this was great for the berries and, even if we didn’t get sloes, it was still a good area for autumn colour.
The morning was fair when nine of us gathered at Jimmy’s in Cumnock and the drive down Nithsdale was a delight with the autumn colour showing well on the trees. Yet, as we changed into walking gear in the car park of Penpont, the first spots of rain hit us and the sky turned ominously dark. It rained as we set off along the Moniaive road.
The route was to be the same as the last time we came this way (26/09/07), i.e. up the west side of the Scaur Valley, turning by Druidhall and coming down the Sanquhar to Penpont road, staying on tarmac for the day. At least Davie said we would be on tarmac for the day but less than half a mile up the Scaur road, he had us under a fence, over a wee sheuch running full of brown water and along a pad through the wet grass. He was for the gorge of the Scaur to see if salmon leapt the falls. We were glad of the diversion though, for he took us to a place where branches, bedecked in autumn leaves, overhung a river gushing in brown and white torrents through the gorge and over the falls. The camera boys attempted to capture the scene and we look forward to seeing the results. No salmon though.
Coming back through the wood to the road, Peter decided to cut hazel sticks for Holly. Everybody expected him to produce a pocket-knife. But this is Peter we are talking about. A mini hacksaw with a wood cutting blade was draw from his waterproof pocket and the hazels stood no chance. We suspect he might have a power drill and a bench saw hidden somewhere about that jacket.
The rain went when we found the road again. We stripped off the waterproofs and were not to need them for the rest of the day. The sun tried hard to break through and in some places succeeded, spotlighting the landscape ahead of us. The valley was filled with the hues of autumn: the yellows, reds and browns of the trees, the golden browns of the bracken, the pale yellows of the drying moor grasses and the deep purple of the heather on the hill. The walk up the valley was punctuated by photo-shoots.
The peece was taken on the wee bridge where we took it last time. Paul spotted the red squirrel. At first, he thought it was a bird moving in the saughs barely twenty feet away but it stopped and looked at us and presented us with a great view of itself. It came towards us and might have come even closer had it not spotted Holly. It returned to its saugh where it sat and watched us for a while. It was a great sighting, well done Paul.
We also heard the shooting as we sat. A Landrover pulling a morgue of dead pheasants had passed us further down the valley and we knew that the birds were coming under fire further up the road. We were to find out where sometime later. Yet, the shooting didn’t seem to disturb the squirrel that continued to watch us from the vantage point of its tree.
Peece finished, we took to the road again. Round the bend, we stopped again. There was a stand of blackthorn and on the blackthorn hung a few sloes. We picked these for that was the purpose of the day. Jimmy picked them for his brew, as did Davie and Peter. Alan and Johnny picked them for themselves for they also fancied a go at the sloe gin making. Therefore, sometime in the New Year, we are having a sloe gin tasting session.
Only fifteen minutes was wasted spent this way then we continued the walk. The shooters were found standing beside the road. Hooray-Henrys they were, tweeded to the eyeballs and enjoying their micro-sandwiches and pink champagne. ‘Having a good day?’ asked Jimmy as we passed. ‘Yes, thenk-yo’ was pleasant the reply. But they never offered to share the champers. Further along the road we spoke to a chap clearing up behind them. ‘Are they shooting much or just wasting ammo?’ we asked. ‘A waste o’ bluidy ammo’ said he. We had to agree for the pheasants were still flying around over the killing field and the spaniels didn’t seem to be picking up much.
Davie’s opinion of this activity is unprintable. Anyway, the author wouldn’t be able to spell half the words he used. We referred him to Alan Stewart.
The shoot must have finished for the shooters passed us at Druidhall in a convoy of four-by-fours. Despite the reputation of these Hoorray-Henrys, many gave us a cheery wave in the passing. This was not the only traffic on what is normally a very quiet road. More than once, we had to step aside for cars and even the occasional lorry, especially when they splashed through the water that flooded the road at one point.
Then the pace was increased for we were now on the homeward leg. Somehow Rex had gotten to the front and away he went, followed by the rest. Allan Sim was asked what he thought of walking with the Ooters. ‘They don’t hang about much, do they?’ was the answer. And we certainly didn’t hang about now. Davie pointed out the Lowther Hills on the far side of Nithsdale. Jimmy stopped to take a photo and found himself two hundred metres behind the bunch. It took him two miles to catch up. Not only did he catch up but he passed us saying, ‘You fellows didn’t wait for me so I’m not waiting for you’. These might not have been his exact words but this is what he meant. And he kept his speed going. Davie went with him claiming that Holly was pulling him. Johnny joined the speedy two after a while but failed to slow them up. Even shouts from the rear to entice Holly back failed to slow them. It was a fast march back down that road, all the way to the car park at Penpont. More than a few were relieved to be the finished the race.
This was another good walk but fast towards the end. The ale in the Crown in Sanquhar was most welcome.

PS. Far be it from Jimmy to be immodest but one of the helpers on the shoot was a former pupil of his. ‘The best teacher I ever had’, was his comment, ‘and my boy and lassie say the same thing’. We doubt whether we’ll ever get Jimmy’s head back to a reasonable size.

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.