The weather was not the thundery heavy rain forecast, just a persistent drizzle (smirr). The route took us from the main car-park along a track that looked to have been renovated recently, past fields of sheep (to the right) and cattle (to the left), separated from the road by large rocks. This took us to the overflow car park which is marked on the OS map.
I had planned to walk anti-clockwise but missed the turn uphill so switched to clockwise, which turned out I think to be the better direction. Had we gone the way planned we would have missed the carved wooden seats near the car park. These have several carvings, some of which I only noticed when looking at my photos. I like the fact that they have carved JCBs and log lorries as well as the usual animals and plants.
Wooden seat at Ae
We took the forest track that follows the Water of Ae northwards. This track steadily climbed and drifted away from the river before dropping back down the hill close to the Craigshiels Outdoor Centre.
After the bridge we rejoined the red cycle route and the path began to climb slightly more steeply. Our first 4.5 miles was all uphill, except for a brief dip down to Craigshiels, so despite waterproofs protecting me from external moisture I was damp from the inside.
Wee Queensberry with its two summits was visible ahead of us as we walked up from Craigshiels, but Queensberry itself was hidden in cloud. Twenty minutes later the cloud had risen a little and Queensberry was revealed except for its summit. There were wisps of cloud across the valley, below us, but luckily our route escaped any cloud.
Once up on the higher paths we saw some other folk braving the weather, a couple of horse-riders and some mountain bikers. I presume it will be much busier in good weather. (Insert your own insult regarding fair weather walkers/riders/etc.).
Eventually we reached the Talking Head Stane, one of the 7Stanes. I had seen a photograph of this before but had been unsure if we were looking for a small rock or massive boulder. It fact it is about the height of a man. I’ve read that it is 6ft 4in x 4ft 6in, but suspect this isn’t accurate. The 7stanes website says it weighs 1.5 tons and is sculpted from a glacial granite boulder. The stone has a rather forbidding face looking eastwards and these words, from Deep in the Forest, by Hans Børli, inscribed around the sides and back.
But still it satisfies my soul to hear the spruce and wind. They speak together like sister and brother, and use such beautiful wind-wild words deep in the forest, deep in the forest.
From the talking head stane the views could I think be good but today were limited by cloud and poor visibility. I wonder, as well if the stone might look less sinister when not wet. A reason to come again in dry weather, perhaps?
From here the way back was downhill, initially on a wide bridleway and then down the orange cycle route, The Shredder. This has an uphill-push path for MTBs and we used this to get back down. We did not see any any riders on this section. It is steep enough that I wouldn’t relish pushing a bike up it.
If the MTB routes were busy it would be possible to avoid the Shredder with only a slightly longer walk.
Though we didn’t climb any hills on this walk, it was a higher climb than Screel had been, and felt like it.
The Ettrick Horseshoe: Bodesbeck Law, White Shank, Smidhope Hill, Capel Fell, Wind Fell, Hopetoun Craig, Ettrick Pen.
Plan B (version 3). The original plan was the Awful Hand Ridge as a linear walk with two cars. The forecast, however, suggested we would be parking our cars in cloud and walking in rain. Fair-weather walkers I hear you say, but that would be unfair. I’ve walked in my share of drow ‘n’ smirr. As it was, the second driver ended up having to work so I headed east where the low cloud wouldn’t arrive until later in the day.
Samye Ling
Potburn, where the walk starts is not that far away, just 25 miles as the crow flies, but 50 miles by road and much of that on pot-holed, single track, chicane which tends to limit speed somewhat. Mind you there are certainly some nice houses out there. I was surprised, however, to see some brightly coloured things up ahead which I at first thought was a childrens’ playground. As I was musing on what a stupid place this was for such an undertaking, it came into better view and I realised it was the Samye Ling monastery.
There is a small area to park cars just before Potburn Farm, and closed gates to dissuade further access. The sign (above) pointed the way onto a forest track that climbs steadily winding around Bushie Law. I had intended to do the lesser horseshoe leaving Bodesbeck Law for another day (version B.1). This entailed leaving the track on a smaller track which strikes off to the left and leads to the col between Bodesbeck Law and Fauldside Hill.
Well… there was a junction of sorts, with a signpost, the top of which had broken off and the signage was nowhere to be found. This path lead down and across a small bridge which looked in pretty good nick (relatively new, I imagine). The path was overgrown and didn’t look much used and it was also sooner than I had expected, so the map was consulted and misread. I blame this on the wind blowing it in my hands. I presumed the real path to be a little further along.
Forest track up to Bodesbeck Law
I was feeling happy. The path I was walking was firm and dry, climbing steadily but not uncomfortably. There were wildflowers aplenty, butterflies and many small white tailed birds. The sky was blue in places and it was tee-shirt temperature. On the down side the views were limited since there was dense forest either side of the path.
So it was that it gradually dawned on me that I had missed the path I had intended to take and was only 100m short of Bodesbeck Law’s summit. It seemed pointless to walk back down so Bodesbeck Law was included in the hike (now version B.2).
The track actually climbs a little further than the OS map would have you believe and the terrain was firm with short grass. Once at the summit there is a much wider vista to take in, of the hills lining either side of the A708. The two deep valleys of the Carrifran and Blackhope Burns can be looked into from Bodesbeck Law. The cloud base was just hiding the summits of the nearby Corbetts.
Looking south I had my first view of the route I was to take over to Capel Fell and round to Ettrick Pen, which looked quite distant. This walk follows the boundary between Dumfries and Galloway and the Borders and is marked by a fence (and sometimes a dyke) making navigation simple. There are three minor hills between Bodesbeck Law and Capel Fell but all feel like shoulders of Capel Fell. The going was mostly good except for a few boggy areas where Bodesbeck Burn rises. This is where version one of the walk would have joined the boundary fence.
Cat’s Shoulder, Croft Head
At Capel Fell the wind had picked up enough to need a fleece and and I got the dreaded low battery warning from my camera, so photos were limited. There was a good view of the trefoil shaped Croft Head with the zig-zag path coming down Cat’s Shoulder. It looks like a hill worth visiting (in good visibility).
Between Capel Fell and Wind Fell there is a steep dip down to Ettrick Head. The descent was giving my knees some gyp, so I gave jogging a go, but that was worse. As I looked down there was a wide stile to carry the SUW walkers across the county boundary, and it looked as if it could double as a picnic table for my lunch. Sadly, on closer inspection there was considerable guano, and though this was only on the part which would be the seat, I had my banana while leaning on the fence rather than sitting.
Sign on the SUW
The fence headed directly up Wind Fell and looked steep, though in actual fact it probably looked worse than it really was. There was however a quad bike track heading up from just 200m away and it looked less steep, crossing the contours at more of an angle. So I took in 200m of Southern Upland Way then picked my across some boggy grass to follow the tracks. The wind was blowing colder now which was no bad thing with the added exertion.
Wind Fell’s summit was anything but sexy. There was no obvious top among the flat expanse of grass, but one area looked like a likely summit and had piece of broken fence post planted in it looking like a broken cross from a cemetery in an old western film. This small totem was encircled by peat bogs and hags, so there was at least some sense of achievement in reaching it without getting covered in mud.
Cairn on Hopetoun Craig
Hopetoun Craig, the next hill, has a small, campfire-size cairn at its summit and a couple of more substantial fellows nearby. One of these looks like a cross from afar but up close is a well constructed cairn about the height of a man. I trudged over to see if there was a plaque on it, but found nothing.
Ahead of me now was the stroll up Ettrick Pen. The hill which had seemed so far away earlier in the day was now within reach. There were a couple of short steep sections but with firm ground underfoot the going was easy. By now however, the clouds were closing in from the west and every now and then a raindrop would fall. At the summit I met the only other walker I had seen all day. I told him he had spoiled my record of seeing no-one but he trumped my record since I was the first person he had seen in eight days of walking. He was doing a route similar to mine but clockwise, so I asked how the walk up from Potburn was. It was because of his answer that my walk became version B.3.
I had intended heading north, with the fence, for 100m then heading west to find a forest track. He said that the route up was no problem, “just follow the fence”.
Ettrick pen has a considerable cairn, but also a wide scattering of stones suggesting that it may once have been larger. It was certainly large enough to act as a windbreak while I had my lunch. It had taken three and a half hours to get here, which I thought was good going. Surely I would be back at the car in no time. No problem, “just follow the fence”.
The shape of these hills is such that you cannot see what is at the bottom of a slope until you start down it. I followed the fence. The ground fell away nicely. This terrain could have been unpleasant if wet, with long grass and spongy moss, but it was dry.
My first problem came when the fence split, one arm going precipitously downhill, the other just steeply. I choose the latter and knew that I could always cross back to the other fence if necessary. This fence ended at a dense forest plantation so I made my way across and down to the other fence, where I found a stone wall and what looked like a trodden path.
It soon became clear that this was not a well trodden path. The give away was the interlocking branches that could only be passed by breaking them. No-one had walked this way in a long time. Then the difficult path was blocked by several fallen trees. Attempts to get round these led to me discovering a whole line of fallen trees, presumably a domino effect, so eventually I had to backtrack to the wall and climb over it. I had already crossed this a couple of times falling for the “it looks easier on the other side” fallacy, but this time is was easier.
Once at the bottom of the slope I breathed a sigh of relief. Then realised that there was Ettrick Water between me and the car. Luckily the stream’s water was relatively low leaving many rocks to help my crossing. The only problem was that the banks were high and finding a way down onto the rocks took some searching. By now the rain had started to fall.
I wouldn’t recommend this route off Ettrick Pen, but overall this was an easy walk since there is the boundary fence to follow around most of it. I would definitely include Bodesbeck Law in the horseshoe since the route up is relatively easy being on good forest track most of the way.
This is a repeat of the northern section of the Black Loch and the Eye walk, but this time in sunshine rather than rain.
We went up the track from the Queen’s Way to the eastern end of Black Loch then walked along the Old Edinburgh Road, with its rather unexpected covering of seashells, as far as the sheep pens at the Grey Mare’s tail burn, with a brief detour to the Eye.
Unlike most of my Galloway outings, we were not alone. A family were exploring the same parts as us and a young lad passed nearby on a motorcycle.
The dogs enjoyed exploring, though they were tethered when near to children. Sweep always likes to jump into water and had a swim in the Black Loch close to the Eye, but needed help getting out. Leo was less aquaphilic and just paddled in the shallows of the Loch and later the Burn. Sweep did his usual bouncing about in the undergrowth, so I’ll no doubt be removing ticks later on.
The Eye
The Eye is a 7m conical terracotta-covered structure by Colin Rose, commissioned in 1997 to mark the 50th anniversary of Galloway Forest Park. There is a hollow section running through it but I don’t know if this is part of the “art” of the piece or something more mundane such as the means by which it was held prior to being placed here. I tried looking through in case it showed some important feature in the distance but couldn’t see much.
At the sheep pens further along are a collection of stone faces called Quorum, by Matt Baker, who also did the Devorgilla piece in Dumfries.
After our stroll we called in at the Clatteringshaws visitor centre for some cream of Galloway ice cream and to admire the loch and surrounding hills. The loch was a beautiful deep blue, the best I have ever seen it, or perhaps the ice cream was giving me rose tinted spectacles. Coming back to the car though Sweep, wet from from his swim, had managed to climb across and sit on my seat leaving it damp.
We finished of our brief outing with a visit to the Catstrand gallery in New Galloway.
Backhill of Bush, the Silver Flowe, Nick of the Dungeon, Dungeon Hill, the Devil’s Bowling Green and Craignaw.
The forecast was for rain and low cloud but as I drove towards my low level walk it became clear that the higher summits were cloudless and the sun was beating down. So I reverted to my good weather plan, the Dungeon Hills from Backhill of Bush.
As I drove along the Queen’s way in Galloway there was a rainbow over Clatteringshaws so I presume it had been raining. But now it was sunshine. I took the single track road along the western side of Clatteringshaws Loch that we had walked, in the opposite direction, a couple of years ago. The original plan was to stop at Craigencallie and head up Darnaw. Had the forest track beyond Craigencallie been blocked I would have had no choice, but the gates were open so on I went.
My navigation skills on forest tracks leave something to be desired and I will admit that I had to stop a couple of times to use a GPS to find where I was. Trees all look the same to me and I did go down a wrong turning south, towards Millfore, for quite a while which required a multi-point turn. I realised something was wrong when I saw the bluffs of the Buckdas of Cairnbaber. My heart then sank when I came to a locked gate but that turned out to be the SUW to Loch Dee, a walk for another day. It seemed to take an eternity to get to Backhill of Bush Bothy but approaching it I had wonderful views of the Dungeon Hills and the Rhinns of Kells.
Backhill of Bush Bothy
There was a white van on the path past the bothy and I was worried it would be forestry chaps who might tell me to retrace my steps. Later on in the walk I wondered if I might come back to find the car nicked. That would have been a bind since phones don’t work down there. This wasn’t helped by me being unable to see the car once up on the hills. I saw where I thought it should be, but was wrong.
But back to the walk. I set off across a bridge over Downies Burn near the bothy and headed along a poor quality track looking for a way onto the Silver Flowe. I passed some trees and once I got to a tree-free area I headed into the wild. Two minutes later while negotiating large tussocks and reed like grasses taller than me I slipped into a water filled ditch. Both legs went under water, the left as far as the thigh, and my left arm as far as the shoulder.
To say the least, this somewhat sapped my good humour. The terrain was the same as far as I could see. I decided that this was too much, too soon, pulled my self out of the mire and headed back for the car. But as I looked into the trees on my right, it looked as if it would be possible to walk in the forest and so by-pass the horrible wet area.
The forest floor was initially almost firm but deteriorated into muddy areas, and then became blocked by fallen trees. I decided to head for the edge of the trees but was then back in the waterlogged tussocks and reeds. Then I spotted vehicle tracks not far off. These were very waterlogged and muddy, but at least I could see the ground and would be less likely to have another unexpected ducking. And my legs and feet were already wet so the mud didn’t matter so much.
Eventually, I was past the trees and all that stood between me and the Silver Flowe was the Saugh Burn. The Dungeon Hills looked quite close by now. Unfortunately the burn was deep and too wide to jump. I followed the burn for a short while then found a section where the river bed was visible and not very deep. I took a run and managed to land one foot (already wet) in the burn and the next step took me to the far bank. I looked around for a landmark so I could find the same section again on the return leg. There was a concrete post with some rusting barbed wire so I stored that in memory.
The far side of the burn was large tussocks and water-filled hidden holes into which my feet would occasionally slip. I grew to dread the sudden fall of a foot with the accompanying “thunk” sound as my boot entered the water and sank. The thunk was the sound you hear when a large stone is dropped into water but without the splash. Perhaps that’s a plop? I had considered changing socks following the initial dunking but was pleased I hadn’t. In retrospect though I should have taken off the gaiters, which by now were probably holding water in rather than out.
Craignaw above the Long Loch of the Dungeon
In time though the tussocks gave way to shorter vegetation as I came on to the Silver Flowe proper. There were a great many small flowers and butterflies and although the ground was wet it was safe to walk on. The Silver Flowe has many sections of standing water and I had to find a way around these or accept that I would need to head through the water providing I could see something to stand on. About half way across I came upon a track, possibly an animal track, and followed it to the Dungeon Lochs.
The Long Loch of the Dungeon came into view and later the Round loch. These lochs are joined by a burn (or should that be a Lane?) and I hoped it was not too wide. Otherwise I might have to head north to find a way across on the far side of the Round Loch. I was looking forward to getting onto firmer ground.
Difficult terrain in the Nick of the Dungeon
As it turned out I found a place to step across the burn without too much difficulty but was back in tussock country. The climb up the Nick of the Dungeon was steeper than it looked. There were more hidden holes to step into, numerous water channels hidden beneath grass and boulders scattered about blocking my way. This section needed care to avoid injury. My boots continued to squelch but my shirt and trousers were now drying out. It took me an hour to climb the mile, and 1100ft, from the Dungeon Lochs to the summit of Dungeon Hill and I don’t know if that is an achievement or a cause for shame.
Dungeon Hill required a short section of steep climbing but I was able to use the tussocks as stairs. Once on the hill I was rewarded by great views, a sandwich and a text message from Lynn. The phone must have briefly got connection out there in the middle of nowhere.
Awful Hand from Dungeon Hill summit
The views were very good indeed. Despite the forecast the Dungeon Hills were cloud free, though clouds were settling on Merrick and the Rhinns of Kells which are perhaps 150-200m higher. The ridge of Brishie looked quite sharp and pointed to Loch Doon where some rain was falling. The Silver Flowe was glistening in the sunlight. Craignaw, my next call sat brooding across the Nick of the Dungeon and I wondered now if my planned route down Craignaw, by the Dungeon Burn, might be a little too steep, but gradient would not be the difficulty as it turned out. You can probably see the Dungeon Burn on the photo at the beginning of this post.
The OS map gives the impression that a ridge curves round from Dungeon Hill to Craignaw, but once up there it is clear that it involves quite a lot of ascent and descent. I decided to head directly down toward the cairn in the col between Craignairny and Craignaw’s NW ridge which would spare me some climbing and scrambling.
Excited Cairn on the col below Craignaw
In retrospect I wonder if the extra climb would have been easier than the terrain I chose. I did though come across another track which allowed me to see where I was walking. It too was waterlogged but my boots could not get any more wet by this time. I have often wondered if there is a name for the apparent tracks that are always waterlogged and sometimes have actual running water. As I tramped along one of these, I realised that there is a name where I come from…a stream. There is a strange cairn in the col. One wonders if it was built like that on purpose or by chance.
Getting from the col to Craignaw was straightforward but tiring, needing a couple of short scrambles and several short steep climbs. The Devil’s Bowling Green was on the way. This is the flattest of many granite terraces and scattered with boulders large and small. There is quite a way still to go from the Devil’s Bowling Green to Craignaw’s summit and the routes up all looked pretty steep. I chose the most likely candidate and headed up. This was the usual tussocks, hidden holes and scattered boulders which with the added gradient meant I made slow work of it.
Mullwharchar and Dungeon Hill from the Devil's Bowling Green
There are several Lochans on Craignaw, and on another day I might have considered dipping my feet in one of those with well placed rocks to sit on. But my feet were already wet and I couldn’t really be bothered. Then at last, there was the summit cairn ahead of me.
I stopped to recharge myself with water and a banana and took a few photos of the views. I must have been sweating with the heat and exertion because I had finished my two litres of water in just the three hours it had taken to get here. While soaking in the views, the temperature suddenly dropped and I could see the clouds rolling down the slopes of Merrick as well as rain coming in from the north. I decided to curtail my rest stop and get to lower ground before the cloud and rain reached me. It never did.
I had thought the descent of Craignaw, especially the steep section above the bowling green would be difficult but the ground was firm. I crossed the Dungeon Burn then stayed to the north of it. It was only once I got to the Nick of the Dungeon that the ground became dangerous again. Climbing this section had been tiring but I must have chosen a slightly different route down which was especially treacherous and had to be taken slowly testing every step. Yet still my feet plunged into holes. Slow progress but 20 minutes faster than the ascent.
Once back over the Dungeon Lochs I was looking forward to an easy stroll back over the Silver Flowe. I hoped to pick up the track I had found but managed to take a different one that led me into a large area of standing water that took some effort to cross. I did have a target on the far side, a stand of three trees one of which was dead, so once the trees were visible I left the track and made a beeline for them.
Of course I then re-entered tussock land and made my way back to the Saugh Burn. The concrete fence post with barbed wired was there but the burn’s water was now black and deep. No sign of the six inch deep section anymore. There was only one thing for it. And my feet were wet anyway.
After some clambering over fallen branches and watercourses I then found my way back to the sodden vehicle track and followed it back, this time not going into the forest. This took me back to the place I had had my first dunking. I stood looking at the water channel deciding how best to get across but then the ground I was standing on gave way and I was in the water again. At least this time I fell with my arms on dry land so only went in up to my knees.
Five minutes later I was back at the car, stripping off the wet gear and putting on dry clothes. Despite the water mishaps I had managed to do a couple of things that I had had in mind for a while. I had walked on the Silver Flowe and visited the Devil’s Bowling Green. I would have liked to visit the air-crash memorials on Craignaw but will have to leave that for another day since I had scarpered when the clouds looked like closing in.
I had wondered why most routes described to these hills start at Loch Trool even though it is a much longer walk, involves burn crossings and tramping along the muddy Gairland Glen. Now I know.
(PS next day: I have aching muscles as if I’d done a twenty miler. This walk really was hard going).
A relatively short walk but with quite a bit of ascent for a Mabie stroll. Our usual route has about 100m less of ascent and most of that is concentrated in the first mile and half as we walk up the Dalshinnie Glen. Indeed I remember a particularly unpleasant day toiling up that section in the rain with a cold wet wind blowing in my face, about three years ago. But then I remember that Nietzsche said that worthwhile achievements are only attained by overcoming hardships (or something like that.)
Before the others arrived I had been chasing a butterfly about at the car-park, trying to get a photo, albeit unsuccessfully. On the Lochaber walk there were information posts about the local butterflies and I would guess this was a small copper, but I’m far from sure. We came across quite a few more butterflies on the walk but they were mostly white. The predominant insect life seemed to be the flies circling our heads and these were particularly numerous if we stopped. I had thought it was my scent, or shampoo products that was attracting them, but was pleased to see that the others had the same problem.
Criffel from Craigbill Hill
We took a different route to our usual, following the yellow route markers of the Nith View route over Mabie Burn, including some of the poetry walk, passing the old sawmill and a woodland pond. The path slowly climbed through woodland smelling strongly of onions and I wonder if this was from wild garlic?
The section before the Orange Link path seems to have changed in the last few months. The paths look to have been resurfaced and some of the surrounding forest felled. The area near a small pond (into which I have seen many a dog jump) looks quite different now. We then took the orange route which slowly climbed around Marthrown Hill to the brown, Lochaber path, passing the wooden Butterfly statue. Once over Craigbill Hill we had a slight detour by joining the Phoenix MTB track, along a wooden walway at first, to take us back to Dalshinnie Glen.
I got a closer snap of the Ghost Stane (see above), which is one of the seven Stanes. Perhaps future walks will take us to the others? I was looking out for the sensory garden at Mabie but didn’t spot it. It will have to wait for another day.
The alternative distance for this walk (from a Garmin watch thingy) was 6.47 miles. Take your pick.
A round of the Minnigaff hills: Larg Hill, Lamachan Hill, Bennanbrack and Curleywee.
After the many wet and cloudy weekends we were at last blessed with sun. I had had my eye on Curleywee for a while, especially when driving down the A75, and fancied attacking it from the south. So nice and early I set off for Auchinleck and decided to see how far up the forest track I could drive. If I couldn’t get far the plan was to head up Black Benwee and do an anticlockwise route. If I could get to Lamachan I would head across the firebreaks to Larg Hill and go Clockwise.
Past Pulbae the track deteriorated and if it had been wetter I don’t think the car would have made it. As it was it was dry and further along the track was in much better nick so I drove north until a track went off left towards Larg Hill and parked in a space there.
Forest break up to Nick of the Brushy
The first mile was along the forest track, with the ridge of Larg and Lamachan ahead of me and Curleywee, my real goal, visible when I looked over my shoulder. I had read of walkers climbing up to the col between Larg and Lamachan, at the Nick of the Brushy, and this was my initial idea. On getting to an appropriate forest break, however, I looked up at the scree filled hillside and decided to find another way. Strangely I found a mole on the track. I’m not sure if it was dead (most likely) or playing dead because I was there.
The next choice for ascent was at Cordorcan Craigs, and the OS map showed a few forest breaks so I looked out for a suitable (short and passable) break. These forest breaks were separating sections of impassable felled forest. I found a good section that looked to have a faint path suggesting others had trod the same route. This had grass of the type I usually associate with marshland, but the ground was dry… mostly.
After a fence the gradient increased and I tried to use the rocks as a staircase where I could, since steps from rock do seem more efficient than those from grass. In places the ground was uncomfortably steep but I made sure I didn’t look down unless I was on what might be termed a ledge. What I did learn was that not all rocks are firmly attached to the hill.
I eventually spotted a wall and thought I was near the top. I decided to take a breather leaning on the wall. From there I had a view of Curleywee beyond Bennanbrack, Millfore, Cairnsmore of Fleet and Wigton Bay. The wall disappeared over the horizon just a hundred metres away, but once I crested that hill I could see that the summit was still 500m away. By now however I was on the whaleback of Larg Hill and the ground was short close-cropped grass without wet patches. The sun was beating down and I regretted forgetting my sun-hat.
Not the final few metres up Larg Hill
Twelve minutes after this photo I was faced with…
Still 10 minutes to Larg Hill
Having reached the summit of Larg Hill, I was treated to my first view of the Merrick and could clearly see the route I would take along Lamachan’s long ridge.
The whaleback of Larg Hill
A drystone dyke leads the way down to the col between Larg hill and Lamachan, and it is quite a dip. I had to take a detour to avoid a short steep area which would have been my way up if I had climbed the Nick of the Brushy. The dyke gave up the ghost here and the fence/wall marked on the OS map is now just a line of rusting fence posts with no sign of the wire that must once have joined them. I did edge over to have a look down the Nick, and I’m glad I gave it a miss.
Lamachan, though the highest hill I was to climb in the day was, of itself, a little boring. It is a Donald and a Graham but is just a flat expanse of grass with a cairn possibly marking the summit. Having said that, the views from Lamachan are the finest I have ever witnessed. Sadly my photos were unable to capture the grandeur of these views, the silver appearance is lost in the photos, so I will have to describe them.
Bennanbrack ridge leading to Curleywee
Before me were the Dungeon Hills, glinting silver in the morning sun, with the Glenhead lochs’ still water beneath the Rig of the Jarkness. To their left was Merrick, behind them Mullwharchar, appearing black in shadow, and to the right the Rhinns of Kells. This in itself was spectacular but the panorama included the three Cairnsmores, Millfore and Wigtown Bay. Bennanbrack’s ridge, looking quite narrow, led to Curleywee.
Merrick, Dungeon Hills, Rhinns of Kells
I followed the line of dilapidated fence posts along the Bennanbrack ridge and slowly saw Loch Dee come into view. The ridge is easy to walk but has several minor hills along the way so there is a little up and down. My other learning point for the day is to keep an eye where you are walking even if the views are great. Rocks and holes are randomly scattered on the hills. On Bennanbrack I came across a herd of three dozen or so feral goats who would watch my approach, often from quite close. I would see a goat up above me as I scrambled up some rocks but when I reached the top they would have moved a little further away.
Wild goats on Bennanbrack
The fence posts were a reasonable guide but did at times head down quite steep sections which needed small detours. Further along the ridge they headed down towards a flatter area with small lochans, but I decided to stick to the ridge to avoid unnecessary reascent. Wasted effort I’m afraid since the ridge ended in a rather steep rocky section, so I retraced my steps and followed the fence posts. That’s my motto for this walk: follow the fence posts, and look where you’re stepping.
As I got closer to Curleywee I began to have some misgivings. It did look steep and was surrounded by scree slopes. I’d come this far, done two Donalds, perhaps I should come another day, by a different route? No I was here now, but how to get up. There was grass between the scree, should I take that? Or go round and have a look around the side? There was no obvious beaten track.
Watched from above by Goats on Curleywee
I decided to go for the direct approach and headed for the slope closest to me. There were half a dozen goats making their way up a scree slope without dislodging a single stone so I wondered about the scree. After a closer look I decided to stick to grass. Here I saw the first sign of another human being (other than the fence posts), a footprint. So someone else had been this way. Up I went picking my way up the slope, finding footholds, occasionally contouring on a goat track to a more amenable section and scrambling over rocks close to the summit. The goats watched from on high as before, then disappeared from sight.
And then I was there. Curleywee has a cairn which by chance has a a flattened stone ideally suited for resting the posterior whilst eating lunch, soaking up the sun and enjoying the views. It was a little windy but the hill’s name was a warning. Curleywee, from Cor Le Gaeith (pronounced gwee or geuh), the hill in the wind.
The goats managed to keep themselves close but out of sight. When I stood up I saw them just behind some nearby rocks. By the time I had the camera out they were gone, but again, not far. I can only presume they move until they can no longer see me.
My plan had been to go down the way I came up then head south to Bennan hill, then go down through the forest to the forestry road. From Curleywee, however I thought I could see a path where the Penkiln Burn headed down. Was it a path? Was it the burn? would it lead anywhere?
Nick of Curleywee, you can probably work out where I came down
I decided that I didn’t fancy going down the way I had come up so headed along the hill looking for a way down its southern face. I actually managed to find a relatively easy way down the Nick of Curleywee which seemed less steep than the ascent. The GPS track, however, records the decent as steeper than the ascent. I had the help of my trusty walking pole on the way down, but sadly lost it later (I must have dropped it at the car).
As I headed for the emphemeral path I found another fence, with wire this time. The ground did now start to show signs of its Galloway heritage: tussocks, bog etc. I stepped across a small watercourse and my path followed it as it grew into a wider stream and then eventually an impassably wide rock strewn burn, the Penkiln burn. The path I had seen was one of those waterlogged things with flattened grass into which your feet can sink quite deeply, so I needed to walk on the tussocks close to it.
Looks easy but it’s not
The path led down by newly planted forest until it petered out amongst newly felled forest. This is difficult terrain. There are deep water filled ditches hidden beneath dead branches. Jumping quickly through this is asking for a broken ankle, so it has to be taken slowly. After a few minutes I was on the remains of a fire break. This looked easier but was more boggy, littered with rocks, some of which rocked, and the remains of felled trees.
By now the car was in view, which helps morale. The moment of joy, however, was when I noticed that a spur of forest track not on the OS map snaked round and crossed the firebreak I was toiling along. This spared me 500m of firebreak.
Walking back to the car I was able to look at the ridge I had walked that morning. I passed a small waterpool surrounded by moss with the appearance of an enchanted pool. Had it not been for my newly wetted feet it would have been a perfect day. As usual for these hills I had not seen another soul all day.
The forecast was a cloud base at 250m, so I decided to stick to a low level walk. As it turned out I was in cloud at 150m so low level was the right choice. On the plus side the drizzle was only occasional spots of rain and it was quite warm. Just a shame about the poor visibility.
I parked in a car park at Stroan Loch just by the disused viaduct and spent a little time gazing across the loch. The picture above is Stroan Loch from the car park. I was to start my walk by crossing Black Water of Dee on the viaduct. There was my first problem. How to get onto the viaduct? A steep overgrown bank and fence stood between me and my goal.
Stroan Viaduct
However, my eagle eye spotted a path going under the viaduct. Perhaps that would lead onto the bridge? I followed the path and whenever it forked I chose that leading up and to the left. The epithet “path” became less appropriate with each fork. I was eventually climbing through chest high bushes and ferns with the occasional feeling that others had been this way where there was crushed fern.
I then found myself on a bank looking down onto a path. Indeed it had the appearance of a railway cutting. I had climbed a little too high, so I fought my way down the embankment and climbed a fence. Once on the path, immediately opposite me was a well maintained path. It led to the car park. Looking on the bright side I had worked up some warmth and was able to stick my coat in the rucksack.
Rusting Fence Post
Once across the viaduct the path was in good nick, for now, and there were plenty of wild flowers as well as flocks of butterflies. (PS I’ve looked up the appropriate collective noun and it should be a flight or a rabble of butterflies). These would flap about me as I walked along but if I stopped to take a photo they landed on plants, so I gave up trying to catch them with the camera. The path was the old railway line and there were many rusting fence posts off to the side. They stayed still for their photos.
At Airie Farm (Airie is from Airidh, a hill-pasture) I ignored the sign to the viewpoint since it was unlikely I would see much and carried on along the old railway instead, past the private road sign. My return route was undecided at this point. One option was to return along the railway but take a path up over Airie Hill, but since I didn’t see any path on the way out, that return journey was removed from the options.
Once out of the trees I passed a waterfall on Airee Burn and then crossed a wooden bridge over Grobdale Lane. I presume in better weather I would have been able to see the hills of Cairnsmore of Dee, or even Airie Hill which was within a kilometre.
Remains of Skerrow Halt
The path began to be more waterlogged as I caught my first glimpse of Loch Skerrow and then reached the ruins of Skerrow Halt. There was once a rail stop here where trains would take on water. I believe the few buildings associated with this activity were demolished by the army (blown up as an exercise) once the line was closed. I would love to be able to say I could see evidence of this but my CSI skills clearly aren’t up to it. It’s hard to believe what this station once looked like. Sad in some ways, but impressive to see how swiftly nature can erase man’s handiwork.
Sadly the views across Loch Skerrow were obscured by mist, but some geese that had been hiding by the bank made a run for it as I went to take some photos (as you will see in the gallery). I decided to press on returning via the forestry track on the far side of the loch rather than retracing my steps, because I thought it would be too boring to just turn around, even if it was shorter.
Flooded Path
After Skerrow Halt the path was clearly losing the battle with nature. It was overgrown in places, but passable. Unfortunately there were long stretches in which it was flooded. I made a schoolboy error at one point, choosing to step on some ironwork I could see below the surface, only to find it was much deeper than it looked. (Damn refraction.) At one point the path was just impassable with deep water and I had to climb onto the higher ground. Here I regretted my decision to not wear gaiters, since I was walking through knee high wet grass in the usual tussock arrangement and had to negotiate several water channels. The last of these was too wide to cross so I made my way back down to the railway, which was less waterlogged here.
I soon spotted the forestry track that would be my way home, just 100m across some low lying tussock strewn bog. There was no obvious track across so I just went for it. There was one particularly wide water channel but fortuitously it had a rail sleeper laid across it. Once on the forestry track I did a quick damage report. I was soaking wet from the knees down, but hoped I might dry out before reaching the car. The trousers are supposed to be quick drying.
Can you see the toad?
The track led along the north bank of Loch Skerrow for a while then contoured around Auchencloy Hill, the top of which, at 209m, remained lost in cloud. This section was not particularly exciting since I couldn’t see much. There were some interesting sights though. A deer bounding along just off the track, a toad hiding in the grass, a beetle scurrying across my path and then, of all things, a red Kite.
I took a photo of a small stream, just because I thought it was Barney Water and liked the name. It turns out that Barney Water is a farm further on and my photo was of Glengainoch Burn. At Barney Water there was a stone circle that looked too regular to be natural, but I can’t find any report of a stone circle here. The rather strange name is thought to be a corruption of bearna uachdar, upper pass.
Once over the Black Water of Dee, with its truly black water, I was back on the Raider’s Road. Here was my first sighting of other people. I stopped at an information sign that informed me that the annual rainfall at the coast is about 750mm but at Clatteringshaws it is 2200mm. No wonder the ground is always wet.
Galloway Forest Monster
I wasn’t sure how far I had to walk on the Raider’s Road and couldn’t be bothered to get the map out to see. There was just over 2 miles to go. Along the road I spotted a Galloway forest monster, distant relative of the wild haggis, in the woods. Probably just baby since its invisibility wasn’t working yet.
My heart rose when I caught a glint of water through the trees and thought it was Stroan Loch, but it was just the Black Water of Dee. Eventually Stroan Loch with the viaduct on its far side came into view and the end was close. The rain started just after I got back into the car. How’s that for timing?
The forecast was for a cloud base at 450m so I decided to give the bigger hills a miss. I have grown tired of climbing into mist where I can see little of the countryside, and even sometimes need to use GPS to confirm I’m at a summit. I had planned to follow the old railway line from Big Water of Fleet viaduct to where the viaduct over the Little Water of Fleet once was. Driving up to Dromore however, the Clints of Dromore did look inviting. All I had to do was weigh up the invitation against the descriptions of the Clints as ‘tough going’ and ‘It’s a swamp. Snorkel recommended’.
Driving to Dromore the rain petered out to an occasional spot on the windscreen and a red squirrel darted across the road. My mood was lightened and did I’m sure help tip the balance in my decision. So the Clints of Dromore it was.
Big Water of Fleet Viaduct
I parked at the car park just under the Big Water of Fleet viaduct, where there is a picnic area and an unusual wooden seat surrounded by a dry stone wall. I walked over to take a photo, and as I walked the rain began again. It was only light rain, though, not enough to warrant waterproofs, yet.
My first stop was the ruined buildings of Little Cullendoch, only a hundred metres or so from the car park. The ruins contain a strange sculpture that looks like a chained head stabbed in the neck. Somewhat gruesome, but perhaps there is another interpretation.
Stabbed chained sculpture
From here there were great views of the impressive viaduct, but the light was poor and the photos didn’t capture the emotion. I then made my way to the path leading up to the old railway line at the western end of the viaduct. By the time I got there it was definitely waterproofs weather.
I recalled from descriptions I had read that there was a gate at which I should leave the path and climb onto the Clints, but thought it was further along the railway. There was nothing on the map and I spied a gate, albeit sooner than I expected. I was to find later, this was not the right gate. Indeed once I had climbed up the gate it turned out to be a wooden fence repairing a dyke.
My way onto the clints
I thought I could see a path of sorts. Well at least what looked like a way through the undergrowth. So up I went through a combination of chest high water-soaked ferns on the flatter areas and slippy wet heather on the steeper sections. I had a brief moment of sliding down one of the steeper sections of heather and spotted a frog close at hand when I came to rest.
The area was full of birds. I startled half a dozen grouse and various smaller birds darted about. I got a good look at one that I think was a stonechat (but I’m not good with birds). Despite the rain there were butterflies/moths aplenty.
Waterlogged Grass
No paths. Deep wet undergrowth and occasional bogs but the going was not especially tough. Looking ahead I was surprised how high the Clints were. I took several diversions to the edge to see the views and these were quite tiring. By the time I reached the Deep Nick of Dromore the rain had increased to heavy and horizontal with mist. A song kept playing in my mind with the words ‘horizontal rain’ but the lyrics didn’t seem right. Eventually I remembered it should have been purple rain.
At the Deep Nick I had to decide whether to climb down then up again or head back to the treeline and walk around the Nick. I opted for the latter, which was just as well. Once I could see the Nick I realised how steep the sides were.
View south from the Clints
I was tempted to head down between some of the Clints, but thought it safer to stick to the original plan of continuing on until a fence. The ground became even boggier and required care in finding a path.
Heading down by the fence there appeared to be a path. This became increasingly wet and eventually became a stream. A little further down the ferns were back but there did seem to be track through them which contoured around the hill into the valley of the Russon burn.
I then dropped down into grassland and found a faint vehicle track to follow. The ground was boggy in places and where not boggy was bouncy like walking on a trampoline.
Another path to he Clints
The Clints were well seen from here but the weather made photos difficult. The path led to a gate onto the old railway which I followed back to the viaduct and the car. Walking along I passed a stile which was I think where I should have headed up the clints. Perhaps that would have been easier
I’ve seen this described as a 3-4 hour walk so I must have made good time. The area certainly looks pretty and I think I’ll try to come back in better weather sometime.
8.5 miles 2h 20min 320m ascent
