THE SOUTHERN UPLAND WAY DIARY - 212 MILES.
(OR THE ‘TARMAC TROT’)
By Les Singleton.
PROLOGUE.
.......or at least that’s how it seemed for the first two and a half days! Too many sections of this walk are on Tarmac, but the middle bit which isn’t, is really good. As my brother Colin and I had walked the West Highland Way last year, we decided to give Scotland’s coast to coast a go and were dropped off at Portpatrick by a friend on Thursday evening. I had been told the walk was tough, and so it is.
After counting the months, then the weeks, then the days, I was now sitting counting the minutes waiting for the journey up to Portpatrick to begin. A friend, whom we shall call ‘H’, had kindly offered to take my brother and I up to the start, and collect us again at the other side of the country in Cockburnspath. This solved a lot of logistical problems and I will be eternally grateful to ‘H’ for that!
Thursday 23rd April. Arrival at the start - Portpatrick.
We arrived at Portpatrick at 7:25pm with ‘H’ panicking over the fact that his car was running on fumes, as this was rural Scotland - i.e.; “no petrol stations for miles, laddie!"
We both emptied our cigarette lighters into the fuel tank before ‘H’ rode off into the sunset. We did consider trying whiskey, as we were in Scotland but, come on - be serious - it wasn’t that far to the petrol station!
We were bade enter Melvin Lodge by the proprietor, Mr Tinder, and were delighted to discover that we had got a sea view from our window. The brochure described it as ‘a stone’s throw from the beach’. We knew this to be true, as all the glass in the windows was broken! Actually, the room was very nice and it looked directly into where the Sun would set. This was something to look forward to, as the sky was nice and clear.
We decided to go for a walk around Portpatrick to seek food and, more importantly, drink.
Just before 8:00pm, we went back outside to look at the sea and the lazy harbour. The stage was set for the sun to ‘do the biz’ so we went to the far side of the cove for the better shot. It really was lovely to hear the sea birds calling. Although they are often seen inland, it is rare to hear their call. Perhaps they are homesick or something. Whatever the reason, they were quite prepared to call themselves hoarse in such a lovely place as this. This really was the best way to be eased into the holiday mood. The sound of the waves, not crashing against, but caressing the rocks, accompanied by the russet sun slowly sinking to leave an air of tranquillity in its wake. I hope it comes back again in the morning.
We got some arty shots of it for the record, and had a quick look at the plaque that marks the start of the walk. I felt a bit like a bridegroom seeing his intended before the wedding - I hope it doesn’t bring bad luck! As we made our way back through the harbour to the village, I noticed a guesthouse right on the front. It was advertising B&B for £16, en suite. Telephone 01776 810441. We went into one of the pubs on the front, where I had a really good game of pool. I didn’t win, but enjoyed the challenge. Colin studied the menu, and when he finally decided what he wanted, was informed by the barmaid that they had stopped doing food. However, she told us that the hotel just above where we were staying was open until ten o’clock for food, so we decided to investigate it. The sun, which had now set, had left behind an atmospheric scene with the lighthouse and surrounding rocks gently silhouetted in the gloaming. We soon reached the hotel and it was well worth the visit. The food was interesting and fairly priced. We sat and talked to a couple from our neck of the woods (well, Cheshire actually, but it was near enough - they were English!) They told us that they were staying at the old lighthouse on the cliffs, which we would pass in the morning. With the promise of a wave and maybe a cup of tea, we said we would look out for them.
After a surprisingly comfortable night (I’m usually restless with excitement on the first night) we awoke to a bright morning. By the time we had had a lonely breakfast (we were the only residents) it had clouded over a little. We left at about 9:15am and went down to the beach where, by the state of the tide last night, I had calculated that the water would be low. It was full in!
We took a few photos, one in particular of me picking up a stone to drop on the other side of the country. This was something I should have done on the English coast to coast, but I neglected. I was now to rectify this. I also took one of Colin lifting a great big rock, as though to carry it. This was just for effect because, as time would tell, he had more than enough to carry.
Friday 24th April. Portpatrick to Stranraer - 12 miles.
If you want a packed lunch, the Old Port Pantry is the place. They brew a pot of coffee especially for its aromatic properties to attract custom and, I must admit, it worked on me.
We finally started walking at 9:53am. We got a passing dog walker to take our photo, and he was suitably impressed by Col’s new digital camera. The weather was a little grey and overcast as we set off up the cliff path. The first climb, however, is never a problem. We passed the tall Telecom towers, which had the wind whistling noisily around them. The wind was also stirring the sea and it was quite nice to see it in a different mood this morning, bashing up against the rocks below us instead of just lying there.
At Kale cove there is a small but pretty waterfall and a couple of caves, which we didn't investigate. Bluebells carpeted the northern slopes of the bay, but they were only just coming into flower. In four or five days they would be at their blue and sweet smelling best.
We left behind the buildings that mark the spot where the first telephone cable was laid under the sea to Ireland. As we climbed the steep hill, aided by a chain handrail, I began to feel really good about the walk. I always get a ‘good to be alive’ feeling at the beginning of a long walk, especially when the weather is like this.
We hugged the cliff top, Killantringan lighthouse looming ever larger. At 10:45am the sun broke out and it began to warm up. It still looked very grey inland but here on the coast, it was good weather. Hopefully this weather would spread inland for us, but realistically I didn't expect it to do so.
We were hoping to see the couple we met in the pub last night, as they were staying in the lighthouse, but they weren't there when we got to it. Maybe they were having a lie-in. The lighthouse looked good with the sun gleaming on its white flanks, but it still looked dull inland
After the lighthouse, the path ominously turns inland for the first of many Tarmac stretches. This was at 11:00am. As we turned, we waved goodbye to the sea, and it 'waved' back. We had been hoping to see the remains of the good ship ‘Craigantlet’, which foundered on the rocks in 1982 but despite our vigilance, we never did. On the way inland, we passed a farmer who waved and wished us luck. The postman too drove by in his van, also with a smile and a wave. (Somebody once asked me what you'd call 'postman Pat' if he were made redundant. I didn't know. 'Pat', was the reply!)
Just like it says in the instructions, the air was full of the song of the lark and, just before Knock & Maize cottage, we saw a big hare but he ran off before I could ‘shoot’ him.
Just as we turned off the road we were on to join a track, a large herd of young calves ran down to the wall on our right to investigate us. Young ones often do this, to the consternation of lots of new walkers, and I slowly won the confidence of one and let it lick the salt from my hand. I remembered vividly when I first started walking and I was crossing some fields locally, a great herd of calves decided to run towards me. Instinctively, I ran. This is always a mistake and they nearly caught up with me but I managed to vault a fence, standing panting on the other side. I know now that all you have to do is stand your ground. They always come to a halt before they reach you, but the first time you do it, it is really frightening.
On the approach to Mulloch Hill we came across the first of many leaflet boxes put here by the rangers, God bless them. They are well stocked with accommodation leaflets and info’ on the way & wildlife etc. This one was located at Map ref. 010,588.
After Mulloch hill we walked down the fields to a muddy track, which turned into a beautiful green strip of moorland with Knockquhassen reservoir on the left. We could also see distant views of the Galloway hills ahead.
By 12:30pm the sky had completely cleared and what was dismal to look at inland from the coast was now a perfect day, brightened by the brilliant yellow gorse.
We crossed a section of land called the Rhins and got our second view of the sea today.
At 1:00pm we passed Greenfield cottage, which looked like it had just been painted, as it was glaringly white in the sunshine.
At Auchtrelair, the Bay of Stranraer came into view. A ferry was just coming in, so we stood and watched for a while.
A large conspicuous lump of rock was obvious just off the coast. This was Ailsa Craig, an island of close-grained granite from which all the best curling stones used to be made. Nowadays, it's not allowed, as it's a protected place.
The way here turns right towards Spoutwells farm. This was the name of the place we were staying at tonight and, realising we were ridiculously close to our objective and it was only about 2:00pm, we decided to stop for lunch. We sat at the side of the road. Not the most salubrious place you may think, but it was a very quiet road and besides, it didn't look like there would be anywhere else before we reached the B&B. We were early and we knew it.
We ‘unsacked’ on the grass verge and started to remove our lunches from the sacks. All of a sudden there was a loud ‘CLICK’ followed by a loud expletive from Colin. The innocuous looking strand of wire next to us was electrified, and he had received a tidy shock. We re-positioned ourselves at a respectful distance from the wire.
As we sat in the sun, a girl clip-clopped up on a large horse. She spoke to us and it was clear she wasn’t local (the Irish accent gave her away). She worked at a local stable and was exercising the horse. She chatted and I thought, what a perfect job on a day like today!
After lunch we re-shouldered the sacks, but it was only half an hour before they were off again as we reached Spoutwells farm even sooner than we expected.
We turned into the drive of the farm and knocked on the door a bit sheepishly. No answer, but a glance round the back revealed Mrs Wilson, complete with golf club, swishing away at a ball in the field. Revealing my intimate knowledge of the technical terms of the game, I shouted ‘FORE’ loudly. This had the desired effect and Mrs Wilson came smilingly towards us.
We settled into our lovely room and decided to get ready and go into Stranraer later to look around and get some food.
We eventually met Peter Wilson who, when questioned about all the trophies in the house, told us he had been Scottish curling champion several times. Apparently Stranraer produces good curlers, a la production line!
Later on he gave us a lift into town, with the promise of a ‘nip’ of something special later on when we got back to the farm. We went into the Ark house pub first before venturing further afield. We walked all around, investigating the ferry terminal and sea front. Stranraer is ok, but not what I’d call interesting. We settled for a Chinese meal, which was very good, before making our way back at about 10:30pm.
As we left the centre, the street lights ran out and it allowed a really good view of the stars. It reminded me of last year on the West Highland Way when Colin ‘navigated’ us home from the pub by the stars. We didn’t need all that old fashioned stuff this year as Colin had invested in a global positioning system. (Prudent really, especially if you knew his star-nav technique).
When we got back to Spoutwells, Colin decided to turn in but I went to see if there was any snooker on the telly, and also await the arrival of a promised tot of ‘something special’. No snooker until late (and I was getting tired) and no Mr Wilson. Eventually I went to bed. I noticed that it was raining and, as I lay there, it came harder and harder until it was lashing on the window and yard outside.
Saturday 25th April. Stranraer to New Luce - 12.5 Miles.
I came to my senses the next morning with the thought of last night's rain first on my mind, but it was quiet. I gingerly pulled back the curtains to reveal a sunny and bright morning.
After having to virtually drag Colin from his ‘pit’, we were served the first of what were to be many good breakfasts. Apparently, Peter had been up last night waiting for the dog to come in. They’ve got a nine-year-old spaniel, and there’s a bitch on heat up the road. The dog didn’t get in ‘till about eleven. This was the reason the ‘something special’ was lacking last night. There must be life in the old dog yet! When we had packed and paid our bill we set off walking at 9:10am.
Yet more blue sky and singing birds greeted us. It was another lovely morning.
The first hour or so was spent on Tarmac, after which the way turned into some woodland with a small loch on the left. Shortly we came upon a small bungalow. If any house has the perfect setting on a day like today, then is was it. Surrounded as it is by tall trees, the bird song was incredible. So many different ones and so loud. Also the whole area was completely covered in bluebells.
More Tarmac walking followed, with a railway line to our left. The remains of an old train boiler stood in the field, it had had a piece cut out of it and was now serving as a water trough - very quaint.
Presently we crossed the railway line via a bridge, and the way now left the road to re-enter the woods. This was a younger wood with lots of saplings bordering the path.
We next came upon the strangest thing. What at first looked like a mound of earth turned out, upon further investigation, to be a piece of concrete pipe completely buried with earth. It had a door in one end and obvious signs of being inhabited at some time. We mused over its possible uses, and wondered why it didn’t even merit a mention in the guide. We took photos and pushed on.
Tracks started to appear in the mud on the path, and Colin asked what they were. “They’re definitely bear tracks” I said. “But don’t worry, I’ve killed a bear before.” There was a pause before Colin said; “What with - your ‘bear’ hands!”
We emerged from the woods to find another Way information board at Castle Kennedy. Each one of these things has a section of basic information, then a specialised bit about the immediate locality.
We crossed the busy A75 main road and entered the grounds of the old castle. It was funny how the surroundings changed from sort of run down village to grand baronial pile. It was evident straight away. The tall trees and rhododendrons bordering the road in gave a sort of grand entrance feel. The ruins of the old castle can be seen in front as you walk along.
Soon we reached the loch and the mixed deciduous woodland, along with the bright sunshine and the loch water, made for super pictures and we took many. The new Loch Inch castle can be seen on the other side of the loch. It was built when the old one accidentally burned down when it was being ‘aired’ for the master's homecoming. Why the old one wasn’t repaired I’ve no idea, as it’s in a fantastic position.
We walked past fiery red rhododendrons in full bloom before turning left across the bridge that spans the linking canal of the two lochs (black loch and white loch). It was built by one of the past owners, and it looks very man-made.
We reached the ruins at about 11:10am. There is a gatehouse at which the admission charge (then £2) had to be paid. We decided to use this as our elevenses stop and, as we had time in hand, paid the fee and went in to look around. We decided it was well worth the money. The walled garden is really stunning with a huge assortment of different plants and trees. We got some good pictures of the castle ruins too.
We walked around the grounds and down to the far loch (black loch), where we witnessed the strangest thing. There was a very small island, you could have just about fitted a car on it, and vast amounts of sea birds were squabbling to stand on it. You could hear the cacophony of their cries from a long way off. When we saw it, it was a bit unreal. Why didn’t they just settle on the large island nearby, which had trees to perch in and all? Only they knew and they were too busy falling out to take time to answer.
We walked back through the wood, deliberately dawdling in this rich man's paradise, and wondered what it must have been like in the ‘old days’ to look up the vast lawns to the castle and know that it was all yours.
We decided to go for a walk around Portpatrick to seek food and, more importantly, drink.
Just before 8:00pm, we went back outside to look at the sea and the lazy harbour. The stage was set for the sun to ‘do the biz’ so we went to the far side of the cove for the better shot. It really was lovely to hear the sea birds calling. Although they are often seen inland, it is rare to hear their call. Perhaps they are homesick or something. Whatever the reason, they were quite prepared to call themselves hoarse in such a lovely place as this. This really was the best way to be eased into the holiday mood. The sound of the waves, not crashing against, but caressing the rocks, accompanied by the russet sun slowly sinking to leave an air of tranquillity in its wake. I hope it comes back again in the morning.
We got some arty shots of it for the record, and had a quick look at the plaque that marks the start of the walk. I felt a bit like a bridegroom seeing his intended before the wedding - I hope it doesn’t bring bad luck! As we made our way back through the harbour to the village, I noticed a guesthouse right on the front. It was advertising B&B for £16, en suite. Telephone 01776 810441. We went into one of the pubs on the front, where I had a really good game of pool. I didn’t win, but enjoyed the challenge. Colin studied the menu, and when he finally decided what he wanted, was informed by the barmaid that they had stopped doing food. However, she told us that the hotel just above where we were staying was open until ten o’clock for food, so we decided to investigate it. The sun, which had now set, had left behind an atmospheric scene with the lighthouse and surrounding rocks gently silhouetted in the gloaming. We soon reached the hotel and it was well worth the visit. The food was interesting and fairly priced. We sat and talked to a couple from our neck of the woods (well, Cheshire actually, but it was near enough - they were English!) They told us that they were staying at the old lighthouse on the cliffs, which we would pass in the morning. With the promise of a wave and maybe a cup of tea, we said we would look out for them.
After a surprisingly comfortable night (I’m usually restless with excitement on the first night) we awoke to a bright morning. By the time we had had a lonely breakfast (we were the only residents) it had clouded over a little. We left at about 9:15am and went down to the beach where, by the state of the tide last night, I had calculated that the water would be low. It was full in!
We took a few photos, one in particular of me picking up a stone to drop on the other side of the country. This was something I should have done on the English coast to coast, but I neglected. I was now to rectify this. I also took one of Colin lifting a great big rock, as though to carry it. This was just for effect because, as time would tell, he had more than enough to carry.
Friday 24th April. Portpatrick to Stranraer - 12 miles.
My brother Colin starts the long walk by dipping his feet in the Irish sea, a tradition on the Southern Upland way.
We left behind the buildings that mark the spot where the first telephone cable was laid under the sea to Ireland. As we climbed the steep hill, aided by a chain handrail, I began to feel really good about the walk. I always get a ‘good to be alive’ feeling at the beginning of a long walk, especially when the weather is like this.
We hugged the cliff top, Killantringan lighthouse looming ever larger. At 10:45am the sun broke out and it began to warm up. It still looked very grey inland but here on the coast, it was good weather. Hopefully this weather would spread inland for us, but realistically I didn't expect it to do so.
After the lighthouse, the path ominously turns inland for the first of many Tarmac stretches. This was at 11:00am. As we turned, we waved goodbye to the sea, and it 'waved' back. We had been hoping to see the remains of the good ship ‘Craigantlet’, which foundered on the rocks in 1982 but despite our vigilance, we never did. On the way inland, we passed a farmer who waved and wished us luck. The postman too drove by in his van, also with a smile and a wave. (Somebody once asked me what you'd call 'postman Pat' if he were made redundant. I didn't know. 'Pat', was the reply!)
Just like it says in the instructions, the air was full of the song of the lark and, just before Knock & Maize cottage, we saw a big hare but he ran off before I could ‘shoot’ him.
Just as we turned off the road we were on to join a track, a large herd of young calves ran down to the wall on our right to investigate us. Young ones often do this, to the consternation of lots of new walkers, and I slowly won the confidence of one and let it lick the salt from my hand. I remembered vividly when I first started walking and I was crossing some fields locally, a great herd of calves decided to run towards me. Instinctively, I ran. This is always a mistake and they nearly caught up with me but I managed to vault a fence, standing panting on the other side. I know now that all you have to do is stand your ground. They always come to a halt before they reach you, but the first time you do it, it is really frightening.
On the approach to Mulloch Hill we came across the first of many leaflet boxes put here by the rangers, God bless them. They are well stocked with accommodation leaflets and info’ on the way & wildlife etc. This one was located at Map ref. 010,588.
After Mulloch hill we walked down the fields to a muddy track, which turned into a beautiful green strip of moorland with Knockquhassen reservoir on the left. We could also see distant views of the Galloway hills ahead.
We crossed a section of land called the Rhins and got our second view of the sea today.
At 1:00pm we passed Greenfield cottage, which looked like it had just been painted, as it was glaringly white in the sunshine.
At Auchtrelair, the Bay of Stranraer came into view. A ferry was just coming in, so we stood and watched for a while.
The way here turns right towards Spoutwells farm. This was the name of the place we were staying at tonight and, realising we were ridiculously close to our objective and it was only about 2:00pm, we decided to stop for lunch. We sat at the side of the road. Not the most salubrious place you may think, but it was a very quiet road and besides, it didn't look like there would be anywhere else before we reached the B&B. We were early and we knew it.
We ‘unsacked’ on the grass verge and started to remove our lunches from the sacks. All of a sudden there was a loud ‘CLICK’ followed by a loud expletive from Colin. The innocuous looking strand of wire next to us was electrified, and he had received a tidy shock. We re-positioned ourselves at a respectful distance from the wire.
As we sat in the sun, a girl clip-clopped up on a large horse. She spoke to us and it was clear she wasn’t local (the Irish accent gave her away). She worked at a local stable and was exercising the horse. She chatted and I thought, what a perfect job on a day like today!
After lunch we re-shouldered the sacks, but it was only half an hour before they were off again as we reached Spoutwells farm even sooner than we expected.
We turned into the drive of the farm and knocked on the door a bit sheepishly. No answer, but a glance round the back revealed Mrs Wilson, complete with golf club, swishing away at a ball in the field. Revealing my intimate knowledge of the technical terms of the game, I shouted ‘FORE’ loudly. This had the desired effect and Mrs Wilson came smilingly towards us.
We eventually met Peter Wilson who, when questioned about all the trophies in the house, told us he had been Scottish curling champion several times. Apparently Stranraer produces good curlers, a la production line!
Later on he gave us a lift into town, with the promise of a ‘nip’ of something special later on when we got back to the farm. We went into the Ark house pub first before venturing further afield. We walked all around, investigating the ferry terminal and sea front. Stranraer is ok, but not what I’d call interesting. We settled for a Chinese meal, which was very good, before making our way back at about 10:30pm.
As we left the centre, the street lights ran out and it allowed a really good view of the stars. It reminded me of last year on the West Highland Way when Colin ‘navigated’ us home from the pub by the stars. We didn’t need all that old fashioned stuff this year as Colin had invested in a global positioning system. (Prudent really, especially if you knew his star-nav technique).
When we got back to Spoutwells, Colin decided to turn in but I went to see if there was any snooker on the telly, and also await the arrival of a promised tot of ‘something special’. No snooker until late (and I was getting tired) and no Mr Wilson. Eventually I went to bed. I noticed that it was raining and, as I lay there, it came harder and harder until it was lashing on the window and yard outside.
Saturday 25th April. Stranraer to New Luce - 12.5 Miles.
I came to my senses the next morning with the thought of last night's rain first on my mind, but it was quiet. I gingerly pulled back the curtains to reveal a sunny and bright morning.
After having to virtually drag Colin from his ‘pit’, we were served the first of what were to be many good breakfasts. Apparently, Peter had been up last night waiting for the dog to come in. They’ve got a nine-year-old spaniel, and there’s a bitch on heat up the road. The dog didn’t get in ‘till about eleven. This was the reason the ‘something special’ was lacking last night. There must be life in the old dog yet! When we had packed and paid our bill we set off walking at 9:10am.
Yet more blue sky and singing birds greeted us. It was another lovely morning.
The first hour or so was spent on Tarmac, after which the way turned into some woodland with a small loch on the left. Shortly we came upon a small bungalow. If any house has the perfect setting on a day like today, then is was it. Surrounded as it is by tall trees, the bird song was incredible. So many different ones and so loud. Also the whole area was completely covered in bluebells.
More Tarmac walking followed, with a railway line to our left. The remains of an old train boiler stood in the field, it had had a piece cut out of it and was now serving as a water trough - very quaint.
Presently we crossed the railway line via a bridge, and the way now left the road to re-enter the woods. This was a younger wood with lots of saplings bordering the path.
We next came upon the strangest thing. What at first looked like a mound of earth turned out, upon further investigation, to be a piece of concrete pipe completely buried with earth. It had a door in one end and obvious signs of being inhabited at some time. We mused over its possible uses, and wondered why it didn’t even merit a mention in the guide. We took photos and pushed on.
Tracks started to appear in the mud on the path, and Colin asked what they were. “They’re definitely bear tracks” I said. “But don’t worry, I’ve killed a bear before.” There was a pause before Colin said; “What with - your ‘bear’ hands!”
We emerged from the woods to find another Way information board at Castle Kennedy. Each one of these things has a section of basic information, then a specialised bit about the immediate locality.
We crossed the busy A75 main road and entered the grounds of the old castle. It was funny how the surroundings changed from sort of run down village to grand baronial pile. It was evident straight away. The tall trees and rhododendrons bordering the road in gave a sort of grand entrance feel. The ruins of the old castle can be seen in front as you walk along.
Soon we reached the loch and the mixed deciduous woodland, along with the bright sunshine and the loch water, made for super pictures and we took many. The new Loch Inch castle can be seen on the other side of the loch. It was built when the old one accidentally burned down when it was being ‘aired’ for the master's homecoming. Why the old one wasn’t repaired I’ve no idea, as it’s in a fantastic position.
We walked past fiery red rhododendrons in full bloom before turning left across the bridge that spans the linking canal of the two lochs (black loch and white loch). It was built by one of the past owners, and it looks very man-made.
We reached the ruins at about 11:10am. There is a gatehouse at which the admission charge (then £2) had to be paid. We decided to use this as our elevenses stop and, as we had time in hand, paid the fee and went in to look around. We decided it was well worth the money. The walled garden is really stunning with a huge assortment of different plants and trees. We got some good pictures of the castle ruins too.
We walked back through the wood, deliberately dawdling in this rich man's paradise, and wondered what it must have been like in the ‘old days’ to look up the vast lawns to the castle and know that it was all yours.
We strolled up the soft green carpet and back to the entrance. The man inside told us lots about the history of the place. Who’d done what, how it got burnt down, how old the plants and trees were etc. I managed to stump him when I asked him if he knew what the most common owl was. He went through all the usual ones before I had to tell him it was the Teat-owl (tea towel - Geddit?). We left him groaning and shaking his head before, after a tea in the cafe, we addressed the more serious task of continuing the walk.
The Tarmac drive rose and entered a wood. Again the birds sang and the air groaned under the weight of the bluebells scent. In these conditions it really was a joy to be walking.
The road began to climb quite steeply. We were now very warm in the sunshine. It was day two, 1:30pm and we still hadn’t encountered any other way walkers. It really is so quiet as soon as you leave the B&Bs on this walk. If you want solitude then this is the walk for you.
When the way again left the road, just as we turned left, a stoat (or was it a weasel) scurried across the quiet road in front of us. It had what looked like lunch in its mouth. Someone once told me she knew a foolproof way to tell the difference between a stoat and a weasel. I asked how. She said; “One’s ‘stoat-ally’ different, and the other’s ‘weasel-y’ recognisable! (GROAN).
Yesterday, we bought some items for our lunch today. Mrs Wilson kindly buttered our rolls for us, and I decided on smoked mackerel. Where the way left the road, we found a little depression in a field, and sat out of the breeze to eat elevenses.
Sods law concerning rucksacks!
A rucksack, when placed on any flat surface, will roll directly away from its owner.
The mackerel was lovely, but it left my hands very greasy. No problem! Last year, when we did the West Highland Way, the airline we flew up with gave us what they called a clean-up wipe. I had saved it all this time, and at last it came in useful.
As we were getting ready to leave, we noticed some ‘mobile crumbs’. On closer inspection, we must have been sitting near an ants nest, as the crumbs we had dropped were being carried away almost at once by the inhabitants! We sat and watched them for a while, deliberately dropping more food to keep their interest away from our pants!
We entered a forest, but this one wasn’t quiet like the rest we’d been in. There was the constant buzz of a motor saw. As we turned a corner, we saw why. Great lines of trees were lying like murder victims, waiting to be carted away to a new pulp mill. The main forest was being ‘harvested’ by a dedicated machine, which made short work of them, but the edges were apparently more difficult and the noise of the saw was the man whose job it was to strip the edge trees. He told us there were 20,000 tonnes of wood being taken from that patch. The wood was over 35 years old (planted in 1961), and was now ready for harvest.
The Tarmac drive rose and entered a wood. Again the birds sang and the air groaned under the weight of the bluebells scent. In these conditions it really was a joy to be walking.
The road began to climb quite steeply. We were now very warm in the sunshine. It was day two, 1:30pm and we still hadn’t encountered any other way walkers. It really is so quiet as soon as you leave the B&Bs on this walk. If you want solitude then this is the walk for you.
When the way again left the road, just as we turned left, a stoat (or was it a weasel) scurried across the quiet road in front of us. It had what looked like lunch in its mouth. Someone once told me she knew a foolproof way to tell the difference between a stoat and a weasel. I asked how. She said; “One’s ‘stoat-ally’ different, and the other’s ‘weasel-y’ recognisable! (GROAN).
Yesterday, we bought some items for our lunch today. Mrs Wilson kindly buttered our rolls for us, and I decided on smoked mackerel. Where the way left the road, we found a little depression in a field, and sat out of the breeze to eat elevenses.
Sods law concerning rucksacks!
A rucksack, when placed on any flat surface, will roll directly away from its owner.
The mackerel was lovely, but it left my hands very greasy. No problem! Last year, when we did the West Highland Way, the airline we flew up with gave us what they called a clean-up wipe. I had saved it all this time, and at last it came in useful.
As we were getting ready to leave, we noticed some ‘mobile crumbs’. On closer inspection, we must have been sitting near an ants nest, as the crumbs we had dropped were being carried away almost at once by the inhabitants! We sat and watched them for a while, deliberately dropping more food to keep their interest away from our pants!
We entered a forest, but this one wasn’t quiet like the rest we’d been in. There was the constant buzz of a motor saw. As we turned a corner, we saw why. Great lines of trees were lying like murder victims, waiting to be carted away to a new pulp mill. The main forest was being ‘harvested’ by a dedicated machine, which made short work of them, but the edges were apparently more difficult and the noise of the saw was the man whose job it was to strip the edge trees. He told us there were 20,000 tonnes of wood being taken from that patch. The wood was over 35 years old (planted in 1961), and was now ready for harvest.
Another quiet section of woodland walking followed. So quiet in fact, that I removed my camera from its case and carried it, ready to snap any deer that I fully expected to see. I was disappointed, as the only sounds were the sound of the breeze in the treetops and the squelch of our feet in the soggy ground underfoot.
The feeling of solitude became greater still the more we penetrated the forest. Eerie even, I would describe it here. Colin and I spent the best part of this section walking apart as I was in front hoping to see the elusive deer. It gave me feelings of deja vu from the days when I used to walk alone, with only the sound of my footfalls for company. After the amount of Tarmac in the last couple of days, it was comforting on the old feet to be walking on this damp, yet soft and springy forest track after it had changed from a vehicle roadway to just a footpath for walkers.
After twisting and turning, the path suddenly took a dive, and I do mean steeply. Still faultlessly waymarked, it made a direct line for the (unseen) floor of the valley to the left through the dense trees. Colin’s walking poles came into their own as we struggled for traction. I would imagine this to be difficult in the rain, great fun even, if you didn’t mind a wet backside! One of my walking companions, Dave Cooke, is so adept at losing his footing that he has gained the nickname 'wet-arse cookie'. I also wondered how the people coming the other way would fare with this in front of them.
We passed through a delightful grove of mixed trees and crossed a small footbridge which led to a cleared area of the forest and, as the path levelled out, some railway lines appeared in front of us. Something else that appeared was a shower, and we reluctantly put on our waterproof coats.
We dropped into a meadow and crossed it to reach a bridge over the lines. It had stopped raining, and we removed our coats again in readiness for what was sure to follow our steep descent of 20 minutes ago - a steep ascent!
As we slogged up the incline I noticed Colin in a little world of his own, fiddling with his camera case. Apparently he had got a bit of mud on it when we stopped to put our coats on. In the depths of his concern, he wandered off the edge of the Tarmac and went up to his ankle in deep, slimy mud and spent the next five miles dipping his foot in every pool of water we came across.
Shortly the track levelled out to cross a moor. To the right was a long ridge and, as I glanced up at it, I thought I saw other people. On inspection with binoculars, it had either been a mirage or an hallucination as there was only a cairn to be seen, so it was just Colin and I, as usual.
At this stage I noticed Colins' limping was more pronounced. He told me his Achilles tendon was hurting him more than ever. I turned slightly away from him and, with a quiet ‘click’, loaded the cartridges in to the humane killer to do what I knew I just had to do to spare him any more suffering. I wasn’t going to see my own brother suffer this way, and I certainly wasn’t going to carry his sack for him! He must have seen the glint of metal in the sunlight, as he immediately said he felt better and started to walk again. I put the ‘angel of mercy’ handy in a side pocket of my sack - just in case!
The walk across the moor from the ruined farm was spent in the company of rain. It’s longer than it looks on the map (the walk, not the rain), but then I realised I had the map folded! By the time we reached the Tarmac road it was ten past five. The way here turns up the road (why not along the riverbank?) but our digs, and New Luce, were about a mile to the left. It had almost stopped raining now, so we padded on downwards towards what had been described as ‘the B&B to miss’. As it was the only B&B in New Luce, we found that one difficult to comply with. New Luce has a Post office and store (combined) and a ‘phone box. It is a small village with, I was told, no children living there.
We went into the hotel (Kenmuir Arms) and were shown up to our room. It was a modest size but the view from the window was nice. I asked if we could dry some washing later, and the landlady told me to use any or all of the radiators, as we were the only ones in tonight! We washed up and hung everything to dry. This place was recently taken over (about three months ago) and, although still needing some work on the building, needed no change to the welcome, which was excellent. We were made to feel at home at all times and the food we had was lovely. I had steak pie (home made) and met the cook later on in the bar. It was like one big happy family in there, and we were taken in to the fold with ne’er a bat of an eye. I must admit to teasing the cook. Colin had been showing everyone his digital camera, which is a marvelous thing, and I told the cook that mine was even cleverer than Colin's. I knew that if my camera was opened, it would automatically shut down on its own if not used for three minutes. As I came down with it from my room, I switched it and my stopwatch on. I placed it on the table in front of the cook and a couple of more people. I told her it was a voice operated camera, and she could tell it to shut down. She leaned forward and, on command, said; ”CAMERA - SHUT DOWN!" With a whirr and a click, the camera slid the cover over the lens and collapsed the flash. Gasps from the assembled crowd, and smiles from Colin and I. Yes, I did tell them it was a trick (but not until much later on!)
The next morning we were treated to a smashing breakfast, and Mrs Wilson had done us a packed lunch too. The dog was not allowed in the room while we were eating, but he was so lovely that we made special dispensation whilst Mrs Wilson's back was turned and gave him a bit of sausage. It was a Border collie, and had the strange habit of barking at you when you left, but not when you arrived. Apparently, we had a visit from him during the night. We had gone to bed before the bar had closed and, at about 2:00am, the Wilsons were creeping upstairs so as not to disturb us, but the dog just nosed our bedroom door open and was just about to give Colin a wet lick when he was dragged out. Blissfully unaware of all this, we slept on. I can only imagine what Colin would have been dreaming if said lick had been delivered!
Sunday April 26th New Luce to Bargrennan - 17 miles.
The next morning Mr Wilson very kindly offered to give us a lift up the hill and back to where we left off yesterday. We gratefully accepted but were in no rush to go as the rain was tipping down. Had our luck run out with the weather? I thought so, as it had been raining steadily since we got up and the sky looked unforgiving. Wrong! As soon as we had put on all our wet gear and rushed to the car, it stopped and the sun started to shine. As we stepped from the car we had to take off our coats again and, although we had not had a late breakfast, all the faffing about had brought 9:30am around by the time we actually started putting one foot in front of the other in earnest.
The weather kept getting brighter as we made our way over the moors. The going underfoot was therapeutic although rather wet! Every footfall caused the wet ground under it to spurt water upwards and it was quite a nice sensation to feel the squirts of cool water on bare skin as we walked along.
We were soon into forest again as we crossed Purgatory Burn and followed the wide track onwards I took a photo of the forest steaming as the strong sun attacked last nights rain. It made it even more eerie, and we kept expecting to hear a wolf howl.
At about half past eleven, we came upon the strange but delightful ‘beehive’ bothy.
It had started to rain a little, so we re-dressed for it and reluctantly started off. Shortly we came upon the standing stones of Lagangarn, probably erected around 4000 years ago. (Actually, it was probably nearer 4000 years and one month. You see, it said 4000 years in this book I read about a month ago). There were once about thirteen stones here, but now only a couple remained. They look strangely stranded, surrounded as they now are by tall pines.
Shortly after meeting the trio, we were confronted by a notice explaining that ‘they’ were harvesting the trees, and the Southern Upland way had been temporarily diverted. ‘Please follow the diversion’, said the notice, and was backed up by ‘scene of crime’, red tape and an arrow pointing into the bowels of the forest.
Here be dragons!!!
We dutifully followed along what started out as a good, firm path. However, it soon degenerated into the sort of path on which only the Messiah himself could have safely walked! It seemed to me to be about a foot and a half of water, covered by about 4mm of grass. I could imagine forestry workers hidden in the undergrowth, stifling sniggers as they watched us trying to make progress through this primordial goo. It slowed us down immensely, and was not good for Colin's ankle, but we had no choice so just kept on keeping on. Also there was nothing to see, as the trees were so close to us, the only view was forward, back, straight up or straight down. Not very inspiring!
When we eventually emerged from our ordeal (or ‘temporary path' as it was officially known), we were heartened by the weather. We hadn’t realised how strong the sun was now, having being shielded by the trees. We took long draughts of water, consulted the G.P.S. as to our position and realised that we had lost about an hour in the forest. Now though, we were back on solid ground so progress was a lot easier and the views were more than wood! We actually saw our first eagle. Colin spotted it, and thought it was a buzzard (just like he did on the West Highland way - he NEVER learns!). I examined it through the binoculars to confirm what it was. Well, we’d seen our first eagle but it was day three and we hadn’t heard a piper, nor seen haggis. I thought I had seen a wild one in the trees, but they’re such shy little creatures, you can’t be sure.
At three o’clock, Mrs Wilson’s’ breakfast finally ran out of steam and we had to consult the packed lunches she had made us for energy. They were very good too, ham, tuna, cheese, fruit, and she had packed us Mars bars (my favourite). This was double yummy for me, as Colin isn't allowed Mars bars.
The afternoon turned a bit chilly, so we put on our fleeces. The G.P.S. said we were about two and a half miles from Bargrennan, but the path was so up and down in front of us that it was probably more like five miles. That’s my only beef with G.P.S., it only talks in straight lines!
We passed a small place that was being restored. It was almost done too. The views from their windows were stupendous. I suppose it was a lonely farmhouse, with some poor soul eking out a living once, but now it was probably yet another holiday cottage. The path now descended and we joined another quiet Tarmac road. At map reference 295,718 there was a place doing B&B, and they displayed the ‘walkers welcome’ sign. I suppose bacon sandwiches would be no problem here, as they had about ten pigs roaming around the garden!
The view really opened up from here on, and the sky, with its stormy disposition, made it all the more dramatic. Although the day had been long, it was a very enjoyable part of the walk and when we finally topped the hill, we were surprised at the good condition the trig’ point was in. It looked as though it had been freshly painted. It reminded me of the sad state the ones at home are being allowed to get into. The 'powers that be' have decided not to maintain them anymore. Some lucky ones are ‘adopted’ and kept in good nick, but they were the exception rather than the rule. At this point we both agreed that it was here the walk started. The last couple of days had been hard and not very interesting, but now- WOW!
We reached Bargrennan at 6:10pm. It’s further than it looks from the top of the hill, as the path meanders about quite a lot. The search for Limetree House commenced thus; stand still - look around. Bargrennan is a small place so you don’t have to waste much time exploring. A sign in a garden (which we will come to in greater detail later) pointed us up the church driveway, where there was a fork to Limetree House gates. You can not prepare yourself for the shock of Limetree House. The gates should give it away really, huge and well maintained as they are. We almost expected the Heavenly Choir to start singing as they swung open to reveal the stunning house and gardens. We crunched along the gravel drive and up to the front door to be greeted by a smiling Jan Atkinson. We were beckoned, and stepped inside the cosseting womb that is Limetree House, onto the only thing which identified us as walkers - newspaper for our boots. Personally, I would have preferred a wooden raft to prevent them sinking into the carpet pile and getting lost. I must have had better welcomes, but I just can’t remember when! We were shown to our room and left with a promise of ‘tea in the sitting room in ten minutes’. We waded around in the bedroom carpet for a while, wondering if we had been mistaken for foreign diplomats and given the state room by accident, but apparently this sort of treatment is meted out to all by the Atkinsons'. We hadn’t met Mr A’ yet, so perhaps he was a right miserable git, and all this was in compensation for his disagreeable disposition. Perhaps he was some demented axe murderer, and all this was to make us at ease before he ‘came to us’ in the night. We decided it had worked and, completely at ease, we went down to tea.
We sat in the lounge, wondering where the other six people were that were supposed to eat the rest of the cakes and biscuits, when a smiling Paul came in. He was quite normal! In fact he was just as nice as Jan. I asked them what they were doing inviting scruffy walkers into this kind of alien environment. They then said something really nice. They said walkers were the best kind of people. All they need is a shower, a comfortable bed and a good breakfast. They are always knackered, so come home and go to bed at a reasonable hour, and they’d never had a bad report from one yet.
Colin and I asked about an evening meal, and they told us of the local pub, the ‘House ‘o Hill’. In retrospect, this was very magnanimous of them, as I wouldn’t have acknowledged the place if I had been them.
Before we left we were given a breakfast menu choice to fill out. I am half expecting Jan to be there in the morning when I open my eyes, waiting with a cup of tea. THIS is how ALL B&B's should be - take note!
We walked down the quiet drive and across the road and headed for the pub. It is only a short walk. It’s not too impressive looking from the outside, but any port in a storm, eh?
We walked in and I would say were greeted, but it was more like confronted, by the landlord. I have never met such a cold fish in all my life. I tried to make pleasant conversation, but was greeted by monosyllabic answers, and an expressionless, fed up looking face. We enquired about some food, and were told it would take a while, as we were the first ones in. When the food came, I would like to say it was awful, but it wasn’t bad. It was fair for what we paid, and the beer was quite drinkable. The snooker was on telly, so we all sat in the bar watching it. Over the evening I gleaned he was not Scottish. In fact he was from Mansfield, about eight miles down the road from where I live. What had the world done to this man to make him so dour? All night there were only about four more people came in, but they were quite normal.
We made our way back to Limetree House, grumbling about him and his disposition. Colin said if there’d have been anywhere else to go, he would have turned around and walked out.
We got back and Paul and Jan were still up. Paul came out to us and asked us how we’d got on. As we recounted our story, he smiled wryly. He told us he was barred from going in himself, along with the guy who used to own it before ‘Mr Happy’. The guy who used to own it lived in the house at the end of the road, the one with the sign in the garden pointing people to Limetree House. Apparently it used to have a sign pointing to the ‘House ‘o Hill’, but it blew down. For months the man who used to own it was ringing ‘Mr Happy’ and asking him to re-erect it. He never did so Paul asked if he could put a sign up to his house to guide his guests. He said yes, and Paul put one up. The next time the guy went in the pub he was told by ‘Mr Happy’; “You’re barred, and tell him he needn’t come in again either”! So now Paul has to travel about twelve miles if he wants to go for a pint. All the locals say he has taken the heart out of the village by doing what he’s done but in his own words; “I don’t care about the locals, I can make my money by fleecing the tourists”. And some of the tales we were to hear along the way only went to reinforce this.
An expectedly comfortable night was had in the ‘Laura Ashley room’. I expected breakfast to be small and neat, well it was neat all right, but so big and scrumptious that I can’t describe it - go and find out for yourself.
Monday April 27th. Bargrennan to Ref. 543,789 - 18 miles (approx.)
To split today up into three manageable bits, instead of a 27 and a 25 mile day, the Lochinvar hotel do a service where they pick you up at the end of about seventeen miles, then take you to the hotel. The next day you are dropped back at the same spot, you walk back to the hotel for lunch, and are taken forward to walk back to the hotel again. The next morning you are dropped off at the same place and walk on. It sounds complicated but it works. Before we left Limetree, Colin rang the Lochinvar to arrange a pick up time. I was talking to Paul so I didn’t pay much attention. We took a picture of Paul and Jan standing in the sunshine on their front step, and Paul then showed us around his workshop where he ‘tinkers about a bit’ as he put it. His tinkering produced some very nice Welsh dressers (why not Scottish dressers?) and sets of drawers. Is envy a sin? I think it is, forgive me O Lord, for I have sinned.
When we finally managed to drag ourselves away, it was half past nine! Paul told us it was a nice section ahead, so we set off with a spring in our step and the sunshine on our backs. There was the ‘breakfast hill’ to tackle, but the path soon eased into a steady climb.
The birds were singing loudly, the rays of the sun were shafting through the trees and we were overcome by a feeling of well being. How can anyone hate Mondays when you can have one like this. It was just as if God had said to himself; ‘you two are obviously going to do this walk whatever so here, have a perfect B&B followed by a perfect day'. Days like this are difficult to describe in words. It makes the hairs on my arm stand up just trying! As we left the forest, the mountains just zoomed at us and it was all a bit much to take in. The clouds were just hanging on the tops, the sky was a dazzling blue and the sun seemed to have a little extra quality about it today and the forest was alive with the sound of the birds. It really was almost too perfect a day. We stopped at a clearing and had a drink. The water was lovely. We had filled our bottles at Limetree, and were told that Bargrennan was not on mains water! Everyone had his or her own well. Unfortunately, there isn’t enough to sell, as it usually just lasts over summer. They have run out a couple of times in recent years, but somehow I think there’ll be a surfeit this year. Up to now it had been the wettest April on record, but we weren’t complaining as it had turned into perfection since we arrived. Although slow starting, this walk was now really beginning to take off.
We passed a small, still pond. There must have been millions of midges (some with Paul and Jan’s name on) just waiting to hatch. This was the main reason we came to Scotland at this time of year, as they hadn’t hatched out yet. Scotland can be paradise at times, but the midges are the other side of the coin.
The next section of the walk goes along the banks of the water of Trool. Another very pleasant location complimented by the weather. The water is dark and peaty looking and meanders in a most agreeable fashion. Some of the meanders have large eddies which look as though they would be productive to fish in. It also looked a bit sinister if you tried to penetrate the surface, as it was so black as to prevent this. It was tempting to take too many photos here, as because we had been denied this kind of beauty the last couple of days, we were forever taking ‘just one more’.
Almost all the stiles and wooden bridges on this walk have had chicken wire underfoot to aid grip, but for some reason, here in Glenn Trool there is none. This takes you by surprise, and could be dangerous if you slipped.
The Water of Trool is the fastest, most active water we have walked alongside since the walk began. It gave me the chance to be more creative and use the S.L.R. camera I had lugged along with me. At this moment, my advice to anyone intending to walk this path would be to catch a bus to Bargrennan, spend three nights at Limetree House, and then set off walking. If you read the instructions to the walk, you can pretend you’ve done it!
At about eleven o’clock we met someone else, a rare thing on this walk. It was a lone Scotsman and his Alsatian dog. We started to chat and the dog kept growling. This guy was huge, and although he hardly seemed to put any effort into it, he gave the dog a back-hander, which fairly ‘clonked’ on the poor animal's head. Mind you, if you’d have seen the size of his hands! He reminded me of a heavyweight boxer. The dog quickly shut up. Within a minute of chatting about this and that, the conversation turned to the disagreeable creature at the House o’ Hill. He said he knew of the man, and he avoided the pub whenever possible, as did a lot of people. It was beginning to seem like word of this famous 'man of misery' was spreading all over Scotland!
At 11:30 the sun just disappeared and it started to rain lightly. As it looked more than just a shower, and as it was early in the day, we put on all our waterproofs. At about ten to twelve we reached a caravan site on the edge of Loch Trool.
When we eventually emerged from our ordeal (or ‘temporary path' as it was officially known), we were heartened by the weather. We hadn’t realised how strong the sun was now, having being shielded by the trees. We took long draughts of water, consulted the G.P.S. as to our position and realised that we had lost about an hour in the forest. Now though, we were back on solid ground so progress was a lot easier and the views were more than wood! We actually saw our first eagle. Colin spotted it, and thought it was a buzzard (just like he did on the West Highland way - he NEVER learns!). I examined it through the binoculars to confirm what it was. Well, we’d seen our first eagle but it was day three and we hadn’t heard a piper, nor seen haggis. I thought I had seen a wild one in the trees, but they’re such shy little creatures, you can’t be sure.
At three o’clock, Mrs Wilson’s’ breakfast finally ran out of steam and we had to consult the packed lunches she had made us for energy. They were very good too, ham, tuna, cheese, fruit, and she had packed us Mars bars (my favourite). This was double yummy for me, as Colin isn't allowed Mars bars.
The afternoon turned a bit chilly, so we put on our fleeces. The G.P.S. said we were about two and a half miles from Bargrennan, but the path was so up and down in front of us that it was probably more like five miles. That’s my only beef with G.P.S., it only talks in straight lines!
We passed a small place that was being restored. It was almost done too. The views from their windows were stupendous. I suppose it was a lonely farmhouse, with some poor soul eking out a living once, but now it was probably yet another holiday cottage. The path now descended and we joined another quiet Tarmac road. At map reference 295,718 there was a place doing B&B, and they displayed the ‘walkers welcome’ sign. I suppose bacon sandwiches would be no problem here, as they had about ten pigs roaming around the garden!
The view really opened up from here on, and the sky, with its stormy disposition, made it all the more dramatic. Although the day had been long, it was a very enjoyable part of the walk and when we finally topped the hill, we were surprised at the good condition the trig’ point was in. It looked as though it had been freshly painted. It reminded me of the sad state the ones at home are being allowed to get into. The 'powers that be' have decided not to maintain them anymore. Some lucky ones are ‘adopted’ and kept in good nick, but they were the exception rather than the rule. At this point we both agreed that it was here the walk started. The last couple of days had been hard and not very interesting, but now- WOW!
We reached Bargrennan at 6:10pm. It’s further than it looks from the top of the hill, as the path meanders about quite a lot. The search for Limetree House commenced thus; stand still - look around. Bargrennan is a small place so you don’t have to waste much time exploring. A sign in a garden (which we will come to in greater detail later) pointed us up the church driveway, where there was a fork to Limetree House gates. You can not prepare yourself for the shock of Limetree House. The gates should give it away really, huge and well maintained as they are. We almost expected the Heavenly Choir to start singing as they swung open to reveal the stunning house and gardens. We crunched along the gravel drive and up to the front door to be greeted by a smiling Jan Atkinson. We were beckoned, and stepped inside the cosseting womb that is Limetree House, onto the only thing which identified us as walkers - newspaper for our boots. Personally, I would have preferred a wooden raft to prevent them sinking into the carpet pile and getting lost. I must have had better welcomes, but I just can’t remember when! We were shown to our room and left with a promise of ‘tea in the sitting room in ten minutes’. We waded around in the bedroom carpet for a while, wondering if we had been mistaken for foreign diplomats and given the state room by accident, but apparently this sort of treatment is meted out to all by the Atkinsons'. We hadn’t met Mr A’ yet, so perhaps he was a right miserable git, and all this was in compensation for his disagreeable disposition. Perhaps he was some demented axe murderer, and all this was to make us at ease before he ‘came to us’ in the night. We decided it had worked and, completely at ease, we went down to tea.
We sat in the lounge, wondering where the other six people were that were supposed to eat the rest of the cakes and biscuits, when a smiling Paul came in. He was quite normal! In fact he was just as nice as Jan. I asked them what they were doing inviting scruffy walkers into this kind of alien environment. They then said something really nice. They said walkers were the best kind of people. All they need is a shower, a comfortable bed and a good breakfast. They are always knackered, so come home and go to bed at a reasonable hour, and they’d never had a bad report from one yet.
Colin and I asked about an evening meal, and they told us of the local pub, the ‘House ‘o Hill’. In retrospect, this was very magnanimous of them, as I wouldn’t have acknowledged the place if I had been them.
Before we left we were given a breakfast menu choice to fill out. I am half expecting Jan to be there in the morning when I open my eyes, waiting with a cup of tea. THIS is how ALL B&B's should be - take note!
We walked down the quiet drive and across the road and headed for the pub. It is only a short walk. It’s not too impressive looking from the outside, but any port in a storm, eh?
We walked in and I would say were greeted, but it was more like confronted, by the landlord. I have never met such a cold fish in all my life. I tried to make pleasant conversation, but was greeted by monosyllabic answers, and an expressionless, fed up looking face. We enquired about some food, and were told it would take a while, as we were the first ones in. When the food came, I would like to say it was awful, but it wasn’t bad. It was fair for what we paid, and the beer was quite drinkable. The snooker was on telly, so we all sat in the bar watching it. Over the evening I gleaned he was not Scottish. In fact he was from Mansfield, about eight miles down the road from where I live. What had the world done to this man to make him so dour? All night there were only about four more people came in, but they were quite normal.
We made our way back to Limetree House, grumbling about him and his disposition. Colin said if there’d have been anywhere else to go, he would have turned around and walked out.
We got back and Paul and Jan were still up. Paul came out to us and asked us how we’d got on. As we recounted our story, he smiled wryly. He told us he was barred from going in himself, along with the guy who used to own it before ‘Mr Happy’. The guy who used to own it lived in the house at the end of the road, the one with the sign in the garden pointing people to Limetree House. Apparently it used to have a sign pointing to the ‘House ‘o Hill’, but it blew down. For months the man who used to own it was ringing ‘Mr Happy’ and asking him to re-erect it. He never did so Paul asked if he could put a sign up to his house to guide his guests. He said yes, and Paul put one up. The next time the guy went in the pub he was told by ‘Mr Happy’; “You’re barred, and tell him he needn’t come in again either”! So now Paul has to travel about twelve miles if he wants to go for a pint. All the locals say he has taken the heart out of the village by doing what he’s done but in his own words; “I don’t care about the locals, I can make my money by fleecing the tourists”. And some of the tales we were to hear along the way only went to reinforce this.
An expectedly comfortable night was had in the ‘Laura Ashley room’. I expected breakfast to be small and neat, well it was neat all right, but so big and scrumptious that I can’t describe it - go and find out for yourself.
Monday April 27th. Bargrennan to Ref. 543,789 - 18 miles (approx.)
To split today up into three manageable bits, instead of a 27 and a 25 mile day, the Lochinvar hotel do a service where they pick you up at the end of about seventeen miles, then take you to the hotel. The next day you are dropped back at the same spot, you walk back to the hotel for lunch, and are taken forward to walk back to the hotel again. The next morning you are dropped off at the same place and walk on. It sounds complicated but it works. Before we left Limetree, Colin rang the Lochinvar to arrange a pick up time. I was talking to Paul so I didn’t pay much attention. We took a picture of Paul and Jan standing in the sunshine on their front step, and Paul then showed us around his workshop where he ‘tinkers about a bit’ as he put it. His tinkering produced some very nice Welsh dressers (why not Scottish dressers?) and sets of drawers. Is envy a sin? I think it is, forgive me O Lord, for I have sinned.
When we finally managed to drag ourselves away, it was half past nine! Paul told us it was a nice section ahead, so we set off with a spring in our step and the sunshine on our backs. There was the ‘breakfast hill’ to tackle, but the path soon eased into a steady climb.
We passed a small, still pond. There must have been millions of midges (some with Paul and Jan’s name on) just waiting to hatch. This was the main reason we came to Scotland at this time of year, as they hadn’t hatched out yet. Scotland can be paradise at times, but the midges are the other side of the coin.
The next section of the walk goes along the banks of the water of Trool. Another very pleasant location complimented by the weather. The water is dark and peaty looking and meanders in a most agreeable fashion. Some of the meanders have large eddies which look as though they would be productive to fish in. It also looked a bit sinister if you tried to penetrate the surface, as it was so black as to prevent this. It was tempting to take too many photos here, as because we had been denied this kind of beauty the last couple of days, we were forever taking ‘just one more’.
Almost all the stiles and wooden bridges on this walk have had chicken wire underfoot to aid grip, but for some reason, here in Glenn Trool there is none. This takes you by surprise, and could be dangerous if you slipped.
At 11:30 the sun just disappeared and it started to rain lightly. As it looked more than just a shower, and as it was early in the day, we put on all our waterproofs. At about ten to twelve we reached a caravan site on the edge of Loch Trool.
When I came out of the phone box, it was raining a lot harder and there was hail in with it. Paradoxically, the sun was shining as well. We climbed the path into the woods, where the famous battle of Glenn Trool was fought, and it stopped raining. We couldn’t keep the gear on, as it was so warm, so we just hung it over our sacks to dry.
A new sound now accompanied us, as we could hear the thunderous roar of a large waterfall on the opposite side of the Loch. Paul had told us about this, and said we could have walked up the other side of the Loch to get close to it. I would have liked to take that option, and would have done so had it not been for the pressing meeting we had to keep for our lift. It is a truly magnificent drop of water. It was loud enough from here, so goodness knows what it’s like when you’re at the side of it. Today would have been perfect for photos too, with the sun again shining brightly.
We passed an information board about the battle that took place here. It was strange to think that we were here now, feeling like we were in heaven, and all those years ago so many were dispatched that way violently and prematurely.
Just as we climbed the track to leave the dense woodland for a more open track, we noticed there was another waterfall opposite, but unfortunately trees mostly obscured it. What a terrible shame! It was a mighty drop of water, right from the top of the cliff and in good flow. I wish that the rangers would get the trees cut back here, as it would be a terrific viewpoint for all to see. As it was, we only got tempting glimpses of parts of the falls.
Shortly after this we left the forest to gain wide and wonderful views. At 2:00pm we chose a rock and sat down for lunch, which Jan Atkinson had prepared for us (the lunch, not the rock!). Two Chicken salad rolls with coleslaw, a mini pork pie, a Kit-Kat and an apple. Whilst we were tucking in, two people walked up and stopped for a chat. Luckily Colin and I could remember how to talk, so we passed the time of day with them. What we failed to do was ask them to take a photo of us having our lunch. The problem with not seeing anyone on this walk was that we got seldom few photos together, except when a good ‘perch’ could be found to use the self timer on the camera. Ah well, we could always wait for two more people to come by, but then I remembered - we were only here for two weeks!
We sat in the sunshine and cool breeze, looking at the shadows of the clouds running across the valley sides. It certainly makes you feel good to be in such a place as this.
It was now like walking in some Garden of Eden. Everything was just so perfect. The climb upward after lunch is a stiff one, but you can’t fail to want to do it in these conditions. The blue sky peppered with fluffy white clouds, the warm sun accompanied by a zephyr of coolness, the birds and the babbling water and, as if the views weren’t good enough, they improved even further with the appearance of Loch Dee and the uplands beyond.
Today the tranquility was broken at intervals by the jets suddenly appearing from nowhere. The first couple really made us jump, but after that we got used to it. They were upon us so quickly that I never did get a photo of one.
We made our way along the delightful path towards Black Laggan. The White Laggan bothy is a short way off the path, and the chimney was smoking invitingly but we didn’t take the detour for a look, as Colin's Achilles tendon was hurting and we still had to make good time to keep our lift rendezvous. We were to spend two nights at the Lochinvar hotel, so we could have the luxury of a day with light packs and, hopefully, this would ease Col’s problem. I was strapping it with a bandage each morning for support, but it still hurt him. We had to content ourselves with a sniff of the wood smoke and a distant photo of the bothy before pressing on.
Colin stopped to use that well-worn excuse to sit down for a minute; ‘I’ve got something in my boot’. I took a photo to remind him of this pathetic sham.
As we continued, we could hear a droning in the distance. It was obviously a plane, but I said to Colin: “Is that a plane or a bee?” He said: “It’s a bee!" I replied: “It’s a bloody big one, then”. He said: “Yeah - it’s a Bee-52!"
The next thing we saw was a seat in memory of someone who loved the area. When you’ve walked without evidence of people for such a long time, something like this is very strange. It seems too permanent for such a lonely place. I must admit though, the people who put it there chose the perfect place, as the view from it couldn’t be better.
The instruction book we were following calls this section an ‘undeniable trudge’. Yes, it all seems uphill and the path is firm underfoot, but with views like this we had to disagree and thought it probably the best bit so far. Obviously, if you go to Scotland you expect rain, so to get a day like today, in a place like today, we felt really privileged.
As we walked along, Colin asked me how much he owed me for the packed lunch. I hadn’t paid much attention to the bill when I paid it, so I got it out to look. To our astonishment, Jan had only charged us one pound each! We shook our heads and I said I would ring to thank her tonight.
We were nearing the point where we were to meet our lift so Colin turned on the G.P.S. to check our position. We didn’t need it however, as it soon became obvious we were going to reach a minor road. The impressive thing was that, as we crossed the stile and stepped onto the road, the arrival alarm on the G.P.S. told us we were there!
It was only five thirty five so we ‘unsacked’, took a few pictures, lay down on the verge and soaked up the evening sunshine.
After freshening up we went down to the lounge and we were served a meal by Laura, who was very friendly, very cheerful and very Essex! It was so strange to hear her cut glass accent among all the Scottish ones. Mind you, the landlord had a heavy Scouse accent and his wife was something like Czech, so it was getting quite cosmopolitan.
Halfway through our meal we were joined by Gerald, a charming chap who was absolutely blotto! It was hard enough to understand the accent without the alcoholic accompaniment. He went on about how he worked on a supply ship to the oil rigs, and how he’d had an argument with a shepherd in the bar and had to come away as he would have struck him. The barmaid asked Gerald not to swear, as he seemed to be doing so with regularity (about every third word). He turned to her and said; “I only said s**t, can’t I even say s**t? Aw s**t, wha’s wrong with you?" At this point Eva, the landlady, came in and told him to leave. Actually she had already told him to leave once, but he must have thought she only meant the bar, because that’s when he joined us in the lounge! He was still there when we finished our meal, so we made our excuses and went up to our room.
When we came down again about half an hour later, he was back in the bar, apparently now the best of friends with the shepherd. We sat at the bar and Laura came in and joined us. She was off duty now and wanted to see the pictures on Colin's camera. She told us she was going back to Essex for a long weekend to see her boyfriend (who was, in her own words, ‘a babe'). We asked why she didn’t get a local boyfriend, as it would be easier. With a nod towards Gerald she said; “because they all end up like him”. Later on we heard Gerald had been arrested at his home for assaulting his wife. That evening was an education, because we got to; ‘ken Lyn’.
Sometime during the evening, about 9:30 I think, the old shepherd who had been threatened by Gerald earlier on, started to get a little abusive to the landlord, Lester. To the uninitiated (i.e. us) it sounded quite serious but Lester just took it in his stride, saying things like; “you know you love me really” when things like his parentage were questioned. The shepherd even tried to remove his coat at one stage, but only proceeded to almost knock another chap's drink over, who then said: “If ye knock that over, I’ll drop ye where ye stand”. The old shepherd stood, looked, wobbled a bit, put his coat back on and walked unsteadily out, with Lester calling after him; “goodnight, see you tomorrow”.
At the end of the night, Lyn stood up to go. He was very unsteady on his feet, and we expressed some concern. I was even prepared to see him home but Lester said he managed quite well every night. I asked Lyn how far away he lived and with his sense of humour still intact, he replied: “Normally about a hundred yards, but tonight it’ll be more like three hundred! “
Tuesday April 28th. Map reference 543,789 - 639,917 (Stroanpatrick) 16 Miles (Approx.).
We had a comfortable night and breakfast was a short, sharp affair, which was over in 20 minutes. I would have loved a bit of extra toast, but none was forthcoming. Whereas at Jan & Paul’s we were struggling to get away for half past nine, here we were kicking our heels at 8:40 waiting for our lift. What happens today is that we are taken back to where we were picked up yesterday, and dropped off. We then walk to the hotel and are supposed to have lunch, then we are taken forwards about eight miles and walk back to the hotel again for our second night. We had been to a local shop and bought packed lunch stuff, so we would have it ‘out on the trail’.
It was another lovely morning as we booted up outside the Lochinvar hotel and walked around to the car. Lester was hard at work today, so his driver, Mick, gave us a lift. It was comparative luxury to recline in the leather interior of his car. It didn’t take long to get to the ‘drop zone’, even though Mick took us the pretty route, and we started walking at 9:20.
We were surprised that it took a bit of getting into this morning, even though we were carrying light packs. Our legs were still a bit stiff from yesterday.
At the top of a climb, I got my binoculars out to look for deer.
Colin: “Any deer?”
Me: “No, deer”
Colin: “Oh dear.”
At about 10:15 we reached a small clump of rocks. This was an unusual and welcome extra feature, and we used it to good purpose for photos
Today was again very remote. A lot of the walking was on forest trails, and consequently hard on the feet. We hadn’t seen a soul again so far today, even though it was a perfect day for walking. At the top of a climb we came to an old farm building which was being done up in earnest. Although miles from anywhere, it had a commanding view of the surrounding land. We peeped through the curtainless windows to see the progress. It all looked very civilised, more so than when it was a working farm, I’ll wager. At the bottom of the valley there is a large farm that displays the ‘walkers welcome’ sign. It’s at grid ref. 567,822. We reached here at 11:10am.
11:30am arrived, and the sky clouded over a little. It went cooler, but still not too cool for shorts and tee shirt. We plodded along Tarmac once again for what seemed ages. When it did eventually swing left off the road, we crossed a burn and into a soft field. It would have been nice if the walk had followed this burn more, as there were bluebells all around and marsh marigolds in abundance. We took pictures and rested awhile before moving onward. There was a lone cow in this field, and I think it must have had some recent and disagreeable contact with humans, as it was decidedly skittish. We tried to walk slowly so as not to spook it, but it ran like a crazy thing, (luckily away from us)! We skirted the edge of the field, at which it then whizzed past us and galloped to the far end of the field where we had come from.
At the top of waterside hill we could see Dalry and the Water of Ken. I kenned it was the Ken, because I looked at the map! There are fine views all around from the top, and we spent time appreciating them.
We dropped down, reaching the power generating plant at the foot of the hill. We crossed the road and skirted a very stony field on the last bit before we reached the hotel. We entered Dalry by a long suspension footbridge.
We showed him some of the pictures Colin had taken that day with his digital camera. Lyn put his hand in his pocket and took out a pair of glasses. I have never seen a pair of glasses like them before. The hinges seemed to bend in all directions, and a sober man would have struggled to put them on. When he finally managed to balance them on his nose, he looked like some demented snooker player, and he wondered why he couldn’t see. I leaned over and gently tilted them until they were right, and his face lit up as he could suddenly see the photo in front of him.
We had a pint of cool shandy and a rest. Apparently it was Lyn's birthday tomorrow, and the barmaid, obviously a friend of his, was saying he could have no more to drink. It was an education hearing Lyn trying to get one though. He was still trying when we left.
We asked how old Lyn would be tomorrow, and to our utter surprise, were told 58. Poor old Lyn, he looked all of 78! And I thought things were preserved by alcohol.
We were taken out to Stroanpatrick and dropped off. We started to walk back to the hotel at 3:00pm on yet another glorious afternoon in a part of the world that was so well known for its rain.
We had a pint of cool shandy and a rest. Apparently it was Lyn's birthday tomorrow, and the barmaid, obviously a friend of his, was saying he could have no more to drink. It was an education hearing Lyn trying to get one though. He was still trying when we left.
We asked how old Lyn would be tomorrow, and to our utter surprise, were told 58. Poor old Lyn, he looked all of 78! And I thought things were preserved by alcohol.
We were taken out to Stroanpatrick and dropped off. We started to walk back to the hotel at 3:00pm on yet another glorious afternoon in a part of the world that was so well known for its rain.
As we crested the hill, we could see a strip of Tarmac in the valley, and we knew that’s where we were headed.
We passed a signed turn to the youth hostel, but as it went downhill, I didn’t think it would seem very inviting at the end of a days walk. It was, however, set in some lovely countryside, and today it looked as lovely as ever. There was a rather unattractive bridge, from which there was a very attractive view. We stood and admired it, realising how lucky we were to be here, but with no one except ourselves to share it with. We had a cool breeze to keep us company, and the sound of Curlews and lambs was everywhere. At Earlstoun burn, it was even better. I took yet another photo, if only because the sky looked better than I had ever seen it before with huge cumulus clouds and azure blue backing.
We eventually reached the outskirts of Dalry at about 6:00pm. It was a lovely evening. The air was still warm, and we sauntered down the main street towards the hotel.
We got bathed and dressed and went down for a meal. We later went to the bar, where it was much more subdued by last nights standards. Lyn was not in, as he had gone somewhere else to celebrate his birthday. We met and chatted to a couple who were Scottish (him) and Canadian (her). They were very interesting, and most of the people in the bar joined in with the conversation from time to time. Colin went to bed at about midnight, and I was to follow shortly (but you know how it is when you get talking)!
Wednesday April 29th. Stroanpatrick to Sanquhar - 17.5 miles.
At breakfast the next morning, Colin asked what time I’d come to bed. I estimated about half past twelve. Lester let the cat out of the bag when he revealed it was nearer two in the morning. No wonder I felt a bit tired! What was worse, today we were making for Sanquhar, and it was probably the hardest day on the walk.
Breakfast was again a bit short and sharp, and we were ready for the off in no time. Lester dropped us off at Stroanpatrick, the point where we re-joined the walk. We said our goodbyes and set off at 9:00am on a pleasant, bright and cool morning. The cost of all the running around was £25. This cost was the same no matter how many of you were in the car. I thought it seemed quite fair, even cheap if there had been four of us. The service, however, is only available to hotel residents.
By 10:30am the day had become positively summery and very warm. Not to be caught out, we stopped and liberally applied sun block. As we sat doing this, we spotted our first person of the day - a shepherd on a quad bike. We didn’t see him to talk to, but we still felt he counted as a person. Ahead of us we could see lots of hills and, upon further scrutiny with the binoculars, they all had waymark posts up them!
We were plodding a little this morning. It is all a steady uphill from the word go today, and we could feel it. We took the climb up Manquill hill in our stride, which was followed by a short downhill section. However, the view forward lets you know this is a brief respite. The big pull up to the top of Ben Brack stares you in the face. It was now 10:45am, beautifully sunny, with a light breeze and high cumulus clouds - perfect for walking. Today was more like I expected upland walking to be - up! Although we were not on a track, the path underfoot was definitely laid for the purpose. It was hard and rocky, as if someone had come along here with a big lorry load of stones and steadily dropped them behind as they went along. It was very easy on the eye around us, with evidence of deciduous planting as well as broken patterns in the pine plantations.
We touched the trig’ point on Ben Brack at 12:00 o’clock exactly. Unfortunately, it was a little hazy on the horizon so not very good for photos. Still, it was great to see it with our own eyes, as they were better than any camera. The top of Ben Brack is a bit ‘plateau-ish’, so you don’t see anything close by, but there are good distance views.
Day six - still no haggis or pipers (or deer)!
We left Ben Brack in our wake and walked along a gentle ridge to Mid hill. The GPS again proved its worth, as I thought we were on Cairn hill. That was the next hill, and we were soon up it.
We stopped for lunch at the side of High Countham. We unwrapped the rolls we had ordered from the shop in Dalry. These were my kind of rolls, with really thick fillings - very good value for money. We topped them up with Scotch pie, which was filled with mutton, something I never see at home. I ‘mutton’ forget to tell my wife to get some!
The temperature was now about sixteen degrees so we re-applied the sun block before pressing on for Allen’s cairn. As we stood up, I took a couple of paces forward and was startled witless (spelling mistake) by a spaniel suddenly barking madly. Luckily he was on the opposite side of the fence to us. I didn’t realise he was accompanied until, as we got a little further, we could see a bloke asleep on the grass behind the wall. I studied him for a while through the binoc’s, as I wanted to make sure he was asleep. Satisfied, we continued, amazed that he couldn’t even be bothered to greet us as we passed.
Soon the path turned into a forest again. I couldn’t reconcile the path to the instructions and, even with a fix from the GPS, I wasn’t sure which of the two forks in front of us to take. After a long discussion, we took the left one, only to find the right one re-joined us fifty yards further on!
After leaving the forest we joined a quiet road for our next dose of Tarmac. There were a few cottages strung out along here, and we saw people in the gardens (well, person). We did actually meet someone to talk to, and he was tending to a poorly sheep in a pen (at least, that’s what he said he was doing).
The views forward turned into massive, open views of rolling hills and valleys. The walking was tough here, but extremely rewarding. There are a few good climbs, about four in all, before you start the descent to Sanquhar. You do see a town, which you imagine to be Sanquhar, but it’s not. We reached the top of the hill at 5:30, and from here you really could see the town of Sanquhar. We dropped steadily, enjoying using a different set of muscles, and crossed a footbridge. Colin spotted a rabbit, and was so determined I should see it, that we spent about ten minutes with him trying to point it out. I did eventually spot this master of camouflage, and felt vindicated to carry on.
The sky had clouded over and it started to spit with rain. We decided to get the waterproofs on, and so stopped once again. By the time we started off, it was raining quite steadily. Although it only rained for a few minutes, it was the right decision as we got quite wet. It was twenty to seven, and the skies were growing more and more angry as time passed. As we dropped down to the outskirts of Sanquhar, the sky all around was black and it looked like it was raining everywhere but where we were. We hurried on, with thunder now rolling loudly, and lightning flashing across the surrounding hills. As we crossed the bridge over the river, the heavens opened. We scurried to the nearest shelter, which was one of the information boards. They have a small roof for, I would imagine, just such an occasion. We sat on the bench looking out as the rain clattered and poured off the small roof over our heads. So near, and yet so far. Sanquhar was only a stones' throw from where we were but, if we’d tried to get there, we would have been drowned! We observed the sky. Although it was still lashing down, the edge of the huge black cloud was clearly visible and I said to Colin; “If we wait here five more minutes, I reckon it’ll stop”. We watched as the edge of the cloud slowly came towards us and, when it reached above us, the rain stopped! We made our dash for the town in dry but heavy air. Not realising exactly where the B&B was, we asked a van driver. He directed us, saying; “go to the top of the street, turn right, and the McDowall place is just next to the derelict red building”. So this was why it was only £12 per night. I shot Colin one of my ‘what have you got us in to’ looks, but said nothing. We reached Penhurst, our B&B for tonight, at about seven thirty. We were welcomed in by Andy McDowall and shown to our room. The room was lovely, large, and the beds were comfortable. Colin went for a shower, and I was just looking forward to my turn when BANG! There was a bright flash of lightning and all the lights went out. They did come on briefly, but went out again, so we utilised our little Maglite torches. We discovered that if you completely unscrew the head of them, they are just like an electric candle. Andy said we could try the local pub for a meal, or bring a take-away back, if we wanted. We decided to try the pub and set off, as it had stopped raining by now. Unfortunately the pub couldn’t serve anything, as the tills were electrically operated. When asked if we could have a drink, we were told; “only if you’ve got the right money”. I was just considering the chances of anyone having the right money for about four rounds of drinks, when we decided to leave it and went out. Alarms were going off all over the place, and the police were out checking to see it was only power failure. We considered our options and finally settled on a Chinese meal. They were cooking by candlelight and, while I waited for the food, Colin fetched some beer from the local shop. I say local, he was gone ages and when he returned I asked him why he’d been so long. Someone had told him the shop was ‘just down the road’, when it was really about 3/4 of a mile away. He also said that the end of town had got lights. Our end still hadn’t, so we made our way back to Penhurst.
We must have made two sad figures, sitting there in the conservatory with our little electric candles, eating from our silver foil cartons. Just as things were hitting a lull, in came Mary McDowall and things looked up. Now here is my kind of lady. Always laughing, good sense of humour, easy to talk to - what more can you ask for. While we were talking I heard a noise and, from the darkness of the hall passage, Andy appeared wearing one of those ‘old men’ masks. He was quite surprised that we didn’t jump as much as expected, but the bad news is, Andy, with the mask on you didn’t look much different to when you had it off!!! (Except, maybe you had more hair).
We all sat and chatted for a while, and Mary regaled us with many stories of people she’d had in her B&B (a bit like one of those cab drivers - “you’ll never guess who I had in my B&B last night....”). She was even hoping for Princess Anne to stay, as it was Sanquhar's 400th year celebrations. We had noticed all the flags up in the street, but just thought it was Mary’s welcome for us! She did actually have ‘Mr Karrimor’, of outdoor gear fame (who she tried to get a free tee shirt off), and a Concorde pilot (who she tried to get a flight off) to stay, but so far Buck House were holding out (probably worried that Mary would try to get something a bit more substantial out of Her Royal Highness, like a knighthood for Andy). Her biggest challenge lay ahead, as now we had stayed, and she was going to try and get the £12 off us!
Time passed and it was obvious the electricity wasn’t coming on again so, as we were tired, at about 10:30pm Colin and I said goodnight. We made sure to turn the light switches to ‘off’ as it was ‘sods law’ that the electricity would come on in the early hours of the morning!
Thursday April 30th. Sanquhar to Wanlockhead - 8.5 miles.
The next morning we could see our surroundings. All the flags were fluttering in the breeze and the house opposite, although the roof had fallen in and it was unoccupied, was decorated with paintings. The scenes all depicted Sanquhar over the years. We took photos from our window and went down for breakfast.
The conservatory looked a lot better with some light in it, and Colin and I were treated to one of the tastiest breakfasts and another chat with the lovely Mary. I must admit, the chat got a bit cheeky but Mary has this trick whereby she hits any wayward guest with a tea towel. The only time, she says, that she’s had to go any further was with one guest who was staying with her for a longish period, and came down one morning looking a bit depressed. When Mary enquired what was wrong, he said; “no money, no drink, no sex”, Mary thought about it and hit him with a bath towel!
We packed everything away and went downstairs to say goodbye to Mary and Andy. I really wish we were staying here longer but go we must. We had a lot of giggles outside. We were taking pictures and I stood with my arm around Mary’s shoulders and, as Colin framed the photo, said: ”This is Mary -£12 a night and worth every penny, the bed and breakfast’s not bad either!”, (followed by a loud THWACK as a tea towel hit me). We waved goodbye with Mary chuckling as we left. She said that she had seen two friends last night who were policemen, and she was going to get them to arrest us for being cheeky about her B&B. especially as, when I came to pay the bill, I asked how much we owed her and, when she said £12 each, I asked for discount because of the power cut! Just a tip for if you should stay at Mary’s place. Make sure you order an evening meal, it’s only £4, and if the breakfast is anything to go by, you can’t go wrong.
It was about five to ten when we started walking. We ambled down the street, in no rush today, as it was a sort of rest day - only 8.5 miles and all day to do it in. We visited a local shop to get something for lunch. I don’t know what it is about Sanquhar, but everything seems so cheap. We got filled rolls for next to nothing, and cake to go with it. As we were waiting for our order, the shop door opened, and two burly policemen walked in. I burst out laughing and said; “ ‘ello, ‘ello, ’ello, - has Mary sent you?” They just looked sternly at me, and the laugh was on me as they had only come in for something to eat, the same as us. I explained about Mary and they saw the funny side of it. I thought she had set us up for our cheek, but it was just a coincidence.
After the flat walk along the main street we left Sanquhar by, you’ve guessed it, a hill. The track went steeply up the valley side. It wasn’t long, though, before we were walking along a flat, grassy track. The curlews were again singing their heads off this morning and it was lovely to hear them. The sun was out and there was a stiff breeze. It was cool but comfortable to walk in. We could see hills ahead, - hills that we would probably be crossing to get to Wanlockhead.
At about 11:00am it did cloud over quite suddenly, and we expected it to rain but, although the wind got up quite strongly, it stayed dry. I did have to change into a windproof jacket though, because as we gained height, the temperature fell and the wind chill became too much for just a fleece.
We reached a point where there is a choice of which way to go. A woodland route (alternative), or hill route (official). We chose the official route, as we had seen enough trees. Just over the stile there is an old ruin. We agreed it had ‘lunch’ written all over it, so went to sit in its shelter. We had just sat down and got the food out when there was a clatter and whoosh, and a large owl flew out of the rafters and into the nearby trees. We decided it may be nesting, so finished lunch quickly and moved on.
As we had dropped down into a valley for lunch, it followed that we now faced a climb. It is a long, steady pull up Highmill Knowe hill. The sky was looking quite threatening, but so far so good. If it did rain, there was no shelter at all here as we were on open ground.
I knew we couldn’t be far from Wanlockhead now, and we caught our first sight of the industrialism of the valley as we topped the ridge.
It’s very obvious man has laid his hand on this valley. There are spoil heaps and bits of building shells all over the place. It has been mined heavily over the years, but now relies almost solely on tourism. There are guided tours around the old mine workings, a craft centre, cafe - you know the sort of thing.
Soon the path turned into a forest again. I couldn’t reconcile the path to the instructions and, even with a fix from the GPS, I wasn’t sure which of the two forks in front of us to take. After a long discussion, we took the left one, only to find the right one re-joined us fifty yards further on!
After leaving the forest we joined a quiet road for our next dose of Tarmac. There were a few cottages strung out along here, and we saw people in the gardens (well, person). We did actually meet someone to talk to, and he was tending to a poorly sheep in a pen (at least, that’s what he said he was doing).
The views forward turned into massive, open views of rolling hills and valleys. The walking was tough here, but extremely rewarding. There are a few good climbs, about four in all, before you start the descent to Sanquhar. You do see a town, which you imagine to be Sanquhar, but it’s not. We reached the top of the hill at 5:30, and from here you really could see the town of Sanquhar. We dropped steadily, enjoying using a different set of muscles, and crossed a footbridge. Colin spotted a rabbit, and was so determined I should see it, that we spent about ten minutes with him trying to point it out. I did eventually spot this master of camouflage, and felt vindicated to carry on.
The sky had clouded over and it started to spit with rain. We decided to get the waterproofs on, and so stopped once again. By the time we started off, it was raining quite steadily. Although it only rained for a few minutes, it was the right decision as we got quite wet. It was twenty to seven, and the skies were growing more and more angry as time passed. As we dropped down to the outskirts of Sanquhar, the sky all around was black and it looked like it was raining everywhere but where we were. We hurried on, with thunder now rolling loudly, and lightning flashing across the surrounding hills. As we crossed the bridge over the river, the heavens opened. We scurried to the nearest shelter, which was one of the information boards. They have a small roof for, I would imagine, just such an occasion. We sat on the bench looking out as the rain clattered and poured off the small roof over our heads. So near, and yet so far. Sanquhar was only a stones' throw from where we were but, if we’d tried to get there, we would have been drowned! We observed the sky. Although it was still lashing down, the edge of the huge black cloud was clearly visible and I said to Colin; “If we wait here five more minutes, I reckon it’ll stop”. We watched as the edge of the cloud slowly came towards us and, when it reached above us, the rain stopped! We made our dash for the town in dry but heavy air. Not realising exactly where the B&B was, we asked a van driver. He directed us, saying; “go to the top of the street, turn right, and the McDowall place is just next to the derelict red building”. So this was why it was only £12 per night. I shot Colin one of my ‘what have you got us in to’ looks, but said nothing. We reached Penhurst, our B&B for tonight, at about seven thirty. We were welcomed in by Andy McDowall and shown to our room. The room was lovely, large, and the beds were comfortable. Colin went for a shower, and I was just looking forward to my turn when BANG! There was a bright flash of lightning and all the lights went out. They did come on briefly, but went out again, so we utilised our little Maglite torches. We discovered that if you completely unscrew the head of them, they are just like an electric candle. Andy said we could try the local pub for a meal, or bring a take-away back, if we wanted. We decided to try the pub and set off, as it had stopped raining by now. Unfortunately the pub couldn’t serve anything, as the tills were electrically operated. When asked if we could have a drink, we were told; “only if you’ve got the right money”. I was just considering the chances of anyone having the right money for about four rounds of drinks, when we decided to leave it and went out. Alarms were going off all over the place, and the police were out checking to see it was only power failure. We considered our options and finally settled on a Chinese meal. They were cooking by candlelight and, while I waited for the food, Colin fetched some beer from the local shop. I say local, he was gone ages and when he returned I asked him why he’d been so long. Someone had told him the shop was ‘just down the road’, when it was really about 3/4 of a mile away. He also said that the end of town had got lights. Our end still hadn’t, so we made our way back to Penhurst.
We must have made two sad figures, sitting there in the conservatory with our little electric candles, eating from our silver foil cartons. Just as things were hitting a lull, in came Mary McDowall and things looked up. Now here is my kind of lady. Always laughing, good sense of humour, easy to talk to - what more can you ask for. While we were talking I heard a noise and, from the darkness of the hall passage, Andy appeared wearing one of those ‘old men’ masks. He was quite surprised that we didn’t jump as much as expected, but the bad news is, Andy, with the mask on you didn’t look much different to when you had it off!!! (Except, maybe you had more hair).
We all sat and chatted for a while, and Mary regaled us with many stories of people she’d had in her B&B (a bit like one of those cab drivers - “you’ll never guess who I had in my B&B last night....”). She was even hoping for Princess Anne to stay, as it was Sanquhar's 400th year celebrations. We had noticed all the flags up in the street, but just thought it was Mary’s welcome for us! She did actually have ‘Mr Karrimor’, of outdoor gear fame (who she tried to get a free tee shirt off), and a Concorde pilot (who she tried to get a flight off) to stay, but so far Buck House were holding out (probably worried that Mary would try to get something a bit more substantial out of Her Royal Highness, like a knighthood for Andy). Her biggest challenge lay ahead, as now we had stayed, and she was going to try and get the £12 off us!
Time passed and it was obvious the electricity wasn’t coming on again so, as we were tired, at about 10:30pm Colin and I said goodnight. We made sure to turn the light switches to ‘off’ as it was ‘sods law’ that the electricity would come on in the early hours of the morning!
Thursday April 30th. Sanquhar to Wanlockhead - 8.5 miles.
The next morning we could see our surroundings. All the flags were fluttering in the breeze and the house opposite, although the roof had fallen in and it was unoccupied, was decorated with paintings. The scenes all depicted Sanquhar over the years. We took photos from our window and went down for breakfast.
The conservatory looked a lot better with some light in it, and Colin and I were treated to one of the tastiest breakfasts and another chat with the lovely Mary. I must admit, the chat got a bit cheeky but Mary has this trick whereby she hits any wayward guest with a tea towel. The only time, she says, that she’s had to go any further was with one guest who was staying with her for a longish period, and came down one morning looking a bit depressed. When Mary enquired what was wrong, he said; “no money, no drink, no sex”, Mary thought about it and hit him with a bath towel!
We packed everything away and went downstairs to say goodbye to Mary and Andy. I really wish we were staying here longer but go we must. We had a lot of giggles outside. We were taking pictures and I stood with my arm around Mary’s shoulders and, as Colin framed the photo, said: ”This is Mary -£12 a night and worth every penny, the bed and breakfast’s not bad either!”, (followed by a loud THWACK as a tea towel hit me). We waved goodbye with Mary chuckling as we left. She said that she had seen two friends last night who were policemen, and she was going to get them to arrest us for being cheeky about her B&B. especially as, when I came to pay the bill, I asked how much we owed her and, when she said £12 each, I asked for discount because of the power cut! Just a tip for if you should stay at Mary’s place. Make sure you order an evening meal, it’s only £4, and if the breakfast is anything to go by, you can’t go wrong.
It was about five to ten when we started walking. We ambled down the street, in no rush today, as it was a sort of rest day - only 8.5 miles and all day to do it in. We visited a local shop to get something for lunch. I don’t know what it is about Sanquhar, but everything seems so cheap. We got filled rolls for next to nothing, and cake to go with it. As we were waiting for our order, the shop door opened, and two burly policemen walked in. I burst out laughing and said; “ ‘ello, ‘ello, ’ello, - has Mary sent you?” They just looked sternly at me, and the laugh was on me as they had only come in for something to eat, the same as us. I explained about Mary and they saw the funny side of it. I thought she had set us up for our cheek, but it was just a coincidence.
After the flat walk along the main street we left Sanquhar by, you’ve guessed it, a hill. The track went steeply up the valley side. It wasn’t long, though, before we were walking along a flat, grassy track. The curlews were again singing their heads off this morning and it was lovely to hear them. The sun was out and there was a stiff breeze. It was cool but comfortable to walk in. We could see hills ahead, - hills that we would probably be crossing to get to Wanlockhead.
At about 11:00am it did cloud over quite suddenly, and we expected it to rain but, although the wind got up quite strongly, it stayed dry. I did have to change into a windproof jacket though, because as we gained height, the temperature fell and the wind chill became too much for just a fleece.
We reached a point where there is a choice of which way to go. A woodland route (alternative), or hill route (official). We chose the official route, as we had seen enough trees. Just over the stile there is an old ruin. We agreed it had ‘lunch’ written all over it, so went to sit in its shelter. We had just sat down and got the food out when there was a clatter and whoosh, and a large owl flew out of the rafters and into the nearby trees. We decided it may be nesting, so finished lunch quickly and moved on.
As we had dropped down into a valley for lunch, it followed that we now faced a climb. It is a long, steady pull up Highmill Knowe hill. The sky was looking quite threatening, but so far so good. If it did rain, there was no shelter at all here as we were on open ground.
I knew we couldn’t be far from Wanlockhead now, and we caught our first sight of the industrialism of the valley as we topped the ridge.
We followed the Tarmac towards the village, which is surprisingly large, and it’s other ‘claim to fame’ is that it’s the highest village in Scotland.
We reached the centre of the village at about three o’clock. A party was just entering the bowels of the Earth for the last mine tour of the day. We had a quick look in the craft centre and got directions to ‘the old garage’ B&B.
After tea, we set off in search of re-hydration. There is actually an hotel in Wanlockhead, but its got a bit of a dodgy reputation. Sometimes it’s open, and sometimes it’s not. There is also a working men's' club. This was the place to go, we were told, so we set off to find it.
We made a couple of ‘phone calls and, at opening time, (eight o’clock) we sought out the aforementioned club. Not very elegant looking from the outside, we wondered what we were letting ourselves in for, but inside it was quite nice. It was all clad with wood and there was a bar and a grand old-style type ballroom (complete with mirror ball on the ceiling). The walk down was cool in the dying rays of the evening sun, so we were grateful to find a large fire burning in the hearth. The locals were all friendly, as usual, and we spent the evening in pleasant exchanges with them.
The trusty torches lit our way home and we tucked up into our comfortable beds, ready for the long day to follow.
Friday May 1st. Wanlockhead to Beattock - 20 miles.
Awoke this morning to a surprise - there had been a really hard frost and everywhere was white over. The sun was out however, and wherever its rays caressed immediately turned green again. We dressed and went into the breakfast room to await Mrs W’s attentions. It was a cold morning and we discussed what to wear as, even though we were in the highest village, the ‘breakfast hills’ awaited us. I was sticking with the shorts, but would put my fleece on to start with. Colin decided to do the same, as we were quite cool even inside.
After breakfast we made ready, said thank you and goodbye to Mrs Williamson and set off walking at 8:20am. We passed the old dilapidated looking hotel and crossed the now defunct railway line at Wanlockhead station. There was a plaque set up by some rail society, so perhaps they’re trying to re-open it. I would have considered waiting for it, but even if it was re-opening, it was heading in the wrong direction for us. It sort of went along the valley, whereas we always seemed to be heading in the same direction - up!
The Lowther hills beckoned, and we watched the radar station loom ever larger as we steadily approached it. The wind was understandably stronger now we were reaching the heights of the hills. The temperature was five degrees. It was a two-coat job, but a lovelier morning would be hard to order.
As you skirt to the right of the station, the way ahead looks painfully hilly. I have seen this phenomenon before, where you can see a hillside opposite and in it the dotted brown marks going vertically up. This is where a succession of people had put their feet and worn steps into the hillside. This is usually on the steeper slopes. I think that new or contrived ‘ways’ tend to go straight up such hillsides, where an older path or drove road would do the sensible thing and meander.
With the cool wind this morning, eyes and noses were a bit runny. We stood at the top of a hill and paused to get our breath. I blew my nose for the umpteenth time, and Colin stood and said: “It just goes on and on, doesn’t it?" I finished my wipe and explained it was the wind that made your eyes water, which made your nose run. He paused for a few seconds and said: “I meant the view!"
We descended an unbelievably steep slope, which I would imagine is almost impossible to negotiate in wet weather. Each time we came to a downhill, Colin would mutter; “pleasure”. Conversely, when we started the up bits, he would say; “pain”. We started to apply this simple differentiate to lots of things. It had me worried though, when Colin looked at a sheep and said; “pleasure”! He’s been away from home too long.
At about ten thirty, we sat down for elevenses (?). Whilst I was watching the video last night, a hen harrier was shown in close up and its call played. I said to Colin; “I’ll remember that, just in case we see or hear one”. Well, as we sat against the wall in silence, a hen harrier flew right over us, calling as it went. It stayed around long enough to allow scrutiny through the binoculars before winging off. I took a photo of the hills across the valley, and it came to mind that there probably wasn’t anyone on those hills, even though it was a perfect day. They call this ‘the forgotten country’, and it’s sadly true.
As we lost height, the going became much easier with fewer ups and downs. We could see a river, which had many wide meanders. This usually indicates a flat valley floor. The temperature rose as well to about ten degrees. The next thing was we saw a bus! It was weeks since we’d seen a bus. Colin started to ask if I thought there would be a burger bar too! We finally reached the valley road at the side of Over Fingland farm. All around the farm there was a great show of daffodils and narcissi, which had already been and gone at home. Here they were in the full flush of spring.
It was a bit of a shock to the system to come across the busy road, with lorries, cars and the occasional bus tearing along it. We hadn’t seen traffic for days now but the stench was familiar. The road is reached at the side of Trawloss cottage.
He farms over three thousand acres here, and he still prefers to use a pony, shunning the ubiquitous quad favoured by so many of his peers. The pony was there, happily munching on hay and looking well. Mr McMaughan was happy to while away half an hour in chat, and we asked him if he kenned Lyn from Dalry. He didn’t, but he did ken the miserable creature who runs the House o’ Hill pub! Did this man’s infamy know no bounds?
Mr M’ asked us some questions about the walk, and asked how far we were walking today. We told him, and it put us in our place a bit when he told us he used to walk to where we were going to get to school every day! He said you didn’t see many fat kids in those days. It was time to move on, so we bade Mr McMaughan goodbye and thanked him for his friendliness. As we trod the short section of road, we were surprised at how many drivers pipped and waved to us (we checked our flies, just in case).
Soon a stile appeared on the right and we left the Tarmac to start the steady climb up into another sea of trees. The day was warm, bright and clear and the views back to the Lowther hills were stunning. Halfway up the climb, a fallen tree presented itself as lunch stop, and as it was about one o’clock, we sat down. This was a perfect position as, due to recent clearance work, we had good views. Apart from the distant hum of traffic in the valley, all we could hear was the bird song and the hornets, on whose main flight path we were apparently sitting. Lunch was a short affair, due mainly to this fact, and we were walking again before we knew it.
The path underfoot was hard, being comprised as it was of packed limestone. We followed it through the forest until eventually we emerged onto a Tarmac road. “He was ready for that!", remarked Colin. Looking down I saw the most incredible pile of dog droppings I’ve ever seen. It was curled very artistically, a bit like a fancy ice cream. It would have been funny except that it soon became obvious that someone was coming up to this beautiful spot with the dog and just letting it out here, whilst they sat in the car and ate a snack, throwing the paper out of the window before leaving. The whole area for about fifty square feet was just littered with dog muck and chocolate bar wrappers. The other thing that made this place stand out was the cardboard box we found under a tree. On examination we found it to contain about a hundred girlie magazines! We crammed as many.............I mean we left them where we found them, wondering if some irate wife had found them and dumped them here, and we were just imagining some old farmer coming home and asking his wife where his books were, to receive the reply; “in the forest - get looking”!
We walked on, and soon saw what must be the place where the litter culprit lived, a row of cottages for the Daer reservoir workers. I suggest that someone set up a camera, find the litterer and immediately sack him, re-house him in Glasgow and say; “there you are, drop your litter and dog mess here, there are street cleaners to pick it up”. Some people don’t deserve to live in the countryside, and whoever was doing this was one of them.
The path left the road and started to climb steadily along the side of the valley towards the reservoir. We lost sight of it as we skirted behind a wood but, on crossing a stile, got the most spectacular view of the glistening expanse water.
We stood up to face the rigours ahead. The sky was a completely unblemished sea of blue and, as we climbed higher towards the ridge above us, a welcome cooling breeze appeared. The going underfoot was springy, cool grass. After the forest tracks and Tarmac, I seriously felt like taking off my boots and walking barefoot in it. Halfway up the hill, a bird fluttered out from almost under my feet and flew off in a great act of faked injury. Colin said: “What’s up with that?" I looked down and there was the answer, a nest with eggs in.
At a quarter past three we finally crested the ridge and the view was really rewarding. A brand new vista of upland opened to us and, on a day like today, we could see it in all its glory. These hills we were seeing now were higher than any previous ones, and some even had snow in the corries. It reminded me of the West Highland way, where you see lots of this sort of view. We stood and drank it all in. The feeling you get on a day like this is indescribable. I even forget the euphoria myself and, even though I read back my diaries, that magic is never recaptured exactly and further visits are compulsory for a ‘top-up’ of one's senses. It’s the same with photo's, they never quite give you that buzz of actually being there, but that hadn’t stopped me from taking over 200 so far!
We carried on among the loveliness of it all. The ridge was very undulating, and the old legs were beginning to feel it now, as we had been walking for about seven plus hours. As we approached the day we were to start this walk, reports on T.V. said that April had been the wettest on record, and it wasn’t over yet, but here we were, over halfway through the walk and had the most tremendous weather anyone could ever hope for.
Although we had already eaten our packed lunches, we were beginning to feel hungry again. We decided to sit and eat our emergency bananas and flapjack to keep up the energy levels. I wondered what the difference was between ordinary food and ‘emergency’ food. Things like Kendal mint cake are always in the ‘emergency’ class, whereas certain items, i.e. chocolate, are sort of ‘ambi-class’ and can slip from a treat to ‘emergency’ at the drop of a hat. As I didn’t have any mint cake, I decided to elevate my humble banana from simply ‘spare’ to the title of ‘emergency’.
At about 4:00pm we were feeling quite foot sore. I spotted a small burn at the side of the track and, after a quick management meeting, all were in favour of a dip. It wasn’t very deep but a small engineering feat soon produced a dam and about eight inches of cool, refreshing water. We sat wiggling our toes, feet feeling better by the twiddle, and reflecting that there just weren’t enough of these burns on this walk. They were usually of the dark, dank variety, but this one was quite sparkling and clear. We wiggled away for about half an hour before, rejuvenated, we continued.
Some time later, at map reference 031,053, we crossed a track and saw a sign, which said ‘Ramblers Rest - Rivox’. This is a B&B place, I don’t know the ‘phone number, but it may help someone to know it’s here.
The next place we came to was strangely out of place. It reminded me of a man made nature reserve, looking as it did like a little Garden of Eden. It really does look strange when you come out of forestry to be confronted by this little oasis. Even the path underfoot is more pleasant here. I would imagine it’s alive with midges later on in the summer, but now it was quite idyllic.
Soon after the oasis in Moffat forest, we again joined the Tarmac. There is not much of a verge here, so you have no choice but to put sore feet to the firm surface. The walk down into Beattock can only be described as unpleasant. The view comprises mainly of a huge quarry and road works. The noise is all rail, cars and plant and the only word to describe this place is a dump. Seldom have I had a more unpleasant end to a day's walk.
We reached the Barnhill Springs guest house, which is about two miles outside Beattock, at about 7:30pm. We were made very welcome by Mr & Mrs Gray and shown our room. We had a bathroom all to ourselves just across the hallway, and proceeded to make good use of it. When we were ready, we could probably have done with a night in as we were both a bit bushed, but the only action was in Beattock itself and Mr Gray offered to run us in there, which we gratefully accepted.
Beattock was a strangely busy place. Very busy, in fact. All the pubs and eating-places seemed full, so we decided, wrongly as it happened, that the quickest solution to our hunger would be the fish and chip shop. We went in and it soon became patently obvious that they were frying to order, i.e. they took your order as you walked in and then proceeded to do it. Nothing at all was already done and this meant that, as we were about eighth in the queue, we were in there for almost three-quarters of an hour. We stood in the queue transferring weight from one sore foot to the other, all the time wishing we had done something else other than this. When we did eventually get served, the food was definitely not worth the wait but, hey, it was the only fish and chip shop in town.
After we had eaten we went to the late shop and bought supplies for the following day. We then had a quick pint and decided to go back to Barnhill. As it wasn’t even ten o’clock, we thought we would have no trouble getting a taxi but we were told that 10:45 was the first we could get. (Hey, it was the only taxi firm in town). In desperation I rang Mrs Gray who very kindly came and fetched us. I felt awful asking her, but we were so tired I don’t think we could have lasted until 10:45.
We didn’t take any rocking that night, and morning soon came. We were both very lethargic and I’m sure would have had a real late lie-in if we could have. However, breakfast and the next 21 miles beckoned so we had no choice but to get ‘up and at ‘em’
Saturday May 2nd. Beattock to St Mary’s Loch - 21 Miles.
Breakfast was served up by Mr Gray. We thanked him profusely for the lifts last night, but he wouldn’t accept any payment. The breakfast was just what we needed to set us up for the day and Mrs Gray even buttered our rolls for us. After our meal, we ‘packed and sacked’ and started walking at an early 8:15am on a bright, warm and sunny morning. After a short Tarmac section, the path climbs up the side of a grassy hill.
The instructions described a ‘handsome house’ next, and very handsome it is too. After this the path threads through a really lovely deciduous wood, full of bluebells and bird song. Along with the weather, the mood was set fair for the day. We left the wood and joined the river and walked through the meadows that skirt along it. This was what I would think was ideal Kingfisher country, so I kept my eyes peeled for the elusive native.
By nine o’clock the sky became unexpectedly overcast and covered the sun. So long as the rain kept off we weren’t complaining, as it was too warm in the strong sunshine. Now, however, it was perfect for walking. Although we didn’t see a Kingfisher, we did spot a red squirrel. He hopped across the track in front of us, picked something up and then shot up a tree. This was a good excuse to pause and recover from the long climb up into the forest.
Right in the middle of what seemed like endless forest, there was a cottage. It was called Hope cottage. By its remoteness I’d say it was neighbours they were hoping for! We passed it and continued on the climb, which had now lasted for almost two hours. It’s hard going with a big pack on and stuffy and enclosed by the nearness of the tress. Again, today was devoid of people and this part of the walk seemed even more remote than ever. We saw a deer on the track in front of us and even managed to get a photo before it ran off. There were many deer tracks on the trail, and we expected to see more of them as we went on.
The valley sides closed steeply around us and we pressed on and up the trail. We saw at least two more deer before we reached Craig Mitchen scar, which is where we had elevenses. It is a really peaceful spot and we must have looked like gnomes, sitting as we were, Colin on one side of the stile, and me perched on the other side. All was quiet except for a song thrush singing away in the trees somewhere. We got a sort of protected feel because the sides of the valley rose very steeply and were close to us, sort of cosseting us as we ate.
We followed the steadily but acceptably rising path. Just as we were getting into our stride, we saw a way marker sticking up on the side of a very steep hill in front of us - PAIN!
We were heading towards lunch now. We were planning to investigate yet another bothy. The path had become a twin-rutted track with a strip of soft, comfortable grass down the middle. As we plodded along, I noticed the strangest thing - the stream had changed direction and was now flowing with us instead of going in the opposite direction! A glance at my notes confirmed that we had just crossed the watershed, and all streams etc. would now flow in an Eastward direction along with us.
The weather had stayed overcast and cool, with not enough light for good photo for my liking, but I mustn’t complain as it was absolutely perfect for walking, which is what we came here to do, after all.
We soon reached Over Phawthorpe bothy, which our ‘hero’ Jimmy McGregor had also graced with his company, and went inside for a rest and something to eat.
It was after lunch and, as we left the bothy, we saw our first people of the day. It was a couple and their two children out for a stroll from their car, parked further down the valley, I presume. They had no packs and were just going into the bothy as we left. The thermometer was showing eight degrees, the sun had disappeared and the wind was noticeably more bitter than when we had gone in to the bothy. This was really what we wanted, as we needed to put some miles behind us and would be generating some heat for the next few hours. Top speed was facilitated by again walking on a Tarmac road. It was a quiet road, which ran along the valley floor. The river ran alongside so, apart from the hard surface, it was idyllic. The surrounding ridges also looked lovely and I couldn’t help thinking that the walk would have been far better running along the top of one of them.
The lure of the water to my right became too much and, although we were trying to press on, I flexed my leader's muscles and overruled Colin and stopped for a paddle. The water, as expected, was freezing cold but deliciously reviving to aching, hot feet. If you’ve never done this simple thing, you don’t know what you’re missing. It’s almost orgasmic to slowly master the overwhelming desire to pull your tootsies from the cold, caressing liquid but the longer you can leave them in, the more therapeutic it becomes. I can only relate it to full skinny-dipping in its appeal, except even I wouldn’t skinny-dip in water of this temperature! (I did skinny-dip the sea at 7:00pm on November the first once, in Pembrokeshire. Mind you, it was a really balmy evening and the sea was flat calm.)
Too soon the pleasure was ended and we set off along the road again. In the late section of the road walking, the burn on the right has a change of bed, and it struggled this way and that, trying to work its way between the hard limestone. It looks very pretty and sounds even better as it gurgles and splashes over the obstacles, trying to find a deep section to rest in. At about 3pm, a welcome sign appeared, pointing us into the fields on the left. Granted, the path did go straight up, but at least it was soft underfoot. A glance at the map told me we should reach Tibbie Shiels at about 6pm.
We grunted up to the top of the climb, where there was a confluence of walls. I decided a call of nature was needed, and Colin walked on while I attended to business. Halfway through, I heard the sound of a woman’s voice. I panicked and ended proceedings prematurely. When I turned around, Colin was talking to a couple. I sheepishly apologised, but they smiled and were very diplomatic.
Sods law concerning going to the toilet.
Going to the toilet, no matter how remote the situation, is always just preceded by the arrival of another human being, usually of the opposite sex.
These were the first people we had seen on the path all day and we chatted about our various experiences. The woman admired our spirit, but said that they were; “just fair weather walkers”. Without a moment's hesitation, Colin turned around and said: “Right, I’ll come with you, then!"
The rising path up the gully was a pleasure to follow. The gradient was far more acceptable now, and the rolling hills and blue sky made it all the more pleasurable. We could see evidence of old gold mine workings on the other side. They must be worked out now though, or there would have been a craft shop nearby.
After freshening up in our bijou but comfortable en suite room, we went in to the pub to sample a couple. First there was our ravenous appetite to attend to. The meals here are surprisingly cheap. A mixed grill was on offer for £5:25. Colin ordered the fish, which was the same price. Our verdict? Mine was very nice, cooked and presented well and I thought good value. I have had bigger mixed grills, but not for that price. Colin said his was tasty too, but he thought overpriced for what it was - fish, chips and a bit of salad.
We adjourned to the bar, where we were ‘entertained’ by a couple who had just driven up for a drink from about an hour away, and by Eileen the barmaid, (a Geordie lass who never stops smiling and laughing.) I can’t name the couple, for it transpired that they weren’t married (well, not to each other anyway) and they were on a lovers tryst. Apparently they did this sort of thing all the time.
After a fine evening, all the more enjoyable for no telly or juke box, we went to bed happy men. The next morning broke as if we had ordered it ourselves, and it was probably the best morning so far. There was not a cloud in the big, blue sky, whose perfection was only marred by the white slashes of jet trails. The loch was flat calm and we couldn’t wait to get up and join the day.
Sunday May 3rd. St Mary’s Loch to Traquair - 12 miles.
We sat down to breakfast at 8:30, but it was 9:00am before it came. To be fair, I think the landlord was working on his own, and he was doing a sterling job and, when it did arrive, it earned the accolade of the hottest breakfast I have ever had. The landlord had a real love of the place and, when he’d got time, told us he had been there for ten years, and still looked forward to each day. I really envy people like him who have the privilege of living somewhere like that, and really do appreciate it. It’s a rare quality and folk usually find something to moan about rather than counting their blessings. He was also a bird watcher in his spare time, so this was an even greater heaven for him because of that. I went outside to take some photo in the morning light, and the Tibbie Shiels looked even more perfect. I can recommend the place for many reasons, comfort and position being the top two. Even though everyone seemed busy, they took the time to welcome us and that goes a long way with me. What a difference between here and a place like the House o’ Hill.
We packed and said goodbye. Eileen, the barmaid, said she lived in a remote cottage in the hills, which we would be passing sometime today. She promised us a tea break and we said we’d look out for her. It was comfortably cooler outside. There were a few mountain bikers in the car park, creaking and groaning from the previous day's efforts and trying, like us, to get the old bones mobile again. Colin remarked that it was hard to get the legs going again, to which one replied that it was the their backsides they were worried about, not their legs.
“Haven’t you got those jelly-type seats?” I enquired;
“No, I’m afraid we’ve got those jelly-type arseholes”, was the reply.
We started walking late, at about 10:00am. It really was too perfect to describe now. Days like this are for the front page of life’s scrapbook. It makes my skin tingle even now just to think of that morning.
We crossed a small burn by a wooden bridge and, as we were pausing for yet another photo, heard an unexpected sound - there was an owl hooting nearby. We didn’t see him, but just stood and listened for a while to the haunting call.
At the end of the loch you are jolted back to reality by the ugly concrete structure which, I presume, is something to do with collecting power from the loch overflow. Whatever it is, it sits uncomfortably amongst the beauty around it. We crossed an equally unattractive bridge, noticing how quickly the water below us was flowing. It was ‘captive water'; held in regimental order by the concrete sluice it ran along. Further downstream it was released back into its natural state, and was far more enjoyable company.
After crossing a few fields and the road, we began the steady climb up to the remains of Dryhope tower. We recorded the ruin and crossed a stile to a track. Coming up behind us were the party of jelly-bottomed mountain bikers we had seen this morning. One of their companions was a black Labrador and, as he approached the stile, a large hare, in a seemingly kamikaze move, ran straight towards the dog. I watched as it followed what seemed to be a collision course. At the very last moment the hare shot under the gate at the side of the fence and that’s when the Lab’ noticed it. He perked at the flash of fur and made a dive at it, but the hare was like lightning as it then proceeded to run up our side of the fence, accelerating at an astounding rate. If only I had had my camera to hand, I could have got a super photo of it in full flight.
The next part of the walk is along a path, which is halfway up a ridge side. The sky was blue, but held many large clouds which, from time to time, briefly hid the sun. It was so pleasant here that we decided to take elevenses. At times like this I slip into terminal contentment and have to be forcibly ‘chivvied’ into continuing, as opposed to reclining and falling asleep in the warm sunshine.
We made our way further along the path, which dropped into the gully and across a burn. On the other side of the burn were the remains of Craig Hope tower.
It was just a pile of stones really, and I didn’t even take a photo of it. Next to it are a couple of cottages, in one of which lived Eileen, the barmaid from Tibbie Shiels Inn. We had completely forgotten her promise of last night, and were surprised with her greeting of; “ Good afternoon -tea, coffee or water?” As we had only just got up from elevenses, we declined but were more than willing to spend half an hour chatting to her and her husband. We could well afford the luxury of time today, as we had only twelve miles to do and all day to do them in.
After Craig hope, the path winds quite steeply up a track into the forest. Colin remarked that the chap who wrote the guide we were following, and described today as a ‘rest day’ either; A) took the bus. B) Got a lift, or C) took a different route from us.
After a couple of more hills, we crested one and got our first sight of Traquair (or so I thought). What you are actually looking at is Innerleithen.
The walk down is pleasant and soft underfoot, much like ordinary country walking through the fields. This soon changed as the final couple of miles are on Tarmac. We passed a sign saying ‘Traquair’ and reached a crossroads where the way goes right. It was 3:45pm on a glorious spring afternoon when we plonked down on the seat at the cross-roads and used the (very handy) telephone to ring Mrs Caird for instructions on how to get to her. She wasn’t in, but the answerphone took a message. I gave her the number of the phone box, told her the time I’d rung, and said we were going to await here for further instructions.
While we were waiting, a friendly local engaged us in conversation and told us where Traquair Bank farmhouse (Mrs Cairds’ place) was. It was down the road opposite and, just as we set off to find it, Mrs Jennifer Caird arrived in her car and picked us up.
On arrival we were shown up to our room, which was typically farmhouse (i.e. huge). The view from the window was across the fields to Innerliethen, but a river separated us from it.
She stopped playing and grabbed my hand. “Come and see the kittens, come and see the kittens” she said excitedly as she led me through the kitchen and into a utility room. There in a cardboard box, were four or five tiny kittens, with mum lying there feeding them. Next I was asked if I would like to feed the lambs later. I said I would and went back to try and find Jennifer to sort out meals, etc.
When I found her, I said; “your daughter’s just been giving me the grand tour”. “Oh, that’s not my daughter, they are guests”. They were on holiday here with their Mum and Grandma, but were so settled in they treated the place like home. Later Colin and I went to feed the lambs. What a smashing experience. The children ran to the edge of the field shouting; “Braaaamble” to the lambs which, to the consternation and loud disagreement from their mothers, came running to be fed bottles.
Bramble, as they had named one of the lambs, was obviously the favourite. Mum stood by while the babies hungrily gulped down the offering and when they'd finished they went back to their life in the fields. We also got to see lots of other animals here and there on the farm, and saw the hens, which now roosted in the trees since the fox killed several of their number and, last winter, some of them froze to the branches by their feet when the temperature dropped and couldn’t get free for a couple of days!
Jennifer said she would normally take guests into Innerleithen and fetch them back again, but she had to go and see her Mum in hospital today, so she could only take us in. No problem, we’d get a taxi back. Problem! There is not a taxi service in the town. As it was about a two mile walk back, we decided not to go.
Before she went, Jennifer did us a gigantic evening meal of roast beef and vegetables, plus home made soup and fresh fruit salad, during which she hurriedly disappeared. We spent the evening walking around outside, watching the antics of the hunting bats. In the middle of the lawn was a rather large sit-on mower. We looked at each other with the same idea in mind, and it was all we could do to resist starting it up and going in to Innerleithen on it! I played Ludo with the children but they soon started getting tired and went to bed. Later I sat watching the snooker but I too started flagging so went to bed before it had finished. When I went in the bedroom, Colin was sitting looking out of the window and across the fields to the lights of Innerleithen and the pub. I could hear him sobbing softly, dreaming of cold beer, as I turned out the light to go to sleep.
In the morning we went down to be greeted by the children, batteries now fully re-charged and up to entertainment speed. To see Danielle trying to get the shell off a boiled egg was an education. Our own breakfast was just like last nights’ meal - huge! Jennifer attended our every whim, she never seems to stop working. While we were eating, we heard a noise outside and noticed the cat climbing up the trellis with what looked like a dead rabbit in its mouth. When she came in, we told Jennifer and she said: “Oh, she’s always bringing me presents like that”. Apparently it leaves them on her bed. One up on the Milk Tray man, I’d say.
Monday May 4th - Traquair to Galashiels. 13 Miles.
Before she went, Jennifer did us a gigantic evening meal of roast beef and vegetables, plus home made soup and fresh fruit salad, during which she hurriedly disappeared. We spent the evening walking around outside, watching the antics of the hunting bats. In the middle of the lawn was a rather large sit-on mower. We looked at each other with the same idea in mind, and it was all we could do to resist starting it up and going in to Innerleithen on it! I played Ludo with the children but they soon started getting tired and went to bed. Later I sat watching the snooker but I too started flagging so went to bed before it had finished. When I went in the bedroom, Colin was sitting looking out of the window and across the fields to the lights of Innerleithen and the pub. I could hear him sobbing softly, dreaming of cold beer, as I turned out the light to go to sleep.
In the morning we went down to be greeted by the children, batteries now fully re-charged and up to entertainment speed. To see Danielle trying to get the shell off a boiled egg was an education. Our own breakfast was just like last nights’ meal - huge! Jennifer attended our every whim, she never seems to stop working. While we were eating, we heard a noise outside and noticed the cat climbing up the trellis with what looked like a dead rabbit in its mouth. When she came in, we told Jennifer and she said: “Oh, she’s always bringing me presents like that”. Apparently it leaves them on her bed. One up on the Milk Tray man, I’d say.
Monday May 4th - Traquair to Galashiels. 13 Miles.
We got all packed up and, after a long goodbye with the children trying on our ruck sacks, we set off on the next leg to Galashiels at 9:50. It was so sad to leave, and Kimberley made it even harder as her parting shot was to look up at me sadly with big forlorn eyes and say in that Scottish twang: “Are you not coming back?”. I’d like to think that one day I would.
It was drizzling very slightly and one side of the sky was black, the other bright blue. We were hoping for the latter to accompany us. We left the bluebells in the yard behind, and the cock crowed us off the premises. We walked down the road, past Traquair house again, and followed the sign to re-join the Way - up a track.
At ten past ten the sky cleared and we were treated to more of what we’d been used to. We got some great pictures of the view back, including Innerleithen, from the rising track. We reached, and inspected, Minchmore bothy. It is a purpose built structure of wood, as opposed to a renovated barn or old shepherd's dwelling, and is very neat inside and out. It’s small, with just six bunks and a table. The only thing which concerned me was that it had a bolt on the outside of the door - this could be dangerous as there was no other way out and their were no neighbours to hear you shout if you were ‘accidentally’ locked in.
It was drizzling very slightly and one side of the sky was black, the other bright blue. We were hoping for the latter to accompany us. We left the bluebells in the yard behind, and the cock crowed us off the premises. We walked down the road, past Traquair house again, and followed the sign to re-join the Way - up a track.
At ten past ten the sky cleared and we were treated to more of what we’d been used to. We got some great pictures of the view back, including Innerleithen, from the rising track. We reached, and inspected, Minchmore bothy. It is a purpose built structure of wood, as opposed to a renovated barn or old shepherd's dwelling, and is very neat inside and out. It’s small, with just six bunks and a table. The only thing which concerned me was that it had a bolt on the outside of the door - this could be dangerous as there was no other way out and their were no neighbours to hear you shout if you were ‘accidentally’ locked in.
At Minch Moor there is an arrow pointing to the very top of a hill. It is supposed to be one of the best viewpoints on the way and, as today was so clear, I was reluctant to pass it. Colin said he wasn’t bothered and would mind the sacks if I wanted to go up. That sounded like a good idea, so I left him reclining on a bank while I, with amazing ease due to my lack of baggage, shot up the steep path to the summit, there to be astounded by the enormity of the panorama. There was a couple at the top but, apart from a perfunctory greeting, they sat and I stood in silence. The perfect 360-degree view, which I stayed to enjoy for about twenty minutes, didn’t need conversation. Someone else arrived, with four dogs (God, Scotland is getting busy) just as I was leaving and, as the people who were already there had got one too, the place suddenly seemed full of dogs. I was soon back down to where Colin was starting to get a little chilled due to his inactivity. We were just about to set off again when, who should come strolling up the hill but Eileen, the barmaid from the Tibbie Shiels Inn, so we re-lived a bit of last night and she made me promise to send her a diary when it was written. As we were talking, the couple whom I’d seen on the top came down. As they walked by, the man asked Colin if I’d mentioned the fish and chip shop on top, or the free beer!
As we pressed on we could see a way ahead that the path split into two. One went up and one went down. We wondered on our destiny but I suppose it was inevitable which path we’d take, after all, it is called the ‘Upland’ way.
At Four Lords’ land the path again mercifully turns to soft grass for the climb up to three impressive cairns, known as the three brethren. We walked alongside a wood to our left, which immediately killed the cool breeze. We soon realised just how strong the sun was today as we slowly baked. We stopped and applied more sun block.
When we reached the Three Brethren, a natural lunch stop, we pulled up a rock and made ourselves comfortable.
After our repast we reluctantly arose and left the sentinels to their guard duty. The path down is steep and stony, but it seemed like the first time we’d gone downwards in days!
At a forest clearing, we saw two more walkers. Today has been the busiest day so far, and we must have seen a dozen other people.
We noticed a ‘set’ of three hills in the distance. These were called ‘The Eildon Hills', and were to dominate the view for the next day or so.
Nothing could be further from the truth, and Mayfield Bank is yet another jewel in Scotland’s B&B crown. The people are welcoming and cheerful, the room is vast and comfortable and the bathrooms (yes, one each) are the place to relax after a hard day walking. After all this luxuriating, we did a bit of washing and went down to ask Mrs Platt if she could dry it for us. She kindly agreed. She asked how we had been finding the walk, and when Colin commented about his foot and knee problems, she quickly offered to take his pack to Lauder for him the following day. On further discussion we decided to load all the excess stuff into a spare bag, and just carry what we needed for the day. This settled, we sallied forth to the greatest choice of eating out so far.
Galashiels is quite a large town, so we surveyed the possibilities for food and went to a bar to discuss them. We had a couple of pints, and I had a game of pool with a local, who absolutely destroyed me! Chinese came out top of the ‘really fancy’ list, so we left the pub to eat.
The restaurant was quite big, but we were the only customers. We were getting quite accustomed to being on our own, but it seemed odd to be sitting here with more staff than customers! We were tended to hand and foot by the cheerful little waitress. The food was very good but, as usual in these places, the beer was very expensive.
Tuesday May 5th. Galashiels to Lauder-14 miles.
We didn’t take any rocking that night, and the morning soon came. We packed all the spare kit into the large polythene bag, and I was amazed at the weight of it as I struggled to carry it downstairs. I couldn’t believe we were actually lugging this weight on our backs! It’s incredible how a few bits and bobs add up to this sort of load.
Breakfast was served in a lovely room set aside for just this purpose, and I couldn’t fault it. Our washing was dried and neatly folded by Mrs P’ ready for us to pick up. Mr Platt told us he used to be a headmaster in Hawick, but was now ‘retired’ to this life. He showed great interest in Colins’ digital camera, and I think he’s probably got one by now, the way he was enthusing over it!
We took our parting photo and set off walking at 9:20. Of course, this entailed a steep hill, and the surprising thing was that, although we had lightened our packs considerably, we didn’t seem to be feeling a lot of benefit.
We soon left the fields and walked through the industrial outskirts on an old railway bed (Tarmac, of course). The sky was bright, and the sun warm as we walked along the banks of the Dee. There were a few large clouds, but all seemed perfect for now. The thermometer showed 15 degrees so shorts and tee shirt were just the thing today.
Melrose is quite a busy, bustling place. There is a really quaint reminder of days gone by in the old fire station. It even had the old siren perched on the roof. It’s not used nowadays, of course, but it is attractive to the visitors.
The church was an impressive structure too.
Just when we thought we’d escaped the gravitational pull of Melrose, we both decided it was time for lunch. I ask you - we were only at Melrose and eating lunch already! It was past twelve o’clock and, had we had any complaints about the packed lunch, it wasn’t too far to go back and complain! No worries on that score, as the lunch was as good as everything else at the Platts’. Two seedy rolls, two pieces of fruit, some cake and a biscuit - all for £2:50. There’s always something relaxing about sitting and eating at the side of running water. I love to do it. You tend to start off sitting upright, but slowly recline into that ‘I’m gonna take some shifting’ posture. The thing that shifted us was rain. It started to spit, but then turned to drizzle as we packed and put on our coats. We walked back up the opposite side of the Dee to what we were on earlier. This was the quieter side, and more wildlife was in evidence as well as lots of wild garlic to sniff at.
By 2:30pm the rain had gone and it was sunny again. The wind got up considerably, which I always enjoy, and I felt better for it’s efforts.
We met the same couple we had seen at the Three Brethren, and learnt they too were staying in Lauder tonight. We arranged to meet up with them before pressing on.
We reached ‘The Grange’ at about 4:25 and met Peter & Tricia Harris.
We went downstairs for the traditional tea and biccies. We got to chat to Peter and Tricia and she told us of her years in South Africa. It sounded quite exciting, but now she was happy to be here in Scotland. I think there was a lot less chance of being murdered in your bed, or something trivial like that.
When we had rested and got changed etc, we went out in search of food and companions. Our first port of call was the Lauderdale Hotel. This is where we, unfortunately, decided to eat. The food was expensive and the portions tiny. I would not recommend it at all. We soon left and went further into the village to find the ‘Black Bull’ pub where the couple we had met earlier were staying. We also called at ‘The Eagle’, as it was on the way and just in the interests of research, you understand. We had the usual chatter, but the evening was a little flat. Maybe we were all tired, maybe it was that we knew we were on the ‘home stretch’, I don’t know but I couldn’t help feeling a bit low that night.
We went back to the Grange and had (for us) an early night. Breakfast the next morning was as we had ordered on the menu card we had filled in the night before. We tried the South African sausage (highly recommended on the menu) but, if this is what they eat over there, it’s no wonder they’re always causing trouble. It was dry and hard and even I couldn’t eat it. On the other hand, the herbed tomato was brilliant. I think there could be a big market in exporting British bangers to South Africa.
Wednesday 6th May. Lauder to Longformacus - 15 miles.
We set off walking at 9:00am. Before leaving we donned our waterproofs as it was drizzling, with the temperature at about nine degrees. We had ordered a packed lunch each at £3:00, but there are plenty of shops if you wanted to ‘self cater’. Peter was again transporting our extra baggage, so we would be travelling light.
At the end of the village, we turned left and into fields. The wet grass really damped down the boots, and I could feel it seeping in. I took a dramatic picture of Thurlstone Castle with a hell of an angry, black sky above it. It looked like something out of a horror movie and I half expected one of those maniacal laughs to ring out.
By ten o’clock we had topped the ‘breakfast hills’. After crossing a small burn, we first met Birt, a retired further education teacher from Holland. Scotland is very popular with the Dutch, as they don’t have any hills over there. Birt loved it here, and he had done the West Highland Way the previous year, as Colin and I had. He said he also liked Derbyshire and had done a little walking there, but this was his first love and he looked a man totally at ease with the world. What a charmed position to be in! We hoped to meet up later and talk more, as he was staying in Longformacus.
We left Birt to his elevenses and made our way on through and alongside the forest. After we turned left and went through a clearing, we were confronted by a totally different landscape. Here were heather moors as far as the eye could see. This was corporate country, with the poor old Grouse top of the Entertainment bill. It was very wild and windy on the moors, as we did not now have the protection of the trees. The temperature fell, and it was necessary to wear a coat. It was still nice to wear shorts though, but I was glad to have been able to remove the sticky over-trousers I had been forced to don in the earlier rain. We got a lot closer to a pair of male OysterCatchers than we would have normally. This was due to the fact that they were falling out over a female (always the case) and were squabbling noisily. Apart from that, the vastness opened out before, with not a lot to interest us. We did play ‘I spy’ for a short while, but ran out after exhausting ‘ M for moor, S for sky, and G for grass’. (Actually, I got two goes for ‘S’, as Colin wrongly guessed Sheep - YES!).
We continued to follow the moorland track until it quite suddenly turned right and made a beeline for the cairns. Looming ever larger now, we were really looking forward to reaching them as the instructions say that on a clear day, i.e. today, we would be able to see the sea. It is also described as the last and best panorama of the walk, and after that it would be down into the farmland and the last stretch. This prospect quickened our pace a little and we soon reached our goal. Well! What can I say. How is it possible to describe a scene like we witnessed that day? How is it possible to make someone feel the way we felt, just by writing down words? Of course, it isn’t possible, but Colin and I were there and, let me assure you, there is very little comes close to the happiness and feeling of complete freedom you get when you’re on top of a hill on a day like that one. There are little niches in each of the cairns, just big enough for one really, and you can sit and eat while admiring the stunning surroundings and yes, we could see the sea!
After a protracted stay, we reluctantly heaved our bones off the floor and set about going further. A quick blink in the binoculars confirmed what I thought, we could see the sea on the far horizon.
The walk down off Twin Law took us to the Watch Water reservoir. The sky had darkened a little, reminding me of that old Scottish adage; ‘if you don’t like the weather - wait five minutes - it’ll change’. Today it was living up to that and we fully expected the heavens to open at any minute. Is someone up there looking down on us or what?
We did have a couple of slight showers after that, but nothing of substance. We had made good time, despite all our stops, and reached Longformacus at 3:15pm in bright sunshine and a pleasant breeze.
We knocked on the door and it was answered by a pleasant old chap who informed us that this was one of THREE ‘Old Post Offices’ in Longformacus! Ours was - guess where? - down the hill and back up the other side. It only took a few minutes to get there, but we were very glad to see it when we did. It looked really inviting, bathed as it was in the afternoon sunlight.
We felt completely spoilt with all this luxury, and we had television too! After relaxing into it all, we made our way downstairs. We had been warned there were no pubs or shops in Longformacus, so we had some tins ‘bussed in’ with our pack. They were put in the fridge for later as we waited on the other guests coming down for the evening meal. When we first booked at Eildon Cottage, we were told the evening meal was £10. I thought it would be just another case of being taken advantage of, as there was nowhere else to go. I suppose you could always send some food with your pack, if you wanted, but having experienced the meal, I would strongly advise against this. Our £10 meal was really more like a £20 gourmet feast. Mike, from Droitwich, and Rab and his wife were soon assembled around the table with us, and Mrs Amos began the delightful process of serving dinner.
We started off with peaches and grapefruit in glasses, covered in a sweet juice, then on to smoked bacon and crouton soup with warm bread. The main course was a lamb casserole, with so many vegetables that even we hungry walkers couldn’t finish them. After this came the piece de resistance, which was a sort of pavlova affair, with peaches and a soft rice, It was so mouth-wateringly super but, again, so huge we couldn’t eat it all. Compliments were flying thick and fast in Mrs Amos’ direction for the excellent fare she was serving. Next came the cheese and biscuits, which was a very varied selection, and finally coffee and a mint. I half expected one or all of us to burst at that point! We all crawled to the settee and armchairs like snakes wanting to coil up for a week to digest the huge meal we had just devoured. In no time at all, Mrs Amos was back in the room and entertained us with all the local gossip and news. She has also travelled a lot and told us many stories. One concerned the fact that, being in B&B, she took her holidays ‘off peak’ and so consequently met many other landladies. She says they used to sit around and each would tell their own horror stories concerning unsavoury guests and the things they got up to, stole, etc. The trouble was, she said, she couldn’t join in, as she had never had a bad time yet with the people she’d put up over the years. It made me feel proud when she put it down to the fact that she only took walkers in, and she considered them the salt of the Earth. She also touched on her plans for the future, and how she wanted to retire and travel more. If she sold the house, she said, one of the stipulations would be that the buyer must be prepared to carry on the B&B, as it was so needed here. I thought this was a really nice display of unselfishness. I don’t know how she manages to be so enthusiastic, but she really made us feel like special confidantes and it was one of the most convivial evenings I have ever had. Colin and I broke out the beer and we sat with Mike, discussing aspects of the walk (as usual) while Rab and his wife went for an evening stroll. I went out myself later on to the ‘phone box, and enjoyed the evening tranquility here in Longformacus.
Friday 8th May. Longformacus to Cockburnspath - 17 miles.
It was a bit sad to say our goodbyes, as the one night we had spent at Eildon had seemed to have brought us as close as if we had spent a week there. Mike was away first, haring off into the distance, as he had an even tighter schedule than us. We followed, but we left our excess baggage to be picked up later, and Rab and his wife brought up the rear. We started walking at about ten past nine, with the mercury showing twelve degrees.
We soon reached the ‘breakfast hills’ which were now no more than mounds. The vicious uphill struggles had now been tamed into gentle uphill strolls. It was made all the easier by this very strong, almost gale force wind, which was fortunately on our backs. This helping hand made the going quick and easy, although it was more than a little disconcerting when walking alongside trees, as they looked as if they would be torn up by the root at any moment. I kid you not, at times we were so worried that we veered away from the trees and walked in the middle of the field, just in case.
We soon reached the outskirts of the village of Abbey St Bathams. Now here was something unusual - a village mid-walk! Although it was still early and Mrs Amos’ breakfast had not been completely absorbed, we decided to patronise the cafe, just because someone was bothering to run one, I suppose. We crossed the footbridge over the river, where some workmen were laying a more substantial path than the muddy track they were replacing. As we passed one of them, Colin thanked him, but told him there was no need to have laid a path especially for us!
At the end of the path we saw a sign which had Portpatrick signed one way, and Cockburnspath the other. Luckily we seemed to be headed in the right direction and we took photo for the record. (I bet this signpost is well photographed).
The path keeps the river company for a while before turning up and into open country again. We passed beneath some high voltage pylons and the wind was making the most terrific roar in the structures. I can honestly say I have never heard anything like it before, and we walked on edge all the time we were beneath them.
The next point of interest we reached was a cairn topped out with a big, red weathercock. The Cockburn family erected it to celebrate 100 years farming of the land from-1848 - 1948.
As we followed a lane up to Blackburn village, we noticed a strange phenomenon to our right. These fields must once have been smaller, but I imagine fences had been removed to make them more productive. That productivity was now being blown away, as the wind was whipping up the red earth and blowing it away in huge clouds.
We could hear the noise of traffic as we approached the busy A1 road. For some reason this place was overcrowded with bright yellow Gorse. It made a good foreground for photo.
In the bay itself there was a small island, drawing strange parallels with Ailsa Craig on the other side of the country. Also, just on the coast is a very large house-like structure. You would swear it was a house, except that there are real houses at the side of it, and it dwarfs them! We mused on what it could be, but couldn't come up with a feasible answer.
‘WELCOME SINGLETONS’
in great big letters. Mike had obviously paid a visit to the beach too, and had left us this sign. It really was a nice gesture, and one we greatly appreciated.
Of course, we took photo of it, before also recording the; ‘stone throwing’ ceremony. We found a great big stone for Colin to throw in, so it would look in the album like he had carried it all the way!
Epilogue.
This is one tough walk. Make no bones, if you’re going to do it you do need to be reasonably fit. Navigation isn’t really a problem in good weather, and the way marking is very good. The B&B’s are better, on the whole, than some of the more popular walks I’ve done, my favourite being Limetree house, but there are several very close seconds! It’s not a walk that I would repeat as there is far too much Tarmac and forest walking. It takes three days for the walk to really get going, but the sections after that are pretty good. If you like solitude, this is where you’ll find it.
The Borders are, to a great extent, largely ignored and so you often walk days on end without seeing another soul. Making sure you are provisioned for the day ahead is a must, as sometimes the only places you see are your B&B at the start and end of each day. Booking too, I would say is important as, although not the most popular of walks, the scarcity of accommodation on some of the sections could see you bedless if you have haven’t booked.
I enjoyed most of this walk, and I suppose I should be grateful for only having had about five hours rain in all, but I wouldn't put it in my ‘must do’ list. It is certainly a challenge, and the people are super, but next year I think I’ll do the West Highland Way again, now THERE’S a walk!
© Les Singleton
July 13th 1998
http://www.southernuplandway.gov.uk/cms/index.php?option=com_content&view=frontpage&Itemid=1
I enjoyed most of this walk, and I suppose I should be grateful for only having had about five hours rain in all, but I wouldn't put it in my ‘must do’ list. It is certainly a challenge, and the people are super, but next year I think I’ll do the West Highland Way again, now THERE’S a walk!
© Les Singleton
July 13th 1998
http://www.southernuplandway.gov.uk/cms/index.php?option=com_content&view=frontpage&Itemid=1
2 comments:
Great story bud , always enjoy reading this walking diary as you mentioned me a couple of time , fame at last , anyway me auld mucker hope youre keeping well and trust you've not poisoned anyone yet , keep in touch hopefully you'll still have my details and hazels sends her best , cheers bud , your driver H
H!!!! LOVELY to hear from you - hope you and Hazel are well, and no - we've not poisoned anyone yet LOL! I haven't got your details, as I had a bad PC crash over a year ago and lost everything. Please re-send me your email address, and we'll chew over the fat. Have a look at the cafe website at www.riccisbakewell.co.uk
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