20 October The Scaur Water Round Again

Alan, Allan, Davie, Ian, Jimmy, Peter, Rex, Robert & Ronnie

A couple of years back Jimmy made the mistake of mentioning making sloe gin, a comment that resulted in some of the Ooters collecting sloes on the Scaur water walk, making their own distinctive brew and organizing a final competition tasting to see whose was best. (Is there anything that won’t result in an Ooters competition? – Ed) Anyway, the competition seems to have become an annual thing. But it is somehow fixed in the minds of the simple among us that the only place on earth to find sloes is the Scaur Water valley. So this bright autumn day following a night’s frost saw us back in Penpont for another sloe walk.
Now, in keeping with our new philosophy of doing different things or things differently, we opted to do the walk in an anticlockwise direction instead of the usual clockwise and so set off up through the village on Marrburn Road.
We stopped three times even before we had left the village. The first time was to the usual port of call for the convenience of the weak-bladdered. The second was much more interesting. The tree in the garden could be seen from some distance away virtually glowing in the sun. At first we took it to be a rowan with clusters of bright orange berries almost covering the foliage. But closer inspection showed the leaf to be wrong for a rowan; it was more ash-like. Eventually the owner came to tell us it was a sorbus, a relative of the rowan but which one she couldn’t say. She said that it was at its best this year and we had to agree that it was a fine specimen. We thanked her for her time and walked on.
A hundred yards along the road we were stopped for the third time. This time it was to examine a plaque on a cottage wall telling us that Joseph Thomson was born here on 14 February 1848. Now who this Joseph Thomson was we had no idea. It turns out that he explored much of east Africa, establishing a route from Dar es Salam to Lakes Nyasa and Tanganyika. Thomson’s gazelle is named after him. So now we know!
The way out of the village in this direction is upward. For some reason or other the road appears steeper climbing it than it does on the way down and with the pace set by those at the front, it fairly raised the breathing. On the plus side though, it meant that we got all the climbing done on the first mile or so and the pace warmed the bodies against the cool north-westerly wind. A new path was spotted climbing the hillside to the right and it was noted for future reference. But there was no real halt to examine it too carefully. The kestrel was also spotted but again there was no real halt. When Robert and Rex, setting the pace in front, mistook the road at the junction, we felt that this was the opportunity for a break. But no. Peter, kind soul, shouted them back onto the right track and they were off up the right road before the tail-enders got to the junction. There was no halt yet as the leaders pressed on. Along past the sign showing the path to the ‘Roman Bridge’, we marched. No halt to discuss possibilities in this direction. By this time tongues were hanging out for the lack of coffee. But there was still no halt.
Suddenly there was a halt. Just beyond Auchenbainzie the leaders stopped, threw off their rucksacks and sat down for coffee. They had found a spot sheltered from the north wind and thought it would be the ideal place for refreshment. It was a relief to some of us to join them.
It was the north-westerly that kept the air clear and gave us extensive views wherever these could be had. After coffee we walked on. There is a short stretch of this road where the ground slopes away to the east and you can look out over the woods of Drumlanrig, over Nithsdale to the high hills of Durisdeer and the Lowthers. Today, the hills looked clear and close but, though the pace had eased to a comfortable rate, there was still no halt for views and this had to be absorbed on the hoof. Buzzards floated on updrafts over Townhead Woods and these also had to be spotted while walking.
We turned left at Druidhall and came down towards the valley of the Scaur. Holly was in doggie heaven. Pheasants by the dozen clucked and fluttered at our approach. Now Holly found a full wood of clucking, whirring, feathery things that would join in her chasing games. Only the yelps and squeals of delight alerted us to her antics. Now the poor soul was shouted back onto the road to walk beside uninteresting humans that wouldn’t run for the chase.
By this time we were down over the Scaur and heading back down the valley. At this point we stopped to look at the hills of the upper valley – Merkland, Countnam and Cairnkinna – looking very inviting in their autumn browns and yellows under the perfectly blue October sky. A note was made to tackle the round of the upper valley ‘someday’. But today we turned or steps down towards Penpont. Hunger was calling for it was some time since breakfast and the coffee we had earlier was just that. But,
Robert did well. He found us a spot,
Where the air was quite calm and the sun was quite hot,
And the slope of the bank was scooped out like a seat,
Where we could sit down and have something to eat.

So we stopped for lunch, not at our usual place on the bridge over the Bass Burn but on a sheltered wee bank looking down the valley.

The sun was as good as it’s going to get at this time of year and the view was good so we relaxed over lunch, taking time to take in the autumn colour. But that time came again and we moved on. Now we found out why there was such urgency on the steps of the leading bunch; Alan, Rex and Robert had brought tubs for the collecting of sloes for the sloe gin. At the first blackthorn that showed any berries they were doing the gin-makers dance – sloe, sloe pick-pick, sloe. The rest ambled on.
Eventually the berry pickers rejoined the group and we wandered back towards Penpont taking time to visit the slate sculpture - Andy Goldsworthy, I think – and the fisher’s pool in the Scaur on the way past.
It’s a good job the boys got their sloes further up the glen for the bushes where we got them last year were stripped almost bare. Anyway we look forward to sampling the produce.

This was another good day made especially so by the late October sunshine.

We repaired to The Crown in Sanquhar for FRT today and were greeted in the usual welcoming manner by the locals. It’s nice to be recognised in such a way.

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.

3D routes - Scaur Valley and Portencross

Scaur Valley (Distance 14.5 km, 9.1 miles )









Portencross (Distance 11.4 km, 7.1 miles)

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.