19 January Glen Afton’s Four, Three, Two, or One Top

Alan, Allan, Davie, Ian, Jimmy, Johnny, Paul, Peter, Rex & Robert

Just before Christmas Robert mentioned how easily traditions become established. It seems there is now an Ooters tradition of having stovies in the Mercat in Cumnock after doing the Four Tops walk in Glen Afton. This was the case today and stovies had been booked for 3 o’clock. It was felt by some that we might be pushed for time to get back to Cumnock for three and that might go some way to explaining what happened today.
All seemed right with the world when we gathered in Jimmy’s in Cumnock for an early start. The forecast was favourable and the time for departure was set early enough. But it might have been an indication of things to come when the Kilmarnock contingent arrived to say that Alan had slept in and would be a few minutes late. We delayed departure to wait for Allan. (See us! See compassion!)
The time was approaching quarter to ten when we left the waterworks car park, taking the road we had just driven up for we were to do the walk in the traditional Ooters direction, i.e. clockwise. (‘The best and easiest direction’ say those who know these things.) So we set off back down the road we had come. Conscious of time, Jimmy pressed the pace from the start taking Johnny and Paul with him and leaving the bulk of us trailing on behind. Down beside the river we marched, down onto the floor of the glen we marched, down to the Blackcraig Farm road we marched, and still no let up from those in front. On to the farm road we turned, across the river we came, up to the farm we marched, and at last came a halt for a well earned breather.
Now we were set to tackle the upward slope on the old pony track, a track that would lift us high on Quinten Knowe, on the shoulder of Blackcraig Hill and the pace could be eased - or could it? We strode on upward, Jimmy setting the pace again and stringing the group out down the track. Allan struggled on the upslope but those in front were oblivious to his pain and kept the pace high. The glen might have opened up for us then and given us some superb views – it has done in the past from here – but there was no time to take in the views as the front men pushed on.
Thank heavens for tradition. At our usual coffee stop by the sheep fank, we halted for coffee, the struggling Allan arriving at the coo’s tail. Coffee was taken and we waited only long enough for Allan to distribute his Allsorts. Then we were off again.
The slope steepened but did the pace slacken? No! The front bunch pushed on leaving the rest panting upward in their wake. We were strung out on that track, Jimmy and company shooting on in front and the struggling Allan bringing up the rear. His only consolation as he watched the backs of the rest of us disappear into the distance, was that he had his Irvine companion for company for Johnny also found the pace too brisk on the climb.
The sky had been breaking up ever since we left the waterworks and now the winter sun shone in its full glory. As we neared the cairn on Quinten Knowe, we came into its full glare. With the speed of the walk, the steepness of the slope and the now warming sun, it was a sweaty bunch of speedsters who stopped at the cairn to wait for the strugglers.
We were to stay in the sun for the rest of the walk; well, nearly for the rest of the walk but I will come to that in due course. For the moment we were in full sun and the day was pleasant. Not that it was too pleasant for some of us though, for Allan and Johnny continued to struggle and now came the steepest part of the day. We left the old track at the county boundary fence – well, who wants to walk in Dumfriesshire anyway – and took to the open hill on the flank of Blackcraig itself. That’s where we encountered the first snow, icy snow, solid snow but snow that only lay in patches now that the thaw had worked for a fortnight. The snow was easily avoided. Jimmy did make an attempt to cross one patch but could make no impression on the concrete-like surface. Muttering something about discretion and valour, he joined the rest of us in climbing the steep grass slope to the broad level summit of Blackcraig Hill.
The views on the way up had been mainly to the east across Nithsdale but now, as we walked across the summit plateau to the trig point they turned more to the westward, to Windy Standard and Cairnsmore of Carsphairn. A blanket of fog draped the tops of these hills, shining white in the sun and looking to be rolling in our direction. Sure enough when we stopped at the trig point for a bite, the fog rolled in and we were enclosed in a world of our own on the flat top of Blackcraig Hill. Was our good day gone? It certainly seemed that way for when we were ready to move on after lunch, the clag was still with us. But it was a thin layer of fog that covered our hill blue sky showing through it some twenty feet above us, and it looked as though the sun would burn it off again fairly quickly. And it did. We walked off southward into the fog, south towards Black Lorg, dropping down the steep grass slope. Barely had we dropped off the summit when the sun made its reappearance and stayed for the rest of the day.
Thank heavens for quad bikes. The southern slope of Blackcraig is covered in deep, course hill grass, grass that clings to the boots and makes walking difficult. But the herd has used his quad bike on the hill and quad tracks flattened the grass and made an easier track for us. And the tracks continued to Black Lorg giving a route through the sea of lank grass. We followed the quad tracks, staying more or less together as a group on the down-slope to the col between the two hills.
It is not a difficult climb from the col to the top of Black Lorg but it is long and drawn out. It was ‘heads down and plod on’ time for there was nothing to take the mind off the interminable upward slog of Black Lorg. And, as the usual suspects kept the pace up, the Irvine pair fell behind again. We would wait for them on the top.
Black Lorg is one of those rounded hills that when you are at the summit, you can’t see the flanks. So we waited on top for the Irvine boys to appear over the edge of the rise. And we waited. And we waited. We waited long enough for Ian and Jimmy to walk through three counties (The county boundaries meet here) and for Rex, despite his advancing years, to be able to pee over three counties. And yet we waited. Jimmy went out as scout in one direction while Robert retraced the journey towards Blackcraig. Both returned with no sightings of the missing twosome. We had to conclude that they had skirted the top and were in front of us heading towards Cannock Hill.
With a little anxiety concerning the lost souls, we dropped off Black Lorg following the remains of a drystane dyke towards Cannock. Holly shot off in front recognizing the two red dots in the distance as the missing Irvine men. We were right; they had flanked the hill and were now away in front. They were to stay in front, missing out the other tops as well, till we caught up with them at the reservoir.
Meanwhile, we dropped off Black Lorg at a fair old rate, Jimmy still pushing the pace from the front. While Jimmy climbed to Cannock top and Peter followed, the rest of us chose to follow the Irvine two round its side. Then down off Cannock we sped, to the marsh between here and Craigbranneoch Rigg, the rise onto Steyamrie, the last top. Jimmy had already made up his mind on Blackcraig, succumbing to his dodgy knees, not to make the final climb to Steyamara. The rest of us, with two exceptions, decided enough was enough for the day and opted to join him. The two who chose to make the final climb were Paul and Davie; full credit to them.
We parted company with the peak baggers and dropped down to the side of the Afton Reservoir where we met up with Allan and Johnny. Mobile phones are wonderful things – when you can get a signal. On top of Black Lorg of Glen Afton there is no signal. Those who had been trying to contact others to let them know that they were skirting the hill couldn’t get through; those who were trying to find out where others were couldn’t get through. That’s why we waited and Allan and Johnny went their own way. Still, no harm done and we promise to show more compassion to the slow on the next walk.
We had all of twenty minutes to wait for the return of the peak baggers before motoring back to Cumnock. At 3:02 we were ensconced in the Mercat taking FRT and tucking in to Sadie’s stovies. Many thanks to Sadie for the feast and to Jimmy for organising this.

1 April Glen Afton – The Four Tops for the fourth time

The year's at the spring

And day's at the morn;

Morning's at seven;

The hillside's dew-pearled;

The lark's on the wing;

The snail's on the thorn;

God's in His heaven -

All's right with the world!
~Robert Browning

We were promised another splendid day on the hill when the sun shone early in the morning, bathing the hills in warming spring light and filling Glen Afton with cloud. It looked as though we might have a superb sunny day with a temperature inversion to look out on from the heights. We all relished the thought. But, as we gathered at Jimmy’s place in Cumnock, the cloud had gathered and the sun was gone. And when we drove into Glen Afton, the temperature inversion had gone as well. It now looked like another overcast day on the hill.
At ten minutes to ten we left the fisher’s car park in the glen and walked the mile and a bit down the road to Blackcraig Farm road-end and the old pony track for Kirkconnel. We were for Davie’s ‘Four Tops’ again. This was old ground for most, only Allan and Ian were newcomers, but it is a good walk and one worth doing again and again. And we were doing it again, for the fourth time as Ooters.





Davie set the pace down the road, and a brisk pace it was. We think it might have something to do with the new boots he was wearing for the first time today. But he assured us he would slow up when we started the climb of the old track. We accepted his assurance albeit reluctantly for we know Davie. He may well have slowed up on the climb but it was difficult to tell as he and Rex disappeared into the distance leaving the rest of us gasping in their wake. Robert in particular felt the pace on this upward section, going from the front to near the rear in a matter of minutes. And the fast two continued to set the pace until they were eventually hailed from the rear by the struggling group demanding a coffee break. They screeched to a halt at the sheep fank where we all gathered for a breather and a caffeine boost.
The landscape was beginning to open up for us and the view to the top of Glen Afton was good, even under the cloudy sky. Steyamara was the main focal point. This was pointed out to Allan as our last top of the day. Allan’s response was that now we have seen it can we go directly to the pub? His new-found love of the hills is beginning to show.
Despite the overcast sky and the coolish southerly breeze, the air by the sheep fank had the feel of spring in it. This feeling was heightened by the burbling of a whaup, heard but not seen, and the singing of the skylark above our heads. We had a very pleasant coffee break. We might have remained seated at the sheep fank for much longer but the mountaineers were eager to go.

We were to follow the old pony track for a while yet. This old Victorian pony track is now in various states of repair. From the farm to well above the sheep fank it has been gouged out by modern machinery and has been left rough and strewn with boulders. This was hard going and we were stretched out once again. But we eventually came to the old, smoother surface and this made for easier walking, especially when as the slope eased. However, we also found the first wet patches of the day. The track-side ditches are clogged up and the moss spills over the track in many places. These soggy areas were unavoidable and tested Davie’s new boots to the limit. And through this wet, we came to the summit of the track.
Now we had a view northward over the East Ayrshire farmland as far as Auchinleck. Eastward, Nithsdale was filled with the cloud we had seen in Glen Afton earlier in the morning but the hills beyond were clear - perhaps the folk of Nithsdale were getting the temperature inversion we had hoped for. And this eastern view increased in scope as we continued the walk.
We left the track to run its course towards Nithsdale and took to the hill. This was the steepest part of the day according to Jimmy. We took him at his word and trudged ever upward. Steep it might have been, but it wasn’t a long steep and it soon eased onto the broad, flat top of Blackcraig. This is an interesting top, the only rocky one in the group and extends over a considerable plateau. Rocky outcrops break the thin soil providing shelter for alpine plants. Deep hollows hide sphagnum bogs and lure the unwary into knee deep mires. We had no option but to wade through some of the shallower of these bogs to come the half mile or so across the top to the trig point that marks the highest point of the plateau.
The view was westward now. Immediately in front of us was Windy Standard. (‘So that’s what it looks like’ said those who had been on this top earlier in the year.) Behind this, Cairnsmore of Carsphairn still held a cornice of snow making it look higher than its two and a half thousand feet. Beyond this, the northern end of the Rhinns of Kells also held snow cornices. The Awful Hand range in the blue distance was patched with snow, showing Merrick at its best, and it was suggested we should go there some day. The sun shone on these western hills and it looked as though it was heading in our direction. We were hopeful.
Some wanted to lunch at the Blackcraig trig point for this was the highest point of the day but we were in a cool breeze and others suggested we wait for the next top, Blacklorg. A compromise was reached when it was suggested we ate in the col between the two tops where we might be out of the wind. Full marks must go to the advanced pair of Rex and Robert who found us a dry, sheltered spot with a view eastward over cloud-filled Nithsdale to the Lowther Hills and Tinto. We ate and rested long. It was turning into a day for long stops.

And as we sat, the sunshine arrived. It was to stay with us for the rest of the day and turn the afternoon pleasantly warm.
In terms of distance, we were more than half way through the walk but in terms of time and effort we were well through our day with the bulk of our climbing behind us. The climb from the peece stop to the top of Blacklorg was easy, well much easier than it looked, and we found ourselves on the second of our four tops standing in the spring sunshine, admiring the view, almost in three-sixty degrees now. We might have spent some time here but we have amongst us those who would rather move on. So, on it was.
Down the line of the old dry-stane dyke we went, beside the fence, through more soggy patches and came to a col between Blacklorg and Cannock Hill. There is a superb view down the glen from this col and Jimmy stopped to take a picture. He was consigned to the rear of the group thereafter for the Ooters are not known for waiting for snappers. Now came the short climb onto Cannock. Rex showed his athletic ability by running up the slope. Some wished him well in his attempt and some reminded him he was an auld man. But this burst of athleticism was only so that he could get high to the front to take a picture. Oh! How we suffer for our art! We hope the picture was worth the lung-bursting effort. Needless to say Rex was first to the top and Jimmy was last.

‘We’re making good time’, said the wise one, he of the new boots. Robert looked at the rocky stub of our last top some mile and a bit away, down and along the ridge. ‘Twenty minutes should see us there’, said he. Jimmy said, ‘A good half and hour’. We set off to test their estimates.
Robert and Alan took off like men on a mission, determined to prove the twenty minute theory. Jimmy, Allan and Ian took their time. They knew it would be half an hour. We were strung along the ridge as the fast sped on and the slow took their time and everybody else straggled somewhere in between. Who was right? Well, Alan and Rex made it in twenty with Robert a minute behind. The slow panted up six minutes later with Jimmy gasping that he hadn’t ettled on some p_p_p_person trying to set a land speed record. (These weren’t his exact words but it’s what he meant. He still reckons sensible folk would take half an hour.) We rested on the peak for a few minutes taking photographs and allowing the speedy to recover before attempting the descent through the rough grass and boulders we knew to be waiting for us.

The descent isn’t as we remembered it. A rudimentary path has been established by local hill-men and this eased the down-slope for us. Rex led the way but it was the tail-enders of Davie and Allan who saw the wildlife. A large hare sped off from under their feet making their hearts pound, as if the slope hadn’t already been doing just that.
Twenty minutes later, and fluttering hearts a bit calmer, we gathered at the dam of Glen Afton Reservoir.
The usual comments on the disgraceful state of the fountain and road weren’t made today for we were full of the joys of a good walk on the hill on a super spring day. We walked casually down the few hundred metres to the fisher’s car park.

Once again, the watering hole chosen for this area was the Mercat in Cumnock. Sadie, the good lady of the place, had promised stovies and duly obliged. While mine host, Ian, poured the refreshment, Sadie served platefuls of the warming stew. We were royally treated by the pair and all for a very reasonable cost. (There was still a smile on our treasurer’s face.) And the ale was good. There is little doubt that we will be back here

.

Report by Jimmy
Photos by Jimmy, Rex, Johnnie

2 July Glen Afton - The Four Tops 3

‘How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills' - R. Burns

Holiday commitments reduced the number to three this morning. When we gathered at the fishers' car park in Glen Afton we wished that the numbers had been reduced even further. The morning was damp, cloud hung low over the tops and there was the threat of imminent rain. And we three were for the hill, the Blackcraig horseshoe which Davie calls his ‘Four Tops’. None of us really had the notion for it but one convinced the other who convinced the first, so the ‘Four Tops’ it was. We set off without enthusiasm, not so much to start the walk but to get away from the midges that drilled into every bit of naked flesh as we changed into walking gear.
We were for the hill but first we had over a mile of road to walk to find the Blackcraig bridge that would see us over Afton. Rain hit us sparking fears of a wet day but it lasted no length of time and there was no need for waterproofing. We could see the hill we were heading for, at least we could see the base of it for anything above the thousand contour was into the clouds. Yet we continued walking towards it convincing each other it was a good idea. The rain hit us again and this time waterproofs were worn ‘just in case’. But the shower passed as Blackcraig bridge was crossed. Beside Blackcraig Farm we found the old Dunside pony track that would take us over the shoulder of the hill.
The track wasn’t as steep as Robert remembered it - memory is a fickle thing. But the other two remembered it as it is for this is the third time the Ooters have come this way in the last three years (22/3/06, 22/8/07), each of them under completely different conditions and, anyway, this is home territory for Jimmy and Davie. Today the view was limited by the conditions. All the tops were obscured by the low sky and the glen looked miserably grey. Yet the Ayrshire plain was clear under the cloud. Auchinleck, Cumnock and New Cumnock were clearly visible and Jimmy looked for his house in Cumnock.
The rain hit again. This time it was serious. It was as though, having missed us the first twice, it was making sure this time. And as we climbed higher it got heavier and was now driven on the fresh southerly. It stung. The path was dry though, well mostly dry and wet bits were easily avoided, and it raised us steadily up the hill through the deluge. A short and wet drinks halt was called at the top of the pass where we had to leave the track.
The way was steep now, ‘the steepest part of the day’, Jimmy said. At least the rain was gone again. Steep, the climb might have been but it was short and took us up to the wide, flat plateau of Blackcraig. And into the fog. We topped out onto a sward of red fescues, club mosses and patches of the least willow broken frequently by frost-shattered rocky outcrops. The walking was easy. And it would have continued that way if we had taken the direct route to the summit cairn. But, given the lack of visibility, it was suggested we follow the fence and this brought us through shpaggy bogs, wide and deep and wet. Davie and Robert crossed the fence and made a wide sweep to avoid these. Jimmy, refusing to enter Dumfriesshire, did a high wire act along the fence. (Actually, he took the lowest possible wire above the water and clung on tightly to the top one). This procedure was carried out more than once before the cairn was gained. And at the cairn we took the peece. Debate ensued as to our next move. Given the weather, one suggested we drop off the hill to the Afton and cut the walk short. It was decided to assess the situation again at the col between here and Blacklorg.
Peece finished, we walked southward and downward from the top of Blackcraig. The fog cleared and was gone for the day but the fresh southerly wind stayed with us. The slope on to Blacklorg hill always looks long and steep from the flank of Blackcraig. Long and steep it may be but this top was our next objective for the day was clearing and the entire walk was now to be completed. Some quad tracks were found to ease the way through the long grasses and woodrushes on the south slope of Blackcraig but these split into two different tracks after a hundred metres or so. Jimmy and Davie took the left branch while Robert took the right. We think it might have something to do with our aftershave. Or Jimmy’s cheese and onion sandwiches. Whatever it was, this is how the descent of Blackcraig was made, in two groups paralleling each other some hundred metres apart.
This is where Davie was heard to be singing ‘Them Old Cotton Fields Back Home’. The reason for this melodious outburst was the bog cotton growing in white swathes across the hillside. We await his musical interpretation of other features of our walks. River Deep, Mountain High? Strangers on the Shore? Homeward Bound? You'll Never Walk Alone?
We all came together again as we started up the slope of Blacklorg. This is not nearly as steep nor as long as it appears and we gained the top easily enough. Davie was for a halt here for the view was getting better as the sky lifted but Bob was for on for the wind was beginning to cool sweat. On we went then, down the west slope of the hill beside Rex’s fence. The view westward showed the wind farm on Windy Standard, a spoiled skyline according to Jimmy. It also showed Cannock Hill, our third top of the day, rising directly in front.
The short snap to the top of Cannock is steep and tested tiring legs, especially Jimmy’s. He left the shorter grass near the fence to show Holly where her stick* had fallen in the longer grass and had to plough his way up through this stuff to the top. Holly was unappreciative and shot off leaving Jimmy to his travail. A welcome halt was called on the top. Then it was downward again towards Craigbranneoch Rig and the last top of the day in Steyamara. The wind was now on our backs and we expected an assist on the long rise to Steyamara. This, we got. Yet Bob struggled on this last ascent, his holiday in France taking the edge off his fitness, but he made it to the top. We all made it to the top and sat down for an afternoon break.
The descent from this last top to the dam was through rank, tussocky grasses and hidden boulders and proved hard going. But at least it was down and didn’t last too long and it took us to the face of the dam. Then it was a gentle stroll down the service road to the fishers' car park, complaining once again about the neglect of a once delightful place. Twenty five minutes from the top of Steyamara to the car. And the midges! The wee b*****s bit mercilessly at naked skin as we changed out of damp walking gear.
This turned out a better walk than we thought it would be when we set off this morning. *Perhaps it should be recorded that Holly picked up a stick on the road to Blackcraig Farm and carried it the whole distance back to the car even though some of us tried to throw it away. Some sort of record?