Drow 'n' Smirr

9.9 miles 848m ascent 5h 41m

It was excellent walking weather; dry, cool, blue sky and occasional clouds. Indeed the sunshine was more than we expected judging by our red faces by the afternoon.

We set off along the tourist route, which started off as a gentle climb up a rocky path with the Buchan Burn to our right and then became more gentle still when it entered the forest and led us to the bothy at Culsharg. The valley here between Benyellary and Buchan Hill looks like something out of a western, but there were no herds of bison as far as I could see.

From Culsharg there was only a little more forest track and then the open hillside of Benyellary, the hill of the eagle, which looks like a gentle easy slope but is deceptive. I hadn’t seen Elaine sweat perspire glisten before, but given her transformation back to terminator form after a snack, I’m coming to believe that she is some form of popeye-like being but banana rather than spinach fuelled. The group certainly drifted apart as we climbed the slope.

Once we reached Benyellary’s summit the views were extensive with Ireland, Ailsa Craig and Arran to the west; the lochs of the Ice cauldron, the Dungeon hills and the Rhinns of Kells to the east and Clatteringshaws to the south. We could even see the aerial on Benniguinea and Cairnsmore of Dee, that David and I had fought our way up previously. I’m with Poe’s raven on that hill….Nevermore.

The ridge to Merrick, the Neive of the spit, has a dyke to follow leading to the top of the Rig of the Gloon and Merrick’s grassy summit with its scattered white boulders. From here we could see along the ridge of the Awful Hand with Shalloch on Minnoch at its far end. Standing here Cairnsmore of Carphairn, was visible beyond Corserine. So standing on one of Galloway’s Corbetts, we could see the other three.

I had wondered what route we should take on our challenge next Spring. I had thought we would go via Backhill of Bush but from Merrick it looks as though we should head by Mullwharchar and up Meikle Craigtarson.

As we rested and fed on Merrick, I don’t think we were aware that the downhill section of this walk was to be the harder part.

Redstone Rig is 300m of descent in a mile. Not too bad but we did have something to warn us if a steep part was coming. If Andy has his hands out of his pockets, beware…you need to take care. A hare ran across our path as we got closer to Loch Enoch and met the boggy/muddy ground characteristic of the area. The silver sand of Loch Enoch was only visible on the far side, that on our side being submerged.

It is here that I must admit that my desire to see the Grey Man of Merrick led us off course, though from memory the other path would have been similar terrain. The GPS tracking went pear shaped in this area but was working fine up to the point where I headed off to check the rock formations for faces. This shows that I led you up the wrong valley, it should have been along the fence that we climbed over. Ah well, next time.

So it was back to tussocks, tumbles, and hidden holes in the ground. How does David manage to move so quickly through that terrain? He lent me a walking pole to help me down a steep section but I found it hindered me in the tussocks. I think that the evil spirits of this area manifest as midges when the weather suits them but turn into tussocks at other times.

The tussocks gave way to boot-swallowing mud once we got to Loch Neldricken and a discernible path, leading past Loch Valley, the Rig of the Jarkness and down by the Gairland Burn. I took several tumbles of increasing embarrassment while walking this path. The first was a mere genuflection, the second a fall onto dry grass, the third a classic slapstick flat-on-back in the mud affair. Following this I developed greater, but misplaced, confidence and happily stepped into mud until a mud puddle swallowed my right boot and seeped over the top.

Eventually the path grew rocky again and then once we passed through a gate it became a good quality path. He can manage tussocks and mud but the good path was too much for David who bowled over here. Perhaps the spell that allowed him to speed upright through the difficult path had worn off.

Andy spotted a snake, and we wondered if it was a grass snake or slow worm. I’ve googled it and think the latter more likely from the appearance.

Then we were back on the Loch Trool road, for a brief walk across the Buchan bridge and up to the car. Luckily I had foreseen the eventuality of my mishap and had a change of clothes.

Overall a good walk up the hill, a character building, muscle strengthening and balance testing downhill section, good views of Galloway’s Ice Cauldron and the Galloway Corbetts, all in fine weather.

But something was missing. Pastries at the end.

6.2 miles 730m ascent 3h 27m

I wasn’t sure where to walk this weekend. I had originally planned to visit Loch Enoch and Craignaw, but didn’t fancy doing it in the rain, so Plan B was Hart Fell (shorter option). Somewhere in the planning stage, though, I switched to White Coomb. I didn’t fancy a long walk since the weather forecast was uncertain…different sites, different forecasts.

As it turned out most of the day was sunny, but with quite strong wind, particularly on the ridge. At one point I saw a sparrow flying backwards in the wind.

So I set off for the Grey Mare’s Tail (Moffat version), parked carefully, wondered at the relative lack of other cars, adjusted my rucksack belt to hold up my trousers, fired up the camera and headed for the path. I was careful not to look down, since I’m a scaredy cat with heights, but it only takes a few minutes to get up to the top of the waterfall then the path has only a mild gradient and there is no gaping valley to slip down. My reading had advised checking the burn where it meets a dyke coming down from Tarnberry, since I would be crossing it on the way back. It didn’t look too bad but I would be wary after heavy rain.

It took about 40 minutes to reach the south bank of Loch Skeen and I took some time (and pictures) while deciding which set of stones to use in crossing the Tail Burn. Two walkers had caught up with me by now and must have been amused by my wimpish approach to this crossing. I seem to lack the necessary “just go for it” attitude and tend to faff about carefully studying each rock.

From the Loch a faint path leads up towards Mid Craig, which is itself quite a commanding piece of rock. The path is waterlogged in places but dries out once it becomes steeper, and it does get steep, occasioning the use of hands in places, as it zig-zags up Mid Craig. Here I took my first starburst, an orange one. The pair who watched me dancing across the burn seemed to be following the same path. I was expecting them to overtake me but once I got to the ridge and looked back they had disappeared.

From the top of Mid Craig to the dyke between Firthybrig Head and Donald’s Cleuch Head there was no clear path but the ground was easy enough though full of tussocks (may the almighty damn them), and the usual hidden holes. There were several meandering paths, presumably made by sheep but most were heading in the wrong direction. Those going in the right direction usually veered off after a minute or two.

The walk was then just following the dyke. (Though that sounds somewhat inappropriate.) And follow the dyke I did, as it deteriorated from a waist high affair to an ankle high tumble of rocks. Either the wind up here can be pretty strong or the vandals are to be commended on their diligence. I must admit to being impressed that so much granite had been carted up so high to build the wall in the first place.

By the time I reached White Coomb, which had taken just under two hours, the wind had really picked up. My attempts to snap myself with the delayed shutter on the camera were mostly ineffective, the camera blowing over most of the time. The cairn on the summit of White Coombe was a rather pancake like affair, but I suppose if dry stone dykes blow over it would be wasteful to build something taller. It was however a neat affair and even seemed to have its own moat (or trench since it wasn’t full of water.)

The views from the summit were excellent: Hart Fell, The Lowther hills, Broad Law, some hills I don’t know to the south and even the Eildon Hills.

I had intended eating my sandwich at White Coomb, but the wind would probably have whipped it from my hand so I decided to delay until a more sheltered spot presented itself. (I eventually ate it at home.) So back to following the dyke.
The descent was steep in places and muddy as well. Not a good mix with strong winds but I only fell once.

I had seen distant rain which drew closer as the walk wore on. Eventually the darkness closed in and the first fine drops of rain began to fall, followed quickly with heavier spots. Once I had the full wet weather gear on (never a straightforward task for me, especially in strong wind) the sun came out again. Some occasional gusts of rain did fall every few minutes. Not enough for waterproofs, but enough to convince me to stay covered (and hot).

Rough Craigs was a trial. This is a steep rocky section on the way down and reminded me of the scrambling on our Lake District jaunt. On a couple of occasions rocks I placed my weight on slipped away. I’m sure it’s worse climbing down these sections. The winds made it more unpleasant.

The route follows the dyke all the way back to the tail burn which I managed to cross without a swim. I had an audience for the crossing, a family of three generations, so decided it was time to cross with style. I found the best rocks and decided the crossing would have to be fluent. None of this stopping to regain composure on rocks in the middle. Next time I’ll manage it, but I did manage to get across without falling in, without putting boots in above their top and without flapping my arms like a falling trapeze artist.

Then back down the tiled way, me in full waterproofs and everyone else coming up in tee-shirts. One elderly lady asked if I had “come over the top”. I did wonder what this meant as I walked on. My brain was in monosyllabic mode, though, so I just said “yes”.

Back at the now full car park, the National Trust had a sign about “The Roaring Linn”, the Grey Mare’s Tail, hence the title of this entry.

I think she chatters rather than roars.

PS I woke up this morning with quadriceps that are complaining they have had unaccustomed use. I obviously need more practice on hills.