14 September Culter Fell - Fourth Visit

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

I to the hills will lift mine eyes,

From whence comes my peace.

We defy anybody with any feelings at all to stand on a high place on a clear day and not be moved by the scene below him (Or her – Ed). One of our favourite high places, one with almost three hundred and sixty degree views and the one we intended to get to today, is Culter Fell, a two thousand three hundred foot plus top on the border between Lanarkshire and Peeblesshire near Biggar. But as for the clear day, that remained to be seen.

The remnants of hurricane Katya battered the country on Monday and brought a day full of rain on Tuesday. Wednesday dawned considerably calmer and though the morning was lightly overcast, there was the hint of sun in the sky so our intended outing was still on. Ten of us made the journey to darkest Lanarkshire and into the valley of the Culter Water with the hopes of a decent day on the hill for a change. And as we travelled east, the day turned brighter and the sun made an appearance.

As we arrived at our car park in the Culter Valley we were surprised to see a car already parked there. The occupants were four people, two men and two women of our own vintage, from Dalmarnock. They were for our top as well. As we changed into walking gear, we conversed with them and Jimmy presented them with our blog card. If they are reading this blog can we say that we hope that they enjoyed their day.

That Jimmy was in fine fettle this morning should have been obvious right from the start when he was champing at the bit to be off while the rest of us were still getting ready. It should have become even more obvious when he and Robert and Peter walked off leaving the rest with one boot on. They claim that they took it easy along the four hundred metres or so of road to the foot of the hill to let the rest of us catch up. Huh! At least they were in sight as they took to the track towards the steep of the hill. Here they were joined by Davie Mc and Holly.

Those who know Culter Fell will know that the grass track climbs gradually to the foot of a steep heather slope, the knuckle of a broad ridge. The speedsters waited at the bottom of this slope for the sensible. Then they moved smartly off again.

The path steepens on this slope, rising beside a series of shooters butts, eight shooters butts in total according to our Culter veteran. We took this slope climbing between shooters butts and stopping for views. And what views were presented to us today. The advantage of the recent weather was to clear the air and, with the sun shining the views were not only extensive but well defined, and in a wide arc. Firstly Tinto and the Clyde valley appeared over the other side of the valley. Then, as we climbed from butt to butt, the Ayrshire Hills, Cairn Table and the Glen Afton Hills, started to appear. Then the Lowthers and, to the north, the Ochils and the Pentlands began to show. And there in the blue distance was the Bass Rock. Yet over the Clyde conurbation nothing was visible for a haze hung in that direction. That Allan was enjoying these views and the climb was apparent as he took up his usual position at the rear of the bunch and let the speedsters climb on ahead. But this time he was joined in his delight by Johnny and Malcolm who are both now beginning to appreciate Allan’s viewpoint; splendid views behind and the backs of the fit b****** climbing on in front.

As we climbed we found the great disadvantage of the day, an ever freshening westerly blow, the last remnants of Katya. It was to be a problem later but now it was on our backs pushing us up the broad ridge towards the final rise. On a dry bit at the bottom of this rise, the fit, now including Paul and Ian, waited for the others. But the wind was chilling and we didn’t wait there very long, only long enough for the slow to catch their breath then we pushed on for the summit. Needless to say it was the revitalised Jimmy and Davie Mc who gained the summit first. The two made an executive decision. The wind was far too strong to have coffee on the summit so they decided to climb over the fence into Peeblesshire and drop over the summit to the lea of the hill where some shelter might be found. This was the case and they settled down for coffee. They were soon joined by Paul and Peter and Ian and Robert and Davie C and a few minutes later by the slow trio. The Dalmarnock folk joined us a few minutes after Allan and co.

Now we had a different view to delight us as we took coffee. There were the Tweedsmuir Hills, White Coombe and Broad Law and Dollar Law, and the valley below running down to the main Tweed one. We defy anybody not to be impressed by the views from Culter Fell. But we didn’t spend too long admiring this view for the wind still reached us and it was chilly.

‘Where are we going now?’ asked Peter, hopeful that somebody would say ‘Back down’, for Peter is not too fond of hills. But he was disappointed. ‘Over there’, replied Davie Mc, pointing to Capelgill Hill, a top barely a mile away as the crow flies. But since we are not crows and a deep defile lay between us and our goal, we had to settle for the longer way round by King Bank Head. We packed up and set off into the wind towards King Bank Head, Jimmy setting a cracking pace on the down slope from Culter top.

King Bank Head is a peat-hagged, soggy watershed between two drainage systems – the Culter and thence to the Clyde and the Holm Water leading to the Tweed. Our grateful thanks go to the inventor of quad-bikes for without the tracks made by one of these, we would have found ourselves following the county boundary fence and trudging through the peat-hags but the quad tracks took us round the hags and eased the way to the bottom of the slope to Capelgill

Two bodies of opinion existed in the group today; there were those who could have walked all day for nothing was too much bother, and there were those who wondered why we were heading for Capelgill just to come back to where we were. The group split in two; the Capelgill group climbing away to the east and the others following the fence to the low top of Cardon Hill.

Wind-assisted, the fit lot reached the summit of Capelgill just as the others reached the base of Cardon. Capelgill Hill presents a different prospect of the Tweedsmuir Hills than its close neighbour Culter fell. We now looked into the heart of these hills and there was Talla and Fruid reservoirs lying blue in the sun. And below us Tweed wound its way towards Peebles. But still the wind was strong, stronger it seemed than it was before, and we couldn’t spend too long admiring the view. We turned our faces to the wind and retraced the steps to the county fence.

The other group were found settled for lunch in the lea of Cardon Hill. We joined them and sat for a while enjoying our cheesy peeces and the view down Tweed.

We hadn’t realised the strength of the wind for it was on our backs or behind our left shoulders up till now. When we left the shelter of Cardon Hill we realised the strength of it. A forty miles an hour blow hit us on our right and gusts well in excess of this threatened to tumble us off our feet. We came back to King Bank Head heads down and fighting the wind, fluttering of wind-blown jacket hoods drowning out any conversation.

But we made it back to King Bank Head and a little relief from the worst of the wind. The sensible found the quad-tracks and followed these while some others chose the direct route through the peat hags. But whatever route was chosen, we came together before we climbed the county fence and came back into Lanarkshire. Our route now lay downwards, still following quad tracks, on the flank of Tippet Knowe. We lost the wind as we dropped and the day turned pleasantly warm. A well graded path eased the drop on the hillside and when Jimmy, a hundred metres in front of the rest as was his usual today, stopped beside a group of boulders to remove his jacket, we all felt the need for a break and stopped with him. There we sat enjoying calm air after the blow on top and took in some warming September sun.

The rest of the walk was taken whichever way we fancied; some jogged down the grassy slope, some sauntered slowly and some grimaced as the down-slope took its toll on old knees. However we all arrived back at the cars wind-blown, sun-kissed and happy. By this time the Dalmarnock folk had gone. We hope they enjoyed their day as much as we did ours. We have never been disappointed with Culter Fell.

FRT was taken in our usual howf in Biggar, The Crown, before the long drive back to Ayrshire.

12 August - Cowgill circuit, Lanarkshire

Now westlin winds and slaught'ring guns
Bring Autumn's pleasant weather;
The moorcock springs on whirring wings
Amang the blooming heatherRobert Burns

Seven Ooters (Davie, Paul, Rex, Johnnie, Robert, Ronnie and Alan (back after a long absence)) gathered at Davie’s for coffee and home-made pancakes. Thanks Davie and Kay!

The weather forecast had been reasonable with nothing more than an isolated shower predicted, and Paul’s check of the rainfall radar revealed no rain around …. so it came as a surprise to see the rain falling outside Davie’s hoose. Nevertheless, we decided to keep to our plan of heading for deepest Lanarkshire where Davie was to lead a walk ‘somewhere near Culter Fell’. The rain accompanied us for most of the journey but on arrival to Culter Allers Farm, just after 10 am, the weather was considerably brighter and the tops were well clear of cloud.

Davie had reconnoitred the chosen route the previous week, and we were all heartened to learn that Holly had accompanied him, feeling confident that at least one of the party would be familiar with the route. The walk had been published in The Herald, but from where we had parked our cars, it started a mile further along the road we were about to walk. Davie reasoned the extra mile would give us a chance to warm up before we started the first of several ascents.

Having passed a substantial farm in Birthwood and a remote house at Windgate we came to the parking area for the walk. Holly had indeed remembered the way and led us across a wooden bridge into fields which rose very steeply towards the top of the first of many hills today, Ward Law. There were several stops to admire the views, which included one of three joggers making their way along the road we had just left. Ronnie’s incessant jokes helped to take our minds off the climbing, but even he started to flag and as we neared the top. He resorted to providing the punchlines for which we had to supply the rest of the joke.

As the last few dozen feet of the hill rose even more steeply, it was decided that we would give the summit a miss, rationalising this decision by observing there were plenty more summits on the way and one more wouldn’t make any difference to our enjoyment of the walk.

The view was indeed spectacular, as we looked across to Culter Fell, and then over the Lanarkshire plain to the Pentland Hills in the distance and then further round towards Tinto Hill. (Later in the day your scribe thought he could see Arthur’s Seat. But having pointed out the Lake District hills from one of the Galloway hills ….until they were observed to be floating across the sky …. he chose not to mention it.)

The inevitable ascent followed our descent from not-quite-the-top-of-Ward Law and soon we were heading up Woodycleugh Dod. But the summit would have to wait until we had partaken of morning coffee. The wind was strong enough for us to opt for leaving the path and settling in a sheltered spot 20 yards away. Ere long, light rain started to fall, but it was enough to encourage those not already wearing rain gear to don waterproof trousers and jackets. This traditional ritual worked, because the rain soon stopped. This would be the pattern for much of the day as the occasional light shower passed over.

Woodycleugh Dod was conquered and in the distance the next summit came into view.

“We’re not going up there are we?” asked Robert rhetorically. It was Hudderstone, and yes we were.

Holly flushed a couple of grouse out of the heather. Paul reminded the ensemble that it was “the Glorious Twelfth”, whereupon Davie did a very fine impression of James Galway. He was reminded the month was August, not July.

We passed by a few grouse butts during the walk but all day there was neither sight nor sound of humans trying to fill wee harmless birds full of lead …. although it has to be said Alan looked distinctly twitchy at the sight of the odd grouse rising from the heather.

At 626 metres, Hudderstone was the highest point of the walk, so it was downhill all way from there. Or it would have been had it not been for all the hills that stood in our way.

Windgate Bank loomed into view.

“We’re not going up there are we?” asked Robert.

Yes we were, and we hadn’t yet spotted (although Davie had forewarned us) the steep descent and steep ascent which lay in our way. We went down the slope very gingerly indeed. We’d found an ideal spot for lunch though, with the gulley between the two slopes being well protected from the wind. According to the guide we were at Kygill Slop. A route straight down into the valley, which would have had us back at the cars in no time, was pointed out by Robert.

Climbing out of the Slop, our next objective came into view. Whitelaw Brae.

“We’re not going up there are we?” asked Robert. His remaining comments have to be paraphrased but they were along the lines of “it appears to be a considerable distance away”. Davie and Paul suggested it was just an optical illusion and it really wasn’t all that far.

And after a mile and half’s walking we were there – with Rex seated in the lee of the trig point waiting for the rest of us.

Our next objective was Hardrigg Head. We could see the cairn well over to the left, but since our destination was well over to the right this was questioned. Davie assured us that it was the quickest way. Our resident physicist, Ian, wasn’t with us, nor was Jimmy who knows everything, so we weren’t in a position to challenge our guide.

It was a fair old pull up to Hardrigg Head but the summit cairn and that Aussie bloke again, were waiting to welcome us.

There followed a pleasant, gently descending stretch. Conditions underfoot had been good throughout, with a well-defined path, and even walking off-piste was fine since a lot of the cover was young soft heather and blae/blue/whinberries. We were heading north now and the views ahead of us and around us were terrific; and below was the Cowgill Upper Reservoir and the oddly-named Big Smagill feeding into it.

As we skirted round the side of Broad Hill the terrain became much boggier. It might have been the only bog we encountered all day, but it didn’t stop Davie from getting pelters. As Ronne observed “Who’d be a leader?”

A break was taken above Cowgill Lower Reservoir. You know it’s a proper walk when you have an afternoon halt.

Discussion turned to sartorial elegance – especially headgear. Johnny is rightly proud of his recent purchase which is both elegant and functional (all he needs now is an elephant whip). He poured scorn on Rex’s headgear of choice which (as far as your scribe could ascertain) remains in his house. It’s clearly more decorative than functional and as Johnny observed, it’s made from rabbit feathers. This may not be true.

But enough of the light-hearted banter. It was still a few miles to the car, Biggar had to be visited, there was a long drive home and most of the party wanted to be home whilst Scotland still had 11 men on the pitch and were within two goals of salvaging a draw.

A steep slope took us down to the road at Cowgill and we had to zig-zag our way through bracken, heather and blaeberries (Or was it zag-zig? Cue Ronnie joke.) .

On the road, the party soon split, with Davie, Robert and Johnnie leaving the stragglers behind. For once Holly remained with the stragglers. Perhaps the responsibility of co-leading the walk had been too much for her.

We passed the spot where our cars would have been if we hadn’t needed the extra exercise and passing the house with the satellite dish at Windgill the stragglers spotted a sheep entangled in fence wire. They discussed whether or not they should help rescue it, for this would entail backtracking and finding a river crossing. Holly was all for getting in with the sheep straight away and eventually the remaining stragglers chose to do the righteous thing too. While Paul looked after a perfectly behaved Holly, the others released the panic-stricken ovine. No photographic evidence of this episode remains which is perhaps as well, since other pictures of similar adventures with sheep have at times been misinterpreted.

Back at the cars, the vanguard was in conversation with a fellow walker when the stragglers arrived. After a quick change we were all aboard for the Crown in Biggar.

The Crown gets a high rating. As well as being fairly busy it possesses the EO’s chief requirement – a pleasant barmaid - as the photographic evidence confirms. We were even given a free pint which had been mistakenly poured for another customer. In your scribe’s opinion, we have a new favourite for the annual awards. We will be back (again).

So off home we headed for the Scotland match. I can only hope there were long delays en route.

It was a good day out. A high level walk, generally easy underfoot and with some fine views. Well done Davie and Holly!