12 September Not Carlin's Cairn Again

Allan, Davie C, Davie Mc, Eddie, Jimmy, Johnny, Malcolm, Paul, Robert & Ronnie Most of us were late this morning. Road works at Ailsa Hospital and the volume of traffic around the three hospitals there caused a snarl-up which meant most of us were late. Only Jimmy arrived at the meeting point on time having come across country from Cumnock and managing to avoid the hold-up. At the Green Well north of Carsphairn he waited. And waited. And waited. Eventually, twenty minutes after the appointed time, the last car arrived with the Kilmarnock contingent on board. All might have been well now had Malcolm not found that he had left his boots at home. By the time this was made known and Davie Mc had found a spare pair that fitted Malcolm, another ten minutes was lost. However, just after ten o’clock we were ready for the off. Yes, we might have been late starting but, as it transpired, not late enough or we might have had a better day. It had to happen of course. The last four or five Wednesdays have defied the weather trend and turned out bright and sunny. So, by the law of averages, it had to happen that we would get a wet day. This appeared to be it. It was waterproofs from the start for the sky hung heavy and a light but constant drizzle fell as we set off along the Garryhorn road heading for the old lead mining village of Woodhead. Yet the forecast was good; the rain would go away and the sun would come out late morning. And we believe forecasts don’t we? Our intention was to climb Coran of Portmark and there we would decide whether to head on for Carlin’s Cairn or not. For now, though, we trudged up the road in the constant drizzle toward the hills that hid themselves in thick, grey clag. Then the drizzle went and optimism rose. But what water didn’t fall from above crept up from below. Last night’s rain had swollen all the wee burns to raging, brown floods and formed wee rivulets on our road, some a few inches deep in places. On we splashed, feet getting damper and damper. (Especially those of one who is constantly boring us with the quality and longevity of his German made boots!) Then the drizzle came again. At Woodhead we stopped for a caffeine top up. That’s when the drizzle turned to heavier stuff. We took coffee in what shelter was afforded by the roofless ruin of a house, hunched up against the persistent rain - where was that promised sun? - and the hill was still hidden in clag. Allan was first to dissent. He had had enough of the wet and didn’t see any point in climbing in the rain for no view. He would walk back and wait at the cars for us. Then Jimmy suggested a low level walk from here, a suggestion that Allan was willing to accept. Then others decided to join them. Eventually seven, including your scribe, wimped out of the climb leaving Davie Mc, Paul and Robert to head for the top. At the gate on the old road for Drumjohn we split up, the wimps to head on along the road and the imprudent to head up into the clag. We only hoped that we would see them again. Not that we worried about them particularly but Davie Mc had the beer kitty. The Low Level Walk: The old road from Woodhead to Drumjohn and Ayrshire was abandoned when the village was abandoned. At first it is only visible as a flatter area in the landscape then as an overgrown track full of rushes and lank moor grasses but a hundred metres or so beyond the gate it becomes a forest road. We were to follow this road until near its end at Drumjohn. The forest road was just that – a road through the forest. The views were restricted trees or what could be seen along fire breaks on either side. Nor was it worth looking upward for the sky still hung low and a soft drizzle still fell. The only thing that brightened the day was the blethers of fellow Ooters. ‘Whitever the weather, ye ken that the blether, O’ Ooters is heard far and wide’. Comic and serious social comment was made; walks on routes around here were recollected and the road where we had gone wrong the last time we were here was noted (see 28 September 2011), barely three-quarters of a mile from Woodhead; long distant memories we recalled and humorous stories told. The crack, as usual, was excellent. Nobody noticed the rain go and the air turn drier. Where the soggy, peaty pad from Blackcraig found the harder surface of the road (see 28 September 2011), our road turned downward, down through a grove of ash and beech, the first deciduous trees since leaving Woodhead. These trees surrounded the house of Lamloch and extended almost to but not quite reaching the bridge on the Carsphairn Lane barely a hundred metres further on. It was on this bridge that we decided to stop for lunch. Now at last we had something of a view, down the river towards Carsphairn. As we sat at lunch, the sun broke through. Patches of blue sky appeared and the sun began to light up more and more of the landscape. Yet above us Blackcraig still held its cloud and, though we couldn’t see, we felt sure that Coran of Portmark still did as well. But we were in the sun and could enjoy it for as long as it lasted. The sun lasted for the rest of the walk and we could dispense with the waterproofs for the first time today. We followed the road back to Woodhead where a tryst with the high levellers was to be made. One incident on the return should be noted in these pages and that is when new boy, Eddie, tried to impress us with his diving skills. For reasons known only to himself, he decided to walk backwards. That's probably why he didn't notice the boulder lying in wait for him but then again neither did any of the rest of us. When his foot hit the boulder Eddie took off backwards, turned gracefully in mid-air and landed belly first. Why he chose to dive on to the hard surfce of the road is beyond us; he would have been better waiting to find a puddle then we would have been really impressed. As it was, while we admired his effort we had to tell him we had seen better from many of our number - Jimmy at the Falls of Clyde, Davie on the Luss Hills, Allan at the Deil's Back Door to name a few. Still, Eddie, they say that practice makes perfect so keep working on it. The hill men weren’t there when we arrived at the trysting place so we sat on the same stones in the same house where we sat this morning and had another coffee while we waited. Quarter of an hour later we were joined by the others. We look forward to a report from them. The walk back down the road to the Green Well was so much of a contrast to the way up. Now we could saunter down the road in the afternoon sun. (As you realise, Alan, saunter is a relative term!) We arrived at the cars around two and looked back to the hills of the Rhinns bathed in sun. Yes we were late in starting but, as it transpired, not late enough. FRT was taken in our usual howf in Dalmellington where a sociable, good-natured hour or so was spent while trying to decide where or next ‘adventure’ was to be. PS. Jimmy got wet feet today because the sole of his super-duper German boots finally succumbed to age and cracked right across the bottom. New boots for him I’m afraid. PPS. Malcolm promises to remember his own boots in future.

17 February - Coran of Portmark circuit

The drifts lay deep on the grizzly Rhynns, 
An' the deep-scarr'd rugged Meaul ; 

An dim through the haze, the stately Bow 
Loom'd ghostly, grim, an' tall. 

Eight Ooters (Alan, Allan, Davie, Paul, Rex, Robert, Ian and Johnny) gathered outside the Dalmellington Inn at 9.30 am, not to await opening time, but to proceed to the Green Well of Scotland from where they would repeat last February's (February 4th to be exact) Coran of Portmark circuit.

Last year, this had been Ronnie's first ooting with the Ooters and it had left such a lasting impression upon him that he was missing at roll call. This had been a spectacular walk on ice and snow so it was pleasing (to the majority) to see, as we headed towards Carsphairn, that a fresh fall of snow was lying on the tops.

Leaving the cars on the abandoned bit of road to the west of the main road (more of this anon), we took the old miners' road to the ruins of Woodhead lead mines. We approached the bridge, and even in Jimmy's absence, the question was put:

"When was this bridge built?"

Robert reckoned the 1830s, Paul reckoned 1936. Both were wrong. It was 1935. Robert commented it was hard enough remembering his name, let alone when some bridge in the middle of nowhere was built.

Garryhorn Farm was reached. The walled garden by the farm was a blanket of white from the countless snowdrops. Meanwhile, the dogs we met on our previous visit were cooped up, but we could hear them barking as we passed. There was no farmer around for Robert to insult this time.

As we approached the Woodhead mine buildings no discussion was necessary as telepathically we headed for the ruins of the old school to take our morning coffee.

We were now into the wet snow as we climbed a stile, left the stony path and headed up the hill. The wet snow soon gave way to the real thing and we paused more than once to observe the view, the peace being disturbed only by a couple of RAF jet planes.

The top of Coran of Portmark (623 m) afforded fine views, especially to the north where Troon and Irvine could be made out and to the west over Loch Doon towards Lochs Riecawr and Macaterick.

Looking south towards Meaul something/someone was spotted on the track ahead. A walker? A quad bike? Some of us could see it moving, others weren't sure.

Off we set again. Davie and Robert took the path over Bow (613 m). The rest took another path which skirted the hill. They were advised by Robert that he and Davie were on the right path. We kept to the wrong path which seamlessly rejoined the right path a little further on. Here, on the col between the Garryhorn valley and Loch Doon, the snow was deep and the barbed wire fences were coated in ice. There were some threatening clouds around which looked as if they might bring more snow but the day remained dry.

The walker/quad bike some of us had seen moving down the hill earlier turned out to be a bale of barbed wire. It certainly wasn't moving as we passed it.

Now began the steep ascent of Meaul. Last year this had been an icy stretch but today the fresh snow covered the ice below and gave a relatively firm footing. The length of Rex's strides in the snow were remarked upon and discussion naturally turned to inner leg measurements. After more stops to admire the view, the trig point on Meaul (695 m, 2280 ft in old money) was reached and the view to the south opened up to reveal the Solway, the snow covered Lake District hills and possibly the northern tip of the Isle of Man. And unlike the last time Davie and Paul 'spotted' the hills of the Lake District (from Byne Hill?) they didn't drift across the sky.

At this point Allan was asked where he would like his lunch (with Davie suggesting Carlin's Cairn, in the distance). Allan replied by suggesting he would have liked his lunch at the foot of the hill he had just climbed! Touché.

Because of the cold breeze on the summit we decided to have lunch in the lee of the wall just below the summit. It wasn't the most comfortable spot, with the choice of seating being a cold snowy rock or cold snowy snow. Johnny, of course, had brought his own seat with him.

After lunch we followed the wall down the steep side of Meaul, with snow, deep in places and more underlying ice. Then up to Cairnsgarroch and the Shepherd's Cairn at 659 m for the last climb of the day.

Last year we had cut across the top of Cairnsgarroch as we headed back to Woodhead mines, but the descent was found to be steep and rocky. This time we skirted round the eastern edge of the hill, but it was no better. Instead of rocks we had dougals and walking laterally along the slope was tiring and sore on the feet (of some of us). The snow gave way to slush and then to bog. Robert slipped twice prompting Alan to suggest he needed a zimmer. All in all this short stretch was a bit unpleasant. We vowed that next time we'd find a better way down.

The Garryhorn Burn still had to be negotiated and 8 Ooters appeared to find 8 different ways across. Some crossed by jumping part the way across and getting a wet boot, others crossed using poles and fencing which had been built over the burn whilst Davie disappeared into the distance only to re-appear at our meeting point by a mine shaft with a beautiful stone wall around it. How he got there, no one knows.

And so we set off back down the miners' track to the cars.

'Concatenation' had been the word of the day and quite late in the day Davie announced that the word was derived from the Latin 'concatenare' - to link together, which in turn came from 'catena' - a chain. He added for good measure that the Italian football defensive tactics 'catenaccio' came from the same root.

Was that impressive, or was that impressive? Had he been saving this erudite exposition until late in the day or had he just remembered?

And he still had one trick left. As we approached the farm buildings near the foot of the road he announced that he would offer the kitty (or was it just a bit of the kitty?) to anyone who knew the name of this farm. Of course the kitty was safe, so he proudly announced that it was called Holm of Daltallochan. And to prove it he went to show us the sign bearing the name ....except it was no longer there. Did we believe him? Of course not.

After our 6 hour excursion we were back at the cars, to be met with a large trailer which had been deliberately placed across the exit from where the cars were parked.

"I've had words with this farmer before" said Davie, "he's a miserable old ....".

Ten minutes later a tractor drew up and a youngish friendlyish driver got out .... his mood perhaps tempered by the sight of 8 Ooters awaiting him. No harsh words were exchanged although he pointed out we had blocked an area he needed for turning his tractor and trailer. That was all, and off he went with his trailer. It had the potential for another Dollar incident but it was averted.

And for the second successive week we found ourselves in the Dalmellington Inn.

A great walk repeated in similar conditions to last year. We must make it an annual event!


Computer problems have prevented me from mapping the walk but based on last year's walk I reckon it was approx 17.5 km.

4 February Coran of Portmark and Meaul

‘Saw ye ever anything to beat that?’
‘Man, look at the sun glintin’ on Luce Bay, and loch Dee lying like a silver tray on a purple table-cloth. Was there ever a bonnier view?’
‘Ey,’ answered Colin.
‘Where?’
‘Frae the Coran o’ Portmark,’ It was said so quietly, but so decisively, that all eyes turned towards him as he pointed towards that mountain.
Andrew McCormick, Galloway

The weather gods who had deserted us in January blessed us today with a day of still, frosty air, snow at higher levels and, for a change, bright, and at times warm, sunshine. Nine of us gathered at Green Well just north of Carsphairn for a walk on the north end of the Rhinns of Kells. Rex was in warmer, but hardly sunnier, climes and Alan was enjoying snowbound Northumberland but we were joined in their stead by new recruit Ronnie Thompson.
We walked towards the hills, along the Garryhorn road. Somebody asked the date on the bridge but for the life of us, we couldn’t remember the exact date carved on the parapet. Davie was closest with 1936. The date carved was 1935. We should have known this for it was probably built at the time of the Ken/Dee Hydro-electric scheme. We will remember for the future. Maybe!
The road continued through Garryhorn and we continued with it, avoiding the frozen puddles, some nearly coming to grief on the icier patches. But without real mishap, we came to the abandoned lead mining village of Woodhead. Here we encountered our first snow, fine and powdery but barely two inches deep. And here, a mile and a half and half an hour after leaving the cars, we stopped at the remains of the old school for coffee.
Here Ronnie was introduced to the foibles of the different Ooters - Davie’s propensity to stray in the fog, Robert’s sartorial elegance, Ian’s lunchbox and so on.

‘Wad some pow’r the giftie gie us,

Tae see ourselves as ithers see us’

We were prepared to spend some time here but the cold was seeping into old bones so we moved on.
The snow got deeper as we started the climb but not unduly so. Yet, it was enough to hinder progress and make what should be an easy climb, just that wee bit more tiring. ‘View stops’ were called frequently. And the views were worth stopping for, ever changing as we rose higher. First Cairnsmore of Carsphairn took all the attention, gleaming white under its coating of snow: then the New Cumnock hills with the ‘windmills’ on Windy Standard barely moving in the still air: then the lower hills of the Glenkens with Loch Kenn just visible in the south.
The view remained in the east and south for the height of the ridge lay to the north-west and obstructed any distance in that direction. But the eastern views were only a prelude to those we had when we gained the ridge on Coran of Portmark summit.
We reached the summit in a staggered group. Some were staggered by the wintry aspect, some were staggered by the brilliance of the day and some just staggered. But we all made it to the top and, once there, and once the breath was recovered, we took in the new landscape. Loch Doon lay below us, immediately to the north-west, its entire seven mile length visible from our viewpoint: on the western skyline, the snow-capped Awful Hand ran south to terminate in the magnificence of Merrick: in front of this, Hoodens Hill and Mulwharchar dropped their rocky flanks into the olive-green forest of the Gala Valley: and the broad ridge of the Rhinns of Kells stretched away southward. All of this under a clear, blue sky. Yet north-westward the distance was becoming obscured as the threatened weather front headed in our direction
It was southward along the Rhinns, that we turned our steps now. Peter led us down from Coran summit to rise onto Meaul. Old snow, frozen to pavement hardness, was occasionally found and provided firm footing and some relief from the energy sapping powder that covered the ridge and the ascent onto Meaul. The day and the hillscape before us also helped to ease our way to the top. Lunch had been suggested by the starving (No, it wasn’t Ian this time) on the Coran top but the well-breakfasted preferred to keep up the momentum until Meaul summit. Now, on that top, came lunch. And not before time said some. (It was noted that Peter, who suggested lunch on Coran, was first to the top of Meaul)
We might have stayed longer at the peece stop for the sun was warm and the air still but the cold seeped into the bones from below, from the snow and frozen ground. We moved on. This was much to Peter’s displeasure for he was eating still. We moved on anyway.
We came down a slope, which under normal conditions would be easy, but today, with icy snow, proved anything but. Care had to be taken. Each took his own degree of care and we were staggered once more down the slope. We came together on a col between Meaul and Cairnsgarroch. Under different conditions we might have spotted the King’s Well but the snow blotted out small landscape features so we missed it. Not that we would have stopped anyway for the momentum of the down-slope was used for the upslope onto Cairnsgarroch.
By now, we had lost both the westward view and the sight of the lead mines. With the loss of this reference point navigation might have been difficult but with the instinct of homing pigeons, Robert and Jimmy led us across the top to the steep descent of the end of the ridge. Again care was taken on the rough, snow-covered terrain. As we dropped the snow gave way but the ground became more tussocky and more difficult. Jimmy had noticed the quad tracks beside the fence earlier in the day and so made for the easier ground.
The quad tracks took us down to a ford in the burn. The water was running only ankle deep but it looked icy cold and probably was for it ran off the snow on the hill. The ford was approached with trepidation by most and abject horror by some. But there was no mishap to record and everybody was across the water safely and we now found ourselves climbing gently back to the ruins of Woodhead. An afternoon drinks stop was called. We sat by a ruined wall and reflected on the snowy ridge we had been on and magnificent views we had enjoyed barely an hour before.
The walk down the road, though having its own charm, was something of an anticlimax after the high snow. Johnny was heard to enquire if they had somehow added a mile or so onto the road since this morning. It certainly felt like it. However, we arrived back at the Greenwell in plenty of time for fluid replacement therapy in Dalmellington.
This was a longer walk than many envisaged (17 Km, according to the 3D cartographer) and, given the soft snow we walked through, there will be a few stiff legs tomorrow. But it was a day not to be missed and ranks among the best of the Ooter’s outings.

Distance 17.0 Km


photos and map by Paul

25 June Not Cairnsmore of Carsphairn

Alan, Robert, David, Rex and Paul gathered at Bridgend at the allotted hour for the ascent of Cairnsmore of Carsphairn.

After 15 minutes of cursing Jimmy for being late it was remembered that he was out of the country, having told us the previous week that he was planning to visit his beloved England.

The cursing then continued.

The weather was distinctly unpleasant with rain falling and the Water of Deugh (for a sassenach, this is easier to write than to pronounce) impressively in spate. After a walk of about a mile we came to a footbridge over the Benloch Burn, a tributary of the aforementioned Deugh. The footbridge was down and looked as if it had been down for some time.

This didn't matter much to Holly who merrily crossed back and forth between the banks, but for we mere humans the burn was impossible ford at this point. We followed the burn upstream, looking for a crossing point but although one or two locations appeared promising to some (to your correspondent they seemed akin to the Soldier's Leap at Killiecrankie) we finally admitted defeat.

After some deliberation it was decided to return to Bridgend and to visit the Woodhead lead mines and smelter instead.

En route we encountered the farmer at Garryhorn out with his 4 collies. Good natured as the dogs were, the farmer lacked David's mastery of the breed. As they charged about, out of control, Robert remarked "I take it you don't take them to sheepdog trials!"

Thankfully, the farmer was good natured too.

We explored the mines etc, identifying the line of the old flues up which workers were sent to scrape off the lead which had condensed on the inside. Mind you, unpleasant as it must have been, it might still have been a marginally better job than teaching 4C last period on Friday. David explored a mineshaft whilst the rest of us headed up to the final building of the village to seek shelter for lunch. A search of the web suggests that this was the old school.

The Lead Mines at their peak



In somewhat improved weather we returned to Bridgend. From there we headed for our refreshments at the Loch Doon Hotel in Dalmellington, which had reopened after modernisation. We were greeted like long-lost friends by 'Chic Murray'. Initially we sat outside in the courtyard but eventually we were driven indoors by the inclement weather. The indoor area in which we sat was notable for the water cascading down one wall - a thoughtful, impressive and novel feature of the modernisation.