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 ...............................

Corsencon

29 October                                          Corsencon

Alan, Davie C, Davie Mc, Gus, Jimmy, Johnny, Paul, Peter, Rex & Robert

Nith shall be my muses well,

My muse shall be thy bonnie sel’,

On Corsencon I’ll glower and spell..........                 Robert Burns

Corsencon is that igneous lump, a volcanic plug that stands at the head of Nithsdale three miles or so east of New Cumnock in Ayrshire. Only one of us had been on its top and that more years ago than he cares to remember. Yet, often as we have travelled along the A76 to our more southerly walks we have looked at its rounded summit and said ‘One day........’. That day was today. The idea was to walk along the banks of the Nith, climb the tarmac of the unclassified road that leaves the A76 at the March Cottages, follow this to the north side of the hill and climb to the summit from here. But the best laid schemes of Ooters gang aft agley.

Our New Cumnock correspondent said that due to the heavy, monsoon-like conditions of the other day the meadows on both sides of the river would be saturated and the wee burns which would normally be passable would, today, be impassable for men of our vintage. His solution was to walk up the Mansfield road to the north side of the hill and proceed from there. This is what we did.

We know that somebody up there likes us for the day was dry after all the rain of the previous days and there was the promise of some late October sun later in the day. We took our time walking along this road examining the new house that once was Mansfield Mill, trying to identify the course of the Roman road as it crossed tarmac near Glen Farm and continually looking at the flooding in the meadows by the river. It was a good decision not to follow the river today. Then we stopped for a caffeine top up on the water filter for Glen Farm.

No sooner than had we left our coffee stop than we were stopped again. This time it was to look at the old limestone mines. While most of us prefer the open air, there are amongst us some would-be spelunkers. The sensible stayed in the open while Peter, Davie Mc and Jimmy made differing depths of exploration into the old mines. Ten minutes we waited for the troglodytes to re-emerge from the underworld. Ten minutes was long enough and the trio emerged unscathed by their adventure. The lime kilns were to be examined next but not too closely this time for it was only a short climb from here to the top of our road and some wanted to get this done quickly. Now we had the open hill to tackle.

That’s where the first and only schism of the day occurred. There was a gate onto the hill and Jimmy suggested we go through and slope diagonally for a wooden gate in a fence. But some were for carrying on along the road for a few hundred yards before tackling the hill. So a splinter group consisting of the mine explorers struck off on their own to take the short climb to the top. The two groups came together as the top of the hill was approaching and we reached trig point marking the summit more or less as one group.

And what a view greeted us at the trig point, a three hundred and sixty degree view. The sun shone brightly on Tinto to the north-east but not so on Cairn Table in the north, nor on Blacksidend above Sorn. The day was turning brighter yet Arran was still hidden in a damp haze. To the west were the high Galloways with Merrick standing clear and was that one of Andy Goldworthy’s ‘Striding Arches’ on the hill to the south over Nithsdale? Upper Nithsdale was spread out below us with Kirkconnel appearing close and the Lowther and Durisdeer hills forming the backdrop. Below us the River Nith wound and meandered its way between flooded fields and once again we were happy that we chose to ignore this route. The only thing spoiling this idyllic vista was the opencast mine just below the hill, the opencast that destroyed the green road running from behind our hill down into Nithsdale. We were pleased enough with the rest of the prospect though.

But now it was time to leave the top. But which way? The consensus was to drop steeply to Corsencon Farm and follow the minor road that was supposed to be our route up. We came down that slope in a straggling band the individual positioning in which depending on stiffness of old knees. At the roadside though, there was a microwave antenna with its attendant servicing and it was on the concrete steps of this that the quick descenders stopped to have a bite and wait for the infirm.

Now it was a matter of following tarmac to the Mansfield road and back to New Cumnock. This seemed to be done in double quick time and we arrived in the village around one-thirty. This was an earlier finish than expected but, despite its shortness, a this was a decent walk and a new one for most of us.

We returned to Cumnock for FRT in The Sun.

4,2,0 Tops Afton Glen 4 September

Alan, Allan, Andy, Davie C, Gus, Jimmy, Johnny, Malcolm, Paul, Rex, Ronnie

Top 4 from down the loch

We welcomed Gus into the brotherhood at our rendezvous at Cumnock – he looks far too fit to be an Ooter – but were disappointed to see Jimmy arrive in civvies. Not that his civvies were an issue, they were fashionable when he was demobbed, but his back had gone again and he obviously was in no state to walk. His drinking arm was unaffected though, and he was able to join us later in the day for FRT.

Fun boy 2

Journeying up to our parking spot at the waterworks in the Afton glen the weather was set fair for the 4,3,2,1,0 tops.

 (See previous reports for a descriiption of this walk).

Allan, Andy, Johnny and Malcolm decided to take a more leisurely walk round the reservoir whilst the rest set off back down the road for the main event.

Looking back from lunch spot at the head of the loch

The walk round the reservoir was reasonably uneventful although, for a while, the wind brought with it a chill. It was interesting to note that, even after a dry summer, parts of the path were still very boggy, as Malcolm found out to his cost. One question though. What’s the explanation for the parallel strips of white water running down the reservoir? For all the world, it looked like the wake of umpteen torpedoes passing down the length of the loch.

Malcolm and Andy left for home soon after arriving back at the cars as Malcolm was on camera duty in Durham later on in the day, but the other two amigos set off down the road to the cut off point for the hill walk (basically to kill time) before returning to the cars and awaiting the arrival of the rest.

Explanation please!

Alan arrived first having done two tops whilst the remainder appeared about twenty minutes later having bagged all four. A bedraggled looking Ronnie was last to report in before we could set off for FRT in the refurbished Sun Inn in Cumnock where, not only were they obliging about turning the music down so we could hear ourselves speak, but provided us with copious amounts of free nuts.

Maybe one of the 4 toppers could write a wee addendum to this blog.

A wee addendum

With Holly being on holiday and Jimmy being incapacitated, the 6 (Rex, Paul, Gus, Ronnie, Davie C, Alan) who chose the 4 Tops walk were left leaderless; but remarkably two of their number had brought maps with them, whilst others claimed to remember the route.

The long descent down the newly-tarmaced road eventually took us to the turn off for Blackcraig Farm and above the farm we stopped for coffee at our traditional resting place. Continuing our ascent, Rex pointed out how dry the track was and how on previous walks it had been very boggy.  A few steps more and we reached the bog.

The first cairn at Quintin Knowe was reached and at the wall we turned sharp right up the steep path towards  Top #1, Blackcraig Hill. We picked our away across more boggy ground, having to cross and recross a fence in search of a drier route and soon reached the trig point. The wind on the top was strong and we decided to descend into the steep valley between Blackcraig and our second top, Blacklorg. There we would have lunch. However, despite the steepness of the descent the ground was far too wet to sit on and after a couple of stumbles by Gus and Paul we  reached the valley bottom. Still searching for dry ground we were two thirds the way up Blacklorg before a halt was called on the stroke of one o’clock.

From our lunch spot it was no time at all before we reached Top #2 Blacklorg, where fences delineate the boundaries of Ayrshire, Lanarkshire and Dumfriesshire (we do listen to Jimmy, sometimes).

After another sharp descent and more gentle climb we reached Top #3, Cannock Hill – but now the 6 had become 5 as Alan chose to skirt the hill and wait for us below. “I don’t need the tick” was his justification.

Below Cannick Hill, Alan decided to head back down to the reservoir, whilst the 5 survivors headed for the final top. Top #4 Craigbraneoch Hill is more rugged than the others and we picked our way up to the summit carefully. Paul and Ronnie  had become semi-detached by the time the leading group got to the top, and in true Ooter tradition, when they arrived at the top the vanguard departed.

The descent to the Afton Reservoir is steep and it was a case of each man for himself as we picked our way around boulders  and rocky outcrops. Four made it to the bottom, with Ronnie bringing up the rear. Having directed Ronnie to the steps which descended to the track, the four Four-Toppers at the front set off for the cars, where they were reunited with  the Zero-Toppers and the Two-Topper … and by Ronnie, eventually.

 

22 May Windy Standard

Ian, Jimmy & Robert

Only three made the walk this week again. It might have been four had we waited at the meeting place long enough for Peter to join us, but we didn’t so there were only three today on the walk today.

            The weather was fair; the sun shone and the air was clear but the persistent northerly that has been with us for most of the month kept the temperature down. Still we anticipated a good walk as we drove to the water treatment works at the head of Glen Afton. In the glen we were sheltered from the full effects of the wind, and the start of the walk to the dam face was relatively warm in the morning sunshine. But, as we climbed up the path by the face of the dam, we could feel the wind rising. And a chill wind it was.

            Work is being carried on at the dam at the moment and men in hard hats could be seen mulling around the middle of it, too far away for our inquiries. Nor was there anybody about at the works headquarters - a port-a-cabin surrounded by land-working machinery and a temporary fence - so our nosiness about what work was being carried out went unsatisfied. We continued up the track to find the forest road that runs from here toward the Dalmellington to Carsphairn road.

            Now, as we climbed with the road, we could feel the full effects of the northerly wind – strengthening and chilling – and we were only too happy to crest the ridge and drop into the shelter of the trees in the valley of the Water of Deugh. It was here that we met the cyclist. A man of our own vintage was labouring upward pushing his mountain bike by his side. As you know, we are not the people to miss the opportunity for a blether so we stopped to encourage our new friend in our inimitable fashion. ‘Only another four miles to the top’, said we seeing how he was enjoying himself. We can only hope he made it.

            We walked on easier than he did for we were now going down into the valley of the Deugh. ‘Coffee’, said Ian and we stopped on the bridge over the Deugh for a break. The morning was warm in the shelter of the trees and we, even Robert, were happy to take our time over coffee.

            After coffee we left the forest road and stated the first serious climb of the day. This climb through a firebreak was wet underfoot and warm from the effort. But it was not as wet as it might have been given the weather of the last few months. Nor was it as warm as it might have been for, as we rose, we found the strong northerly again. By the time we cleared the trees and came to the first wind turbine on Jedburgh Knees the wind was strong and chilly. But, as we turned on the wind farm road towards Windy Standard, it was on our backs and we walked on comfortably taking in the view as we went.

It was the northerly wind that kept the air clear and the views took in the Ayrshire plain and as far north as Whitelee wind farm, as far east as the Lowther Hills, as far south as the Cumbrian fells and as far southwest as the high Galloways. But there was no Arran in the west. Somehow a haze hung over the sea and Arran was obscured today. And the view changed subtly as we walked along the road towards the short climb to the Standard itself.

We came across a turbine with one blade missing. The blade lay along the hillside awaiting repair or re-fixing and the turbine stood forlornly still while its neighbours waved at each other in the strong wind. The bladeless turbine needed investigating and we made the fifty metre diversion to examine it and the blade. This is where Ian’s engineering knowledge came to the fore. He used words like ‘ergs’ and ‘torques’ and ‘kilowatt hours’ and we nodded in intelligently and hung on his every word. Then we walked on before he could come up with more words.

The short climb to the top was easy and we found ourselves standing by the trig point with what seem like no effort at all. A figure was seen coming to the top from the opposite direction to us. She had come from the Ken Valley and was making her way along the wind farm roads to Clennoch bothy and back to the Ken. (She was asked her name but the scribe’s memory is not the sharpest and he has forgotten it, hasn’t he! If this lady reads this blog she might give us her name in a comment – Ed.) The wind was beginning to really chill now so we left our new friend to continue her walk and started our descent towards the Afton again.

Hunger was beginning to call as we came down the fence towards the Afton but the wind was strong and cold and there was no shelter until we reached the edge of the forest again. We left our downward progress and crossed to the edge of the trees where we were out of the wind and settled down to eat.

After lunch we came round and down the hill towards a sheep pen we could see in the valley bottom. This, said Jimmy, would avoid the wet of the bog that is the Source of the Afton. Avoid the bog we may have done but there were still some wet patches to be negotiated before the sheep pen was reached, and even after this. But negotiated they were and we found the path that would take us down the right of the burn to the head of the reservoir. Some work is being done here as well with a new road being driven in, but whether this has anything to do with the work at the dam we don’t know for there was still nobody about to ask. No doubt we will find out in due course.

A pair of sandpiper lifted from the bank of the burn as came down the road to find the forest road that would take us back to the dam. The walk along the road by the side of the reservoir was a delight in the afternoon sun and we arrived back at the cars sun-kissed, wind-blown and thoroughly pleased with the day’s walk.

FRT was taken in The Sun in Cumnock, a vastly improved place since the first time we came here seven years ago.

25 January Glen Afton’s One Top

Alan, Allan, Davie C, Davie Mc, Ian, Jimmy, Johnny, Malcolm, Paul, Rex & Ronnie

The late John Denver sang ‘Some days are diamonds, some days are stones’. The last time we were on the Glen Afton Hills the day was unquestionably of the precious variety – blue, sunny skies, glistening, powdery snow and views that went on forever. And we had hopes for something of the same today given the snow fall of yesterday and the forecast for a clear and sunny day. But somebody up there doesn’t like us. Whatever we have done to offend the provider of our weather we don’t know but with what has been given to us this winter we feel he is definitely against us.

This is the truth we found when we gathered in Cumnock on a dreary January Wednesday. Already there was dissension in the ranks. There was some thought of the foul weather alternative but our weather man suggested that it would be late afternoon when the rain arrived. We took his word for this and set off into Glen Afton.

Barely had we left the cars at the waterworks than we felt the first spits. But, according to our weatherman, this is only a passing shower for the rain was forecast to arrive no earlier than late afternoon. And go off it did though by the looks of the sky and the hill fog it could come back any minute. We walked along the forest road on the west side of the reservoir watching to see if the fog was lifting or coming further down. By the time we had reached the bridge over the upper reaches of the Afton a decision had to be made; should we go ahead as planned or cut the walk short and come back along the east side of the reservoir. The party split in two; the wimps opting for the lower walk and the adventurous, unwise, foolhardy and downright stupid opted for the hill despite Johnny’s hip-flask bribery.
The wimps: wise, intrepid, mathematically principled souls: we three giants of the maths teaching fraternity know a thing or two about gradients, turning points and distance formulas. All too obvious, the approaching poor weather, no need of TV predictions. We could see it coming. A walk around the Afton reservoir seemed a prudent move. Bullying JM over-ruled concerned AS about completing the circuit. As it turned out AS was right. The path, though not impassable, was unpleasantly deeply muddied. We retraced our steps back to where we had become the splinter group. Here we could see our brave brothers battle the elements as they crested the summit and disappear from our view. We made it back to the cars in good heart. We had lunch. We wondered back up to the reservoir dam just in time to see our courageous comrades caper casually along the edge of the reservoir.

We await (inserted above JM) a report from the wimps for the scribe was in the latter group. This was the group that made its way up the side of the river to the old fruit van that sits on it own on the hillside. That’s where the rain came. When we had been in the shelter of the forest, any rain that came was no more that a steady dribble. But we were no longer in the shelter of the trees and the steady dribble was wind blown and wetting and when we left what little shelter the fruit van afforded, we were into the weather proper. Though the wind-driven drizzle stung the faces, we still had faith in our weatherman and his prediction that the rain would arrive until the late afternoon and so set of for the first climb of the day, Alwhat

Not only was it wet overhead, it was extremely wet underfoot for the first fifty metres or so until the ground steepened and we found the drier grasses. Thank heavens for quad bike tracks; at least the climbing would be easier than the coarse hill grasses and rushes that surrounded us. It certainly seemed to be easy for Jimmy. What he had for breakfast certainly worked for he took off up that slope like a whippet on ecstasy and left the rest trailing in his wake. But not only had we Jimmy’s pace to contend with; as we gained height we also changed direction and now found the wind driving the rain directly into our faces, and it stung. But at least we could see where we were going so far.

Ronnie felt the pressure on this climb - he is recovering from major surgery and has not yet regained his fighting fitness - but struggled manfully on in Jimmy’s wake crossing the tufted grass of the slope to the fence on Alwhat summit. Here we found Jimmy waiting with alternate routes in mind. But Ronnie was done for the day and was for returning the way we had come up. And we, being of a compassionate nature and anyway having had our fill of soakings for this year, offered to keep him company. We turned to retrace our steps back down to the fruit van in the valley.

Back in the shelter of the trees at the bridge we stopped for a bite. The time was twelve-thirty and the rain was still on. We are beginning to lose faith in our weatherman.

When we came out of the trees again the rain had gone and a decision was made to return by the east side of the reservoir. To this end we followed the forest road to its end and then took the path to the dam where we met with the renegade three. Half a mile later we were back at the waterworks and the cars, our walking past for the day.

This was another dreich day and the best that can be said is that we got some exercise. Come on ‘ye pow’rs wha mak mankind your care’ gie us a break and a dry day for a change.

As usual in this neck of the woods FRT was taken in The Sun in Cumnock. New grandfather Ian stood the first round to wet the baby's head. Congratulations to the proud mum and dad and equally proud grandparents.