Lonewalker's Walking Diary

6th May 2013 – Beattock to St. Mary’s Loch: 21.3 miles, 3,310 feet

“Happy is the man who has acquired the love of walking for its own sake”  W.J. Holland – American Zoologist and Paleontologist (1848 – 1932)

I’ve had to abandon the walk today. I tried to walk on the right foot this morning. I managed a mere 4 miles before I knew I wasn’t going to be able to complete the day.

In many respects I’ve been very lucky. Today is a bank holiday and I’ve been able to call my son to come and collect me.

I turned round and headed into Moffat where there’s plenty of shops, pubs and cafés to wait in until help arrives.

Perhaps if this had been the last day of the walk I would have managed to struggle through to finish it, but the fact is I have 5 more days after this one and the way the foot is feeling, I’m pretty sure I couldn’t complete it.

Abandoning things now makes logistical sense, even if I thought I could complete the 22 miles I needed to do today. Which I don’t believe I could.

I’ll do a fuller write up over the next few days, but until then, thanks for following along with me, thanks for all the comments and feedback and really sorry I’m having to draw this to a close prematurely.

5th May 2013 – Wanlockhead to Beattock: 20.0 miles, 3,578 feet

“My father considered a walk among the mountains as the equivalent of churchgoing”  Aldous Huxley – English Author (1894 – 1963)

Only a brief update for today, sorry.

Today was my least favourite of the whole walk, certainly after the first 10 miles. Up until that point I’d enjoyed the Lowther Hills and the paths had been wet by not too bad.

Beyond Beld Knowe it all got horrible and boggy though. The tracks through the forests were the worst so far, horribly wet, poorly signed, many blocked by fallen trees. By the time I’d reached Beattock I was considering quitting, the day had really been that dreadful. The insesent wind and on/off/on rain didn’t help either.

I’ve also picked up two injuries, both of which hurt like blue blazes. Left shin impacted rock and I had to apply bandage to it from my first aid kit, that stung like buggery for ages. Then last night I kicked my bed leg with my right little toe and that’s been like fire all day, except the last 3 miles when I couldn’t feel it anymore.

A shower in the hotel, hot meal and a beer seem to have lifted my spirits though, so I won’t be quitting. Not unless my foot or shin turns gangrenous

4th May 2013 – Sanquhar to Wanlockhead: 8.2 miles, 1,973 feet

“All walking is discovery. On foot we take time to see things whole”  Hal Borland – American Author & Journalist (1900 – 1978)

Although day seven was the shortest one of the lot, it’s had some of the best walking so far. I’d been expecting more peat bog and a bit of a paddle across the tops to Wanlockhead, but the path was generally excellent; grassy and firm, across rolling grassy lumps, just like walking in the Howgills.

I must have slept soundly for a good while last night at Newark Farm, as I woke with a stiff neck, which usually means I’ve been comatose in one position. I was woken at about 05:00 when the back door to the farm was slammed firmly shut, right beside my bedroom window. It was opened and similarly slammed repeatedly over the next couple of hours. I know it’s a working farm, but I wasn’t working, so didn’t think I needed waking at such an uncivilised hour.

I had a late breakfast with Frances fussing around making sure I had everything I needed and offering a bacon or sausage barm to take with me for lunch. As it’s such a short day, I didn’t think I’d need anything and I was planning on having a big lunch in the Wanlockhead Inn and a light snack in the B&B later.

I was walking by 09:30, setting out in my long sleeved baselayer, Craghopper trousers and soft shell jacket, all the waterproofs in the pack, not needed according to the weather forecast. This did make for a heavier pack than yesterday in the rain; when you’re wearing all your layers the pack almost floats away. It was still wet as well, despite being in front of an electric fire for a few hours last night. In fact everything was a bit damp, except the items in the dry bags, which had pretty much avoided water ingress. My boots, like sodden lumps of leather when I’d arrived yesterday were the best recovery. They’d been stuffed with paper and been in front of the same fire and they were almost dry. I sill used my Sealskins over my liner socks though, just in case. I’m actually surprised how comfortable that combination feels, but as an experiment it seems fairly successful. The Sealskins had only been brought to use in the evening, in the event I had to walk to a pub in wet boots.

It was warm and sunny as I walked back down the road, into Sanquhar to retrieve the path. Turning right up a small lane and onto an uninspiring track (hilariously called Cow’s Wynd) up to a memorial of some kind. It had been dedicated by some local Laird to commemorate 100 years of the Sanquhar Riding of the Marches (whatever that is/was – hey, I’m not Tony Robinson, go and Google it). A hundred scrawny sticks (trees) had been planted up the length of the lane, reaching a wall with a plaque that heaped praise on the aforementioned Laird and mentioned a memorial cairn that I looked for but couldn’t see. Perhaps they’d run out of money planting the sticks and making the plaques naming the good deeds of the Laird and hadn’t been able to actually build the cairn.

The path soon entered a large pasture, with views ahead to the hills I was about to cross. I took a long-cut to avoid a spectacularly boggy section of ground, which had been chewed to bits by quad bikes or possibly mountain bikes. But beyond that it was into the hills proper. I began a long gradual climb, following the marker posts, beside a fence line.

Fence ornament

All the hills are incredibly brown around here, I think I mentioned this before, but I find it surprising. By the time I do my annual walk, the hills are generally getting quite green. The farmers are pulling their hair out, as it’s costing them a fortune in feed, especially with all the lambs born now, as there is so little grass on the hills to support the flocks.

Still waiting for Spring to come

I reached a gate across the path and here I made a decision. I had planned to make my own route from this point, heading left to bag a trig point and then going right to bag the tops along a ridge line before dropping into Wanlockhead. This was a slightly shorter day but helped the tick lists. I actually decided to stick to the path instead. The main reason being the sixth Kist of the journey was down in the valley ahead and I would bypass it if I chose my bagging route. I’d become quite enamoured with this treasure hunt on the Way and I didn’t want to miss the search for my fourth coin.

I dropped down a steep path, heading for a heavily logged area below. I could see the Way ahead, climbing out the other side of the valley, passing an old ruined building with an impressive intact chimney stack on it. It snaked away up the hill opposite before disappearing over the top.

I joined a forest track for a few hundred yards, tall stacks of fresh cut timber lined the road and the smell of the logs was really nice.

Logging stacks

I left the road at a fingerpost and just happened to spot an ‘Ultreia’ plaque on it, on the opposite face to the way I was walking, which meant it was for westbound walkers and the Kist was behind me. I must have missed the plaque earlier. The two little plaques are typically only a hundred yards or so apart, so I didn’t have too far to backtrack.

Without giving too much away, I found a niche, covered by a stone and inside I found my fourth Waymerk. A copper coin and in good condition, unlike yesterday’s cache where most of the coins were rusty. This one was dry inside and the coins had fared much better. I pocketed my treasure and returned to my trail.

The sixth Kist

The path up Lowmill Knowe is excellent, it’s well defined, obviously much used (probably by sheep rather than people I guess) and climbs the slope easily. I was completely surrounded by rolling yellow-brown hills, some still with snow clinging to their sides. I felt the wind beginning to build behind me and it was soon tugging at my Tilley (I had to correct autocorrect on that last word, that could have been embarrassing).

As I crested the top of the hill I got my first view of Wanlockhead at the head of the valley below. Lots of white buildings, spread out along quite a long length of road. Mining remains and spoil heaps dominated the view though. The surrounding hills were scarred with the lead mining that went on here for many years in the 18th and 19th centuries.

I wound down a good track into the valley and picked up the tarmac road that runs the length of the valley. It has a number of interesting remains beside it, if you’re into history and shit (which I am).

The wind was now very strong, it was also very cold and the sweat I’d generated coming over the top was beginning to feel really uncomfortable as it was rapidly cooled by the wind. I dawdled as best I could up the valley, but it was getting much to cold to be out and about when I didn’t need to be. I made a bee line for the Wanlockhead Inn. Just as I arrived I found a pair of women with three young boys on bikes. They were all watching a tiny lamb, bleating to its mother. The problem was the lamb was on the wrong side of the fence, the mother on the inside and the lamb on the road side. They were standing, debating what the right thing to do would be. I scrambled up the steep bank to the lamb, picked it up before it saw me and lifted it over the fence back to its mother. I got a round of applause! That was my good deed for May.

I’m writing this while resting in the Wanlockhead Inn before I head over to my B&B, and I’m beginning to wish I’d not come in, I’ve already begun to hate the place. It’s got a TV blaring in the corner, with no one in the room to watch it and a raucous pair of old boys in the bar each trying to out-shout the other. They seem to be taking it in turns to see who can put the worst record on the jukebox. It’s one of those electronic ones with millions of tracks on it. The one who selected ‘The Nolans: I’m in the mood for dancing’ has pushed me beyond my tolerance and I’m out of here. If it was playing gently in the background then perhaps I could live with it, but it’s going full blast. See the link to a video below.

I paid for my cheap-meat burger and double chips (which were nice and plenty of them) and headed over to the Visitor Centre Tea Room for a change of scenery. As I left, the second old boy raised the jukebox ante by playing Shirley Bassey. I ran.

If you don’t want beer, then the Visitor Centre Tea Room is much better than the Inn. It’s quiter, warmer and the walls are covered in history (and there’s no jukebox or TV). I had a pot of tea and spent an enjoyable 30-40 mins killing time by reading the walls.

Wanlockhead Visitor Centre Tea Room

I arrived at my B&B at about 14:30 only to find a sign on the door saying ‘Back at 2:30′. It wasn’t long before I was let in. The wind was ferocious now and it was absolutely bitter outside.

I’m only now warming up. I’m sat in the guest lounge in front of an ineffectual electric fire, with a blanket on my knees, watching BBC news. It’s 19:20, so it’s taken me nearly 5 hours to get the point where I’m not actually dithering. In another hour I’ll be in bed probably. I have an early start, breakfast is booked for 06:30 and I hope the wind drops in the night as I have 21 miles and 3500 feet of ascent to do tomorrow.

VIDEO LINK: GOES TO YOUTUBE

Wanlockhead Inn jukebox horror!

3rd May 2013 – Nether Holm to Sanquhar: 15.1 miles, 2,002 feet

“After a day’s walk, everything has twice its usual value”  George Macauley Trevelyan - British Historian (1876 – 1962)

For once the weather forecast was bloody right. It predicted rain all day and that’s exactly what I got. I heard it start about 06:30 as I was dozing, waiting for the alarm to go off. It was pattering rather than battering so that was something at least. It’s still raining now, without having taken single break, at 19:00 as I write this in my B&B in Sanquhar.

The hostel, as I’d come to thing of my building, was chilly and damp. Without the warmth of the fire it was an unpleasant place to wake up to. On the bright side, at least the water tank must be well lined, because there was hot water this morning, which is more than can be said for last night. I had a wash and went across the yard again at 08:00 for my breakfast.

In the first few days of each years long distance path I tend to start the day with a full cooked breakfast, several days in this becomes just Bacon & Eggs and soon after that it’s Egg on Toast and eventually just Tea & Toast. Today I found myself at the Egg on Toast stage, somewhat earlier than usual I think, but as I didn’t have a huge day, I thought I could probably survive on it. Susie did a good job, just like with my evening meal and we had a little chat while I ate, being joined by Peter, her husband this morning.

I packed all my gear, which takes less and less time each day, and I was striding back down the farm track to the road by about 09:30. The weather was still poor, so I picked the lower path. In anticipation of a wet day, I was wearing my waterproof socks over my liner socks, with my carrier bag gaiters in a side pocket, ready to be deployed if they were needed.

I followed a rugged track for the first mile or so, before the Lorg Trail took to the hillside. The path was obviously used by quad bikes and sheep as it was quite well worn, but not as bad as I’d been expecting. The surrounding hills were all covered in mist and it felt like a fine day to be walking high(ish). The valley narrows towards its head and the path heads into a forest. This is where I’d read that it can get very wet and boggy.

Using the Lorg Trail to avoid the tops

I passed through a gate into the forest, entering a firebreak. I was immediately met by a huge fall of trees across what I believed to be the path. It was dense and even without looking too hard I knew I’d never get through them. I had a look at the map and sought an alternative, but nothing seemed obvious. Then I remembered the four cyclists from last night. They’d been heading this way and it stood to reason they must have got through. I investigated around the trees. What I had initially thought was just a planting gap between the rows of trees actually turned out to be the path. It was much narrower that I was expecting, dark and somewhat claustrophobic looking. I started up it and it soon opened out into a path, about 15 feet across, between rows of pines. The gap was narrow enough that very little rain was getting through to the forest floor and I managed to remove my hood for the first time that morning.

Path is just left of the fallen trees

The path up through the forest was mostly good. A bit soggy, but not a huge problem, certainly I didn’t need the makeshift gaiters I was packing. Toward the end of the path though it got pretty bad, wide sections of deep, boggy, grass which I managed to skirt around by entering the forest and then rejoining the path later. Only about 150 yards of this though at the end, before it met the foresty road. On the whole this was an excellent short cut, one that’s well worth considering if you’re staying at Nether Holm and don’t fancy the climb back up to the ridge. If you’re a route purist, then this isn’t for you.

My shortcut meets the Southern Upland Way just beside Chalk Memorial Bothy and about 200-300 yards before the buildings at Polskeoch. I joined the forestry track and then the tarmac again at this point. It was still raining and the wind was picking up now, mostly westerly so at my back for the main part, but still an annoyance. I plodded steadily along the road, not wanting to go too fast, both to prevent any damage to my feet, but also to extend my arrival time in Sanquhar. I couldn’t really turn up to the B&B much before 15:30 and I wasn’t sure what the pub situation was like in the town. So there’s no point rushing across the hills only to sit in a bus shelter for an hour.

There’s about 3 miles of tarmac between Polskeoch and the exit point from the road onto the hills at the farm of Polgown. The views down the valley made up for the road surface and I’d pretty much accepted the weather at this point. Very little reason to rile at the weather gods when you’ve got scenery like this to walk through. The higher tops to the right of the valley were still mist shrouded, but the hills ahead were clear, which was the way I was headed. I stopped and studied the map for a while at Polgown, translating the route I could see on the paper, to the contours of the land ahead. I didn’t need to, I could see several of the marker posts heading out across the moor ahead, leading walkers easily across the landscape.

I found a sheltered spot, out of the wind and popped up my umbrella to keep the rain off while I munched on a Tunnocks Caramel Wafer biscuit, surely Scotland’s second finest export. There was no point walking with the umbrella up today, the wind would have driven the rain against me and I really needed the coat and overtrousers on, on a day like this.

Sheltering under the brolly for a break

At Cloud Hill, the point of the Ken/Nith watershed, I found the fifth Kist of the walk and the third one that I’ve managed to discover. It was a ceramic bowl, covered with a pottery lid, holding several dozen, mostly rusted, silver coins. I pocketed one, replaced the lid and continued on across the moor. It was squelchey for long stretches and I was already glad I’d used my Sealskins socks inside my boots. There was no way they were going to keep the water out on a day like today.

Kist on Cloud Hill

It was a fine high moor though, with long valleys either side, wonderful views across to other tops and a clear path to follow. I diverted just beyond Cloud Hill to find the trig point on Welltrees Tappin, a long slog across a trackless, tussocky section, beside a wall thankfully. I took shelter in another convenient hollow beneath the trig, sitting to eat my lunch. I got quite cold sitting there, the rain got heavier and the wind increased in strength. Before I was finished, I had to add my soft shell beneath the Paramo, my woolly hat and finally my gloves with my waterproof mits over the top of them. If things got really bad I had two more top layers I could add, but that would mean an uncomfortable night in the B&B with wet evening clothes on! I didn’t need them though as I increased my pace to warm myself up. If I had to I’d find a bus shelter in Sanquhar, but I wasn’t going to keep to my slow and steady pace any longer.

It was downhill all the way to Sanquhar, the path I followed reminded me of a path I’d used from Low Raise in the Eastern Fells, down to Measand Beck, beside Haweswater. It was soft and boggy, heavily used by quad bikes by the look of it and badly eroded in places. As I got close to Sanquhar the Southern Upland Way headed right, away from the quad track and the difference in erosion was noticeable. Almost no visible track at all made by Wayers, but I’d been splashing through deeply cut grooves in the peat for the last three or four miles.

Badly eroded, but not by walkers

Sanquhar is a bit like Tan Hill Inn for south bound Pennine Wayers, you can see it for miles and it never seems to get any closer. I was getting close though, and I used my recently acquired phone signal to open Google and do a local search of services. After 86 emails had finished downloading (83 of which I deleted as spam) I found several pubs on the main street of the town, along with three mini supermarkets.

I played Russian Roulette with the pubs, having no idea which was the best, which would be serving food or which ones had draught ales on tap. I plumped for the Commercial Inn and found a small public bar occupied by three old boys watching the horse racing. I was sodden, dripping water everywhere and unsure of myself. “I’m soaking wet” I said to the barman, I indicated an empty seat and continued “am I okay……” I let the rest of the question hang, hoping he wouldn’t send me out. “Well, you’re definitely soaking” he replied “whether or not you’re okay is something we don’t know yet!” This got a round of laughter from the local boys and I figured I was in the right pub.

I asked if he was doing food still, it was 14:15, he said the kitchen had shut at 14:00 but he’d find me something. He gave me a menu and indicated the left hand side, “you can have anything from that side” he said. I ordered an Egg Mayo sandwich and chips and added a pint of Belhaven Best.

I dripped water on their floor for about 45 minutes and soaked the chair for the next unsuspecting punter to use it, then headed out into the rain. It’s bad enough walking out into pouring rain with dry clothes on, but it’s bloody awful going out with cold, wet gear on. I shivered all the way to the Spar shop down the road, where I bought provisions for tomorrow and for the 20 mile day on Sunday, as there is no shop again tomorrow night, or indeed until Galashiels on Wednesday. I have a supply parcel waiting on Sunday night though.

I arrived at the B&B about 15:20, well outside the town, on a working farm. I rang the bell but got no answer. I knocked on the door, with the same result. I wandered round the back, found a brass bell beside a barn door and rang that for all I was worth. Nothing happened, no apologetic landlady appeared. I stood forlornly in the yard, getting cold. I reasoned I couldn’t get any wetter, so at least things couldn’t get any worse on that account. I wondered what I should do, I was a bit early possibly, so maybe no one was home, or perhaps they were out on the farm somewhere, working. I went round to the front door again and was about to ring the contact number I had, when the door opened.

I was shown to a downstairs bedroom by a young lad, obviously come in from the farm, still in overalls and wellies. He told me his Nan would be along shortly, but she was out just now.

I made myself at home in the room. I spread wet kit over every available surface, switched on an electric fire and put my boots in front of it. I tried to have a shower, but the stupid thing either ran scalding hot or freezing cold. Another day without the satisfaction of a decent shower, it’s little things like that which can make me feel depressed and homesick. Silly I know, but it’s true.

Despite the rain, today was my favourite of the lot. It was a good hill day. I bagged a trig point over a mile off the route, which means I was in a good frame of mind. My legs felt fine all day, and they still do now. I’m feeling strong and I’ve reached that point where I’ve walked myself to the level of fitness I need, and the aches and pains of the first few days are behind me. My feet were sore after the punishing surfaces of the 25 mile day from Bargrennan, but they seem much better. I’m starting to get some marks on the top of my toes which I think are due to the toe box being too tight, but even after loosening them today I have another one this evening. That could have been down to the thicker socks I was using today, but I’m not sure.

All is going well here. I’m really enjoying reading the comments you leave, and although I don’t always manage to reply to them all, I do appreciate you leaving them, so please say hello if you’re able.

Short day tomorrow, but no idea if I have a signal in Wanlockhead, it’s a tiny village, the highest in Scotland or something (I’d Google it to verify if I could be notherdd) so could well be another black spot.

2nd May 2013 – St. Johns Town of Dalry to Nether Holm: 14.9 miles, 2,873 feet

“One may walk over the highest mountain, one step at a time”  John Wanamaker – “A pioneer of marketing” (1838 – 1922)

Day five has certainly been the pick of the bunch so far. Not only the terrain I passed through, but the views around me were absolutely made the day. The weather played it’s part too, the forecast was mostly correct, in that it didn’t rain at all, but it didn’t feel as warm as it suggested it should have done. So today I got into the hills properly, albeit with quite a long walk in.
The Clachan Inn was OK, it felt old and dated and not particularly clean, but the bed was comfortable and the linen was freshly laundered and I slept like a log, that is to say I pretty much died once I settled down. I’ve just started watching Season Two of the Walking Dead and I only managed one episode last night. I think I managed about 9 hours sleep and I was awake just before the alarm went off at 07:30.

I’d asked for an 08:00 breakfast with a view to getting out on the path by 09:00. No point leaving any earlier really, as I couldn’t arrive at the B&B much earlier than 16:00 and with about 15 miles to do I reckoned at a nice slow pace I’d be walking for about 6 or 7 hours.

It’s great to be able to amble all day, especially when there’s quite a lot of uphill work to be done. I never felt under any pressure to get a crack on and I was happy to stop whenever the mood took me, or when I found a convenient rock or sheltered spot out of the chilling wind on the higher tops.

Southern Upland Way sign

The difference between the relaxed pace today and the somewhat rushed schedule of yesterday was startling. Not only do I feel much fresher this evening, when I’m writing this, but I feel more relaxed in myself.

I walked up the road out of Dalry (pronounced Dalrigh) and almost immediately it was off the tarmac and into fields and wide, rough pastures. There were plenty of boggy sections, but the path was always fairly clear and doesn’t have the arbitrary feeling it had a couple of days ago when the way markers just pointed me across an expanse of moorland and expected me to make my own path. The path today felt like something I’d be using in the Howgills or on the higher fells in the Dales. It was clear, but boggy in sections.

The rolling hills surrounding me were all brown, without exception, even the lower hills I was walking across were universally brown and drab, no green flush to the grass yet. Dead bracken was evident too, without any sign of the green shoots pushing through yet. It looks like the snow that lay across these hills until just a couple of weeks ago has delayed any signs of spring. There were still white patches visible on many of the surrounding hillsides, despite the warmer weather we’ve been having recently.

As well as being immensely impressed with the quality of the way marking on the route, I’m also pleased to find that most field boundaries are crossed using gates, rather than stiles. The gates all seem to be the same, and I get the impression that they’re provided by the National Trail to landowners, their uniformity is so striking. They all have a little gate set into a much bigger gate, so you can step through the small one if you’re a walker and open the big one if you need to drive through. I missed them today though, as the track follows mostly footpaths and not roads or farm tracks, so the boundaries are crossed by typical two-step wooden stiles. I tend to find this becomes harder as the day progresses and my knees become less flexible and negotiating stiles becomes a chore.

A couple of miles outside Dalry, just after Ardoch Hill, the path uses a thin track between the Earlstoun Burn and a boundary wall. I forced a herd of sheep ahead of me, which seem to be trapped in this section between burn and wall. They churned up the path to a right mess and I was soon cursing them as I waded through the mud and mess they’d created. There was no way my boots were going to be dry at the end of the day though, so I just ploughed through it.

Interesting bridge, with pavement in case it gets busy

A short section of tarmac was endured just beyond this and I even managed to walk on the verge, so I can almost say I’ve had a tarmac free day….. almost.

Leaving the tarmac I began what felt like a 7 or 8 mile ascent. First up the gentle slopes of Marskaig Hill and then Culmark Hill, followed by a little respite as I dropped down to Stroanpatrick and the minor road that the Way uses for a few dozen yards.

I’d been able to see Benbrack for a while at this point and I could just make out the stone arch that has been built on it. Well, in actuality I took a full zoom photo of the summit from a distance of about 6 miles and then viewed that on the camera screen. At 20x zoom, I could make out that the tiny black mrk on the summit was indeed the Striding Arch, a sandstone construction that is also mimicked on two other nearby hills.

Before I got close to Benbrack though I had some more climbing to do. I lost the path for a while, just beyond Stroanpatrick. I think sheep have been using them for back scratching or perhaps they’ve been felled by wind or weather, but a number of fallen marker posts, and me concentrating on my audio book instead of watching the map, meant I strayed away from the path. I cut across an array of lumps and bumps at Kiln Knowe to meet it again, climbing towards a gap in the forest ahead and the wild path up to Manquhill Hill. I got some lovely views from this bald top, with forest stretching away on most sides but a clear view of the path ahead to Benbrack.

That particular climb seemed endless. It was 12 miles into the day and the wind was picking up, the temperature had dropped and in was beginning to flag a bit, so it was probably not as bad as I recall. I took a couple of gasping stops as I climbed and eventually I could see the arch and then the trig point at the summit.

I’d sort of convinced myself that Benbrack was the end of the climbing for the day, so was quite surprised to find that I still had some more to do before I could drop down to my B&B. It was all quite soggy from this point too. Very reminiscent of a Peak District summit. I dropped down then up to Mid Hill, then the same again to Cairn Hill. In said goodbye to the Southern Upland Way at this point and turned left towards Coranbae Hill, another down and up. From here I dropped a thousand feet over the next mile or so, following a fence line beside the forest on my left.

Looking back up to Coranbea Hill

Towards the bottom, the path got very wet and quite tricky in places as it struggled to stay above a deep, rocky burn called Altry Burn. I reached the bottom and looked for a place to cross the fast flowing river. I was lucky it wasn’t in spate, or I’d never have managed to make the crossing, but I eventually found a series of stones, dry enough to enable me to hop across. It was here that I saw my first people of the walk.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned how few people I’ve seen since I started this walk. I don’t mean other Southern Upland Wayers, I mean other people full stop. In the towns of course I’ve seen folk, but once I leave the environs of a village that tends to be it. Yesterday I saw three lads in a Land Rover and a couple of lorry drivers on the logging road, but I’ve still not seen another walker on the hills, not even from a distance. Even when walking somewhere ‘unpopular’ like the Howgills, I may not meet another walker, but I generally see one from a distance. Not here. I’ve not seen a soul. Until this afternoon, walking past Holm of Dalquhairn Bridge, when I saw four mountain bikers. They were too far off to speak to and they weren’t walkers, but it’s nice to know other people do use these hills.

I walked down the long tarmac drive to Nether Holm of Dalquhairn and rang their bell. Which is a bell, a big brass ships bell, with a clanger and everything. The tolling of the bell summoned a lady to the door, who looked surprised to see me. ‘Am I in the right place?’ I asked. There had been no B&B sign on the drive, I’d just followed the directions provided. ‘I’m looking for Susie’ I explained. ‘Oh, gosh, I wasn’t expecting you today’ she said. My heart sank.

Fortunately she had enough room to accommodate at least 15-20 people, in a separate building behind the farmhouse. It was cold and basic, feeling a bit like a youth hostel or bunkhouse. There was a central lounge with a small kitchenette, wood burner which also heated the hot water and several bedrooms and bathrooms. I got a bed and a choice of shower or bath.

The wood burner took an age to heat the water though and in the end I gave up waiting and had what could generously be called a tepid shower. I didn’t linger long under th weak stream of cool water and was soon back with my feet in front of the wood burner.

Drying boots in front of the fire

There was an impressive amount of religious iconography about the place. Every wall had a picture of a saint, the Pope (the previous one) or Jesus. I began to think this may be used as a retreat.

Being so far from any other facilities, the room included an evening meal and I was asked to come across to the house at 19:00 for supper. I spent some time updating the journal. As expected, there was no phone signal and no WiFi either, so no chance to upload what I was writing. I sat and fed the wood burner, and I’m sure my clothes will smell of smoke for the rest of this journey.

Supper was very nice, provided with a bottle of Jennings Cocker Hoop, so someone had good taste in beer. After I’d eaten and chatted in was back over the yard in my little hostel.

The weather for tomorrow looks a bit grim, it’s due to rain all day and it that proves to be the case then I’ll probably take the low route along the Lorg Trail and through the forest to rejoin the path, rather than climb the 1000 feet back to the path at the top of Coranbea Hill. This will also shave a mile or two off the route, thus saving me a couple of hours perhaps. I’ll see what the weather looks like in the morning before making a decision, but I don’t seeing value in climbing all that way into the cloud. Unfortunately it seems like the low route through the forest is renowned for being a bit wet and boggy, but I have my carrier bag gaiters for just such an emergency.

1st May 2013 – Bargrennan to St. Johns Town of Dalry: 25.4 miles, 3,099 feet

“It is good to collect things, it is better to take walks”  Anatole France – French Poet (1844 – 1924)

Day 4

I didn’t sleep too good last night. The room was comfortable and quiet, but at about 02:30 I woke up with a feeling of dread. I didn’t remember seeing a grille (the sort you pull down to protect the spirits) over the bar that night, and I worried that they would lock the door to the bar area at night. My boots were drying beside the wood burner in there and if I was up and about before everyone else I wouldn’t be able to get to them. This worry kept me awake, off and on, pretty much right up until 06:00 when the alarm went off. I was waiting for it.

I got dressed and went downstairs, calling myself a foolish old worry-wart, only to find the door into the bar securely locked! I was a bit gutted. In a disconsolate mood I ate the breakfast that had been left out for me; Corn Flakes, tea and toast, and went back upstairs to pack my gear away.

I kicked myself for lack of foresight and kicked myself again for being a stupid arse. I should never have let the boots out of my sight.

With everything packed I went back downstairs and waited in the dining room for someone to stir. There is a manager on site, the girl behind the bar had said so last night. I figured I wouldn’t have to wait too long. They’d have to be up making breakfast for the other guests wouldn’t they? I was ready to go at 06:40, a nice early start that would see the day broken by lunch time and enable me to take it easy in the afternoon, when the forecast said it would be warm and sunny.

At 07:20 I was annoyed, both at myself and at the lack of any activity in the place. The phone rang at that point and hope sprang within me! Surely someone would be woken by the ringing phone and have to come and answer it….. but no, nothing. The caller left a message and the hotel returned to silence.

At 07:40 I could feel the anger beginning to rise. David Banner I ain’t, and I’m certainly not Lou Ferrigno but I can see where he gets it from. I went outside and rang the door bell. The awful tones of ‘Green Sleeves’ rang out in the back room. I waited, expectantly, my apologies already on the tip of my tongue, but nothing. Silent as a grave.

At 08:00 I rang their phone number myself, several times, each time hoping someone would hear it and get fed up of listening to a ringing phone. Nothing.

By 08:20 I was considering setting off the fire alarm. I mean FFS, how long were they going to be? By this point I presumed I was the only guest and they have no one else to be up for to prepare breakfast.

At 08:30 I heard someone stir and there were footsteps on a wooden floor. I went outside again and rang the door bell. I was heartily sick of ‘Green Sleeves’ now and was worried it would be with me all day, rolling around in my head. But at least someone heard it. I was waiting in the hall when a half dressed woman appeared through a door, she was dragging a dressing gown around her and she let out a little squeal when she saw me standing there. I suppressed the urge to smile and tried not to show the intense pleasure her surprise had given me, petty I know, but I’m only human

I explained about the boots and she let me in the bar to collect them. I went outside to boot up and was soon heading up the road, a mere two hours behind schedule.

I don’t walk well to a deadline, I tend to go all Gung-Ho and batter away at the mileage at top speed. I tried to reign myself in, but generally to little avail, my subconscious told me I had two hours to make up and my body just followed the instructions blindly. The path was all hardcore from the start, so that enabled me to set a reasonable pace.

Day four is generally when things start to hurt. It’s normally been a full year since I’ve walked consecutively for three days and the added weight of the pack adds to the strain. Even before I set out today I found that my shoulders were stiff, I have a friction burn under my right armpit, my cheek chafe has begun in earnest, the bottoms of my feet feel a little abused and my left knee is quite sore. On the plus side, the part of my body I’ve been most worried about, my left foot, is actually fine, which is a huge relief.

So with all those minor aches and pains I set out with a 25 mile day ahead of me, the longest one of the walk and not in the best frame of mind.

I went north along the road, past Glentrool Holiday village (what appeared to be a caravan site) and along a cycle path beside the road to the Visitor Centre at Stroan Bridge. This was always a possible shortcut for me, and the delay this morning only enforced that decision.

Another cycle path led down the side of the Water of Minnoch to meet up with the Southern Upland Way. I had been worried this would be another soggy horror of a path, but the surface was hardcore, made up of chippings and stones, to support the cycle route that also used this path. This allowed me to make good progress and the distant views, when I could glimpse them thought the thin trees beside the path, we’re quite inspiring. High hills, covered in cloud, rocky prominences abounded among them too, so the vista had a rugged feel to it.

I measured today’s progress by three lochs; Loch Trool came first followed a few miles later by Loch Dee and then, nine miles from the end Clatteringshaws Loch.

Loch Trool was lovely, and the path, still also a cycle way, rose and fell beside the lake, with wonderful views. It rained lightly for about 40 mins and I used the umbrella for the first time properly, with no wind it worked really well and I didn’t need to use my waterproof jacket until later, when I lost the sun for a while and it grew quite cold.

I was using the marker posts as guidance today, I’ve come to trust them while navigating over the past three days; they are present at every change in direction and point of decision. But with my head down, following the marker posts I missed the alternative route up the nicer side of Glenhead valley at the end of Loch Trool. I was now following a logging road through old forestry, mostly all logged out a long time ago. The surface was similar to the cycle way and my feet were beginning to feel the strain of several quick miles over stones. For a while the road was made of crushed shells, which was novel, but not particularly any easier on the feet.

At the head of Glenhead I caught my first sight of Loch Dee. I took a short break, finding a spot out of the wind I was now exposed to, having crested the top of the pass. I applied a small Compeed to my left foot, between the two biggest toes, where in could feel a hot spot developing. I had my first lunch and enjoyed the view.

Loch Dee from my first lunch stop

The forest track seemed to go on forever, my feet feeling more and more abused as time went on. It was pretty monotonous and I was absurdly pleased to find a wide wooden bridge over a small river to break up the insesent hardcore.

As I arrived at Clatteringshaws Loch I was passed by a couple of lorries, hauling fresh cut timber, I could smell the sap still on the logs, even over the diesel fumes. They didn’t slow down, as I’ve become used to with logging lorries, but they both waved a thank you for me moving over and giving them plenty of room.

The path finally left the logging road! It headed off into a forest but a sign beside the path said forestry work was in operation and the trail was closed at this point and walkers should find an alternative route. No suggested diversion, no helpful map showing options, just route closed, tough luck. It did say that the route should be open by June 2013, but I decided not to wait for that. I also decided I hadn’t seen the sign and bugger them. I was knackered. I wasn’t going to spend time looking for an alternative, and in wasn’t going to add miles to the day walking it either.

I pressed on through the forest, on a soggy path, half expecting to hear chain saws and logging as I progressed. After a mile or so I came to another sign, beside another forestry road. This was the other end of the diversion. I’d seen no one, heard no logging, no felling, nothing. Again, I felt a degree of annoyance at the path, the planners and the logging operators. There would be walkers less confident (arrogant?) than me, who would have spent time looking for a diversion, spent time and energy walking it, all for no reason. I saw a Forestry Commission vehicle a little way up the track and had a good mind to have a moan at the bloke, but it was empty.

Distant views kept my mind off the path today

At one point, still deep in the forest, I came across a large pine tree across the track. One or two of the smaller branches had been removed by a saw, they were cut cleanly, but the majority were untouched. The tree was a damn nuisance, I struggled to clamber over it, and I have long legs. I again cursed the path and the trail managers. Why one cut a couple of small branches? Why not remove them all, or better still cut the trunk through. It was so big it blocked the whole path.

As the path left the forest I found the first ‘Ultreia’ sign of the day; treasure ahead! I searched in vain, in both directions but couldn’t find it. I was a bit gutted. I’d bypassed the third Kist that morning, for the shorter start and now I was drawing a blank on the fourth. I was now only 2 out of 4.

Beyond the forest the path crossed the best scenery of the day. A high open moor called Shield Rigg. It was like a Lakeland walk, perhaps the Northern or Central fells and I really enjoyed that section. At Clenrie the moor ended though and I was back onto tarmac for another 4 miles or so. I was passed by a scruffy old Land Rover, with three (what looked like) kids in the front seats. The driver couldn’t have been more than 13 or 14 I guess. The road was very quiet though and they’d been right up onto the hills as I’d seen the Landy from a distance earlier. Lucky lads getting to drive around in the middle of nowhere, at that age too.

By now I was flagging, my feet were sore and I knew if I stopped for a rest I wouldn’t start again. So I pushed on, as you do, because no one is coming to help!

Day four has a bit of a sting in the tail, a nice little hill at the 22 mile mark. It is a nice hill too, all rocky and scenic looking and I cursed it, pointlessly, for being in my way.

The final climb before the descent into Dalry

The final couple of miles into St John’s Town of Dalry were hard work, but again they were across some nice scenery and I finally arrived at the Clachan Inn at about 16:30.

I was pleased to find a tub in my en-suite and I filled it as deep as I dared and as hot as a monkey’s bum and lowered myself into it very carefully. I lounged for a while, listening to some music and then went in search of food and drink.

I’ve just had a lovely Steak and Ale pie and I’ve replenished some of the fluids I lost today. I’m now going to pass out for a few hours, so you’ll excuse me if I cut this short for tonight.

No signal or WiFi tomorrow i fear so there may be no updates until Friday night. G’night all.

30th April 2013 – New Luce to Bargrennan: 18.8 miles, 1,809 feet

“The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quite alone with the heavens, nature and God.”  Anne Frank – Diarist and Holocaust victim (1929 – 1945)

Two posts in one day, you lucky, lucky people! Here is day three, posted on day three!

I’ve been composing the open sentence of this blog entry since about 11:00 today. When things were going badly it was mainly a moan about the underfoot conditions; which were either soggy, horrible bogs, cow trodden, rutted meadows or blister inducing tarmac, interspersed with rocky forest roads. In the lighter moments it waxed lyrically about the glorious weather, the complete absence of wind, the glorious remoteness of the path, the complete lack of other walkers and how I seem to have found my stride; the 20 miles were done by about 15:00.

The actual truth, as ever, is probably somewhere in between. The path was bad in places, there is a lot of tarmac pounding today, but the weather and the distant views were fantastic.

I’d had a chilly evening in Tha Butchach, the place was OK, but so cold! I spent the time in bed, with the ineffectual heater going full blast and watching episodes of ‘The Walking Dead’ on my phone. The last minute purchase of the Samsung Galaxy Note 2 was an inspiration. It’s got a great screen and I can prop it on my chest and watch the movies or TV episodes that I loaded onto my SDcard. It’s great for blogging too and the mapping apps I’ve got look brilliant on the bigger size display.

I’d arranged for breakfast at 07:30 and sure enough Peter had it ready. He’d taken my order when I’d arrived and I’m always pleased at that sort of efficiency as it avoids that annoying 20 minute wait between arriving in the dining room and the cooked breakfast being dropped in front of you. But even the dining room was freezing. I had just my socks on, as I’m carrying no evening shoes and my boots were both too muddy and inappropriate for the breakfast setting. My feet slowly started to freeze as the cold crept up from the floor and through my socks. I didn’t hang around in there and hurried back to my room to finish my packing and get out into the sunshine and hopefully warm up a bit. I started out in long sleeved baselayer (which proved to be too warm later in the day), my soft shell jacket and my Craghopper trousers got their first outing of the walk, as the forecast had been fairly unequivocal; no rain today (and so it proved).

I was walking by 08:15 I guess. Re-covering the 1.5 miles or so back up the road out of the village, towards the farm at Balmurrie. That was just the first section of tarmac, the first of many. The path beyond the farm takes to the fells, but without any sort of path on the ground to follow. Even with a moderate footfall there should be a visible path to follow, but not here. I followed the way marker posts moving from one to other as best as I could, avoiding the boggy sections if possible and hopping across tussocky grass sticking out of them if not possible.

This sort of way marking was repeated quite a lot today. The path goes over a remote section of hillside or through huge pastures and all you have is the posts to show you the way. I couldn’t help but think there should be more path work done; not flags or hardcore paths, but just something to help you cross huge boggy sections. Perhaps duck boards would help, and there were very short sections of these in one or two places, but nothing like enough.

Many wet and soggy paths today

The section of fell beyond the farm was pretty wet and tussocky. The first way marker pointed me down to a beck (or burn I suppose, now that I’m in Scotland). On a popular trail the best place to cross would be obvious, used by many people and a path worn to indicate it. But here you were on your own, pick a spot and make the best of it. This sort of treatment was very evident today. In many places I got the impression the trail planners had decided to cross a fell or pasture and just plonked the way markers at the most visible locations. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind this sort of walking, I do it a lot, especially in the Dales and also on Skye last year. Making your own way across a landscape is great, breaking trail and following the lie of the land, but this is a National Trail and people of mixed abilities will be drawn to it for that reason. There were sections today where, in bad visibility, you’d be struggling without really good navigation skills. You’d be on the map and compass for many hours. No problems like that today though, the sky was beautifully blue, cloudless and I could see for miles, with great visibility. I used the GPS on more than one occasion to check my progress as much as anything. The path is so easy to follow, the way marking is brilliant and almost odiot-proof, it could just do with a few more people on the path to wear a decent line.

The fell beyond Balmurrie farm was quickly squelched across and I entered the first forest of the walk so far. The path uses fire breaks when it’s not on forestry tracks and these were invariably awful. There’s been a lot of rain in the last couple of weeks and a lot of lying snow for several weeks before that, so this has resulted in very wet tracks. Again I cursed the trail planners for this section. The fire breaks were mostly composed of sphagnum moss with occasional tussocks and the path just ploughs straight through it, or along it for one annoyingly long stretch. Again I felt this could have been treated somehow to alleviate the walking. Sphagnum isn’t the best surface to walk on, especially when it’s holding lots of water. My boots at least are coping with the conditions and my feet were dry all day, until the at hour when I over topped my left boot in a hidden hole full of water, right up to mid calf!

A little oasis in this section of the route is to be found at Laggangarn. Here is the Beehive Bothy, an incongruous structure in a clear in, with good water and flat surroundings for campers too. There was no one around and I stopped only long enough to re-adjust my pack and take a couple of photos. Beyond the bothy are a pair of standing stones, with ancient significance and a small interpretation board beside them.

The Beehive Bothy in Laggangarn

Then it was back into the forest, slogging along more wet firebreaks until I caught sight of Craig Airie Fell ahead. This bald prominence is the first summit of the walk and also has a trig point on it. The Southern Upland Way skirts the slopes then turn sharply left, up the side of the hill to the summit. It was warm and wonderful up there. The views were somewhat marred by three nearby wind farms, but if you could ignored these, the place was perfect on a day like today. I stopped, scoffed some Jelly Babies and drank some if the Coke I’d bought in the shop the previous afternoon. I was reluctant to move on, but with 12 miles still to do, I needed to be making tracks.

The summit and trig point of Craig Airie Fell

There followed a seemingly interminable amount of forestry track, hard on the feet and ever so slightly uneven, so you couldn’t switch off completely as you can on tarmac. The views were gone too, apart from the occasional glimpse of distant hills through the conifers either side of the track. Once the forestry track ended, the Way followed a tarmac road, a quiet one at least, with very few vehicles, but my feet were beginning to feel sore after a few miles of it. I found a bridge parapet to sit on. For possibly the first time ever on a walk, I removed my boots and socks and aired my feet. I’d generated a bit of a sweat inside the Gore Tex lining and I laid the socks out on the bridge, to dry in the sun while I dangled my feet and ate my lunch.

Lots of forestry tracks and tarmac today

The feet and socks dried nicely and I felt much better after this little sojourn, although there was still a deal of tarmac to suffer along.

Taking time to pamper my feet

Eventually after what felt like 10 miles, but what was probably only about 6, I left the road and joined another poorly defined and soggy forest path. This one took the prize for worst path of the day. Where you could see the path it was soaked, muddy and foul smelling. In places, where logging operations had been carried out, there was no path at all. I climbed over felled trees, splashed and slogged through deep marshy patches and all the time looking as far ahead as possible to make sure I was on the right line. I was relieved when the ‘path’ met the tarmac again at Glenruther Lodge. After a couple of kilometres it headed off uphill again to meet the trig point on Ochiltree Hill and from here the path just got worse and worse. The final couple of miles into Bargrennan were dreadful. I put my headphones on to try and take my mind off it, but the path cut through a huge pasture, obviously heavily used by cattle. It was pretty bad.

I arrived at House o’ Hill in Bargrennan and felt pleased. The day had been challenging, the path a nightmare in places and hard on the feet in others, but the weather and the distant views had been stunning. I’m into the hills tomorrow and their presence in my eye line today kept me going.

Distant hills look great today

The hotel is super. The staff are wonderful and nothing is too much trouble. I’ve been upgraded and the room I’m in is newly refurbished and of a high quality. I’ve had my first proper evening meal since I left home and although I have no phone signal again, I’ve at least got a decent WiFi signal, so I can Skype the wife and upload this, with some photos.

Day 3 wasn’t my favourite so far, but it’s set me up for 26 miles tomorrow. If it’s raining when I set out, I’ll be taking the shortcut along the road and missing out the first path. This saves me about 2 miles.

The hotel manager agreed to leave out a breakfast tray for me. She doesn’t do breakfast until 08:00 normally but understands I have along way to go, so I should be able to get cereal and toast at least, which is more than I’d hoped for.

Sorry if this one was a little moaney but forgive me. More to come tomorrow, as I will have at least a signal and probably WiFi too.

29th April 2013 – Stranraer to New Luce: 14.0 miles, 1,046 feet

“Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves”  John Muir – Scottish-born, American Naturalist (1838 -1914)

 
So this is yesterday’s blog, uploaded late, will work on today’s update in a while….

I have to admit that I wasn’t expecting much from today. I thought it was going to be mainly pastures and fields with a little bit of moorland thrown in at the end to break the monotony. How wrong I was and how thankful I am for that too.

Today was lovely, apart from the bloody wind. Even though it was at my back for most of the day, it was strong, relentless and made the day much harder than it should have been. In the end I was pressed into putting on my woolly hat, just to give my ears a break from the constant howling noise they were being subjected to.

I had an excellent night in the Old Manse B&B, it was quiet, comfortable and good value for money. I’d stay there again without any hesitation. I had breakfast at 08:00 and was down stairs to pay my bill by 09:10. I only had twenties and Marilyn didn’t have change, so I also got a discount, which I will post to her when I get home, because it was good value at the full price, without getting a discount into the bargain.

I started out in long sleeved baselayer, overtrousers over no trousers and my soft shell jacket. It had stopped raining just as I was looking out the window on my way out of the room, so the Paramo was packed away (no doubt for later).

I’d selected a route through a large plantation, called Big Plantation! I had no idea how good the path was going to be though, so I was a little nervous when I left the road and headed into the woods. I got a nice surprise though, a hardcore gravel path, no puddles, no boggy sections and the woods were lovely too. I stopped to look at a notice board beside a ruined arch in the forest and that was probably the worst decision of the day. One of the photographs on the board was ‘courtesy of Tom Stephenson’ – my internal juke box automatically selected ‘Pennine Way’ by Mick and the Moonshiners, which has the line ‘Tom Stephenson’s highway of freedom’ and that was it for the rest of the day, my head splinter or ear worm or whatever you want to call it, has been embedded. I couldn’t shake it, but it’s a great song and reminded me that I’ve been in contact with the band to try and get hold of a copy of their CD, it should be waiting for me when I get home in fact.

Paths put of Stranraer

The path through Big Plantation joins the Southern Upland Way and immediately the path deteriorated into a muddy track, much abused by vehicles and one that had me wandering left and right trying to find the driest line. I met my only walker of the day here; an old boy out for his morning walk and a chatty fella he was too. He guessed I was walking ‘the path’ as he called it and wished me luck and fair weather. I pushed on ahead after a few minutes chatting.

The path joined the road for a minute but soon returned to the woods, all the way to the main road into Stranraer. The woods were lovely, with a pretty good path all the way through. I crossed the A75 beside the petrol station cum Spar shop, and followed the tarmac drive down towards Castle Kennedy. I enjoyed the view across the White Loch, but there’s not much to be seen of the castle from this vantage point.

It was back onto the road beyond there and a short, nasty section of pasture land that had been torn ragged by cattle, leaving no obvious path to follow, just a soggy, pitted field. Another short section of road led me to the best bit of the walk so far, the path beside the forest on Glenwhan Moor. On the map it looks like you’ll be walking under the edge of the forest, probably stumbling over roots and ducking under branches. Nothing could be further from the truth. The path is well defined, undulating through a heather moor, tight against a boundary wall (or dyke as they call them north of the border). I startled a young deer, grazing beside the path and it bolted off into the nearby trees, before I could get my camera out. I’d been on the lookout for Red Squirrels ever since I entered Big Plantation but I’ve still not seen one, I did at least have the deer ticked off though.

The path round Glenwhan Moor

I really enjoyed this section, as it twisted and turned, with great views to the north of open moors and rocky tors. To the south it was felled trees and new undergrowth, but not looking quite as industrial as I’ve seen some felled areas in the past. I think it’s had time to grow through a bit and many of the old stumps were moss covered, with lots of heather growing between them. The wind was pretty bad over this section, as I was changing direction a lot and my hat kept getting dislodged as the wind found a way under the brim and tried to lift it off.

The only shower of the day hit me here too, around midday, but I made a super quick change into the Paramo and then took shelter behind a high wall with a slight overhang. Hail stones were evident amongst the rain drops for a couple of minutes in the middle of the shower and then the sun came out again and I swapped jackets and moved on.

I’d been looking for the ‘Ultreia’ plaque on the way markers along this section, as the guide mentioned the next Kist would be found on Glenwhan Moor. I eventually found the plaque and began scanning the sides of the path for anything out of place or strange looking. It didn’t take long until I found the Kist. Right beside the path, impossible to miss. I was surprised therefore to find so many more Waymerks in this one than I had in yesterday’s Kist on Broad Moor. I helped myself to one of the bronze coins inside the little cache and patted myself on the back, I was 2 for 2!

Hidden Kist full of treasure!

I passed into a dark and oppressive section of forest and felt sure I’d missed a marker post. I’d been busy tweeting my success in the great treasure hunt and I wasn’t sure if been paying attention, and perhaps I had missed one. I backtracked for a few yards to check I hadn’t and then continued on tentatively. The turn of the path didn’t seem to match my route, which compounded my doubts, but I soon saw the next way marker and headed out of the forest, down to a lovely little bridge at Craig Burn. From here the path went north, beside the railway, again on a nice little track though, another enjoyable little section.

I eventually crossed the railway and then across a very wobbly suspension bridge over the river. I say wobbly, but in truth it only wobbled because I was bouncing up and down on it, to make it wobble. I got quite a harmonic bounce going and soon felt a bit ill, so stopped messing, waited for the bridge to settle down then crossed to the other side. More pasture awaited on the other side, along with a sign telling me that cows can be dangerous and I was to proceed at my own risk! Not sure that’s really in the spirit of things and also don’t think it would absolve the farmer! It was a National Trail after all and I didn’t have much alternative other than to risk the wrath of the dangerous bovine inhabitants of the ‘field of death’.

Beyond the farm at Cruise I followed a rugged path up the hill to reach the open moorland at Kilhern Moss. I could have avoided this section, by staying on the road and saving myself about 3 miles. With hindsight I wish I had. The moor was fine, it was very soggy in places and my boots were soon covered in mud, but it was the wind that killed me. It had shifted slightly and was coming from the north west now. I had to pack the Tilley away as I would have been constantly picking it up or, more likely, chasing it across the fell. When I turned left at the ruined building marked in the map as Kilhern, the wind was almost in my face and the next couple of miles were bloody hard work. Without any hat on I was very aware of how much the wind howled and I had to put my woolly hat on to shield my ears and give them a break. The section from Kilhern to the road was the worst part of the walk so far. It was badly trodden by cattle and where it wasn’t a quagmire it was pitted and rutted to the point I was worried about turning an ankle. I eventually made it to the road, where I turned left, straight into the headwind.

Trying to grin into the headwind

The track on Kilhern Moss

I consoled myself with the thought of the nice quiet pub in New Luce. I’d been seeing signs for the Kenmuir Arms for the last several miles. Every suitable post almost had an A4 sheet pinned to it, extolling the virtues of the pub, it’s cask ales, it’s home made food, it’s warm and comfortable environs. But you know where this is going don’t you?

Of course, it was bloody shut wasn’t it! I struggled for the final mile and a half along the road, into the mother of all headwinds, straight past my B&B for the night, past the church and community hall, past the small sign that said ‘We’re Open for Cask Ales’ and straight to the front door of the pub, only to find it locked. A small sign on the door said ‘Closed Mondays’. I was a tad upset as you can probably imagine.

I wandered, disconsolately down to the Post Office /Shop and stocked up on water and snacks for lunch tomorrow and for Day 4. They said the pub may be open in the evening, but I’m not sure I want to go in now

Entering New Luce

I knocked on the door of the B&B and was shown to my room. I sit here now, showered and changed and quite cold! The room is like an ice box, even with the convection heater provided. I may yet try the pub, just to see if it’s warmer than this.

The folk in the shop were wrong, the pub isn’t open tonight. I’ve just been down and tested the door again, it’s still locked. I will spend the evening in my room, probably in bed. Without a phone signal or WiFi I can’t post this and the village doesn’t even have a call box so I can’t ring home and speak to the wife! It’s like being in the middle ages or something, I don’t remember the last place I’ve stayed where I couldn’t get either a phone signal or WiFi. Actually, it was probably Stonethwaite in 2011, but they had a call box at least.

28th April 2013 – Portpatrick to Stranraer: 9.5 miles, 1,320 feet

“Of all the exercises, walking is the best”  Thomas Jefferson – American President (1743 – 1826)

The Harbour House Hotel is excellent. It was quiet and well maintained, having had an obvious recent refurbishment in the area I was accommodated in at least. The room was lovely, with a sea view and although the head room was a little restricted and I had to duck to get into the room, the shower and the bay window, it was still great.

Breakfast is from 08:00 which suited me just fine, as I only had 10 miles to do today and I didn’t want to leave until about 10:00, otherwise I’d be knocking on the B&B at midday, or more likely trying to kill time in some nasty back street boozer.

Besides, I figured a late start may avoid the weather I’d been listening to since 04:10. I’d been woken by the wind battering against the west facing windows of my room. The howling and the rattling of the frame suggested it was pretty awful and it continued steadily as I tried to sleep. It was still going strong when I finally roused myself at 07:40. By the time I’d showered and gone down to breakfast at 08:30 the wind had dropped thankfully. It had been replaced by a steady light rain though. Ho Hum!

Breakfast was ace!

Excellent breakfast at Harbour House Hotel

I shared the dining room with a pair of elderly ladies, obviously well travelled, as they discussed India and South Africa but concentrated most of their attention on the terrible service they were getting here. Their complaints seemed a little harsh in my view. One of them complained to the waitress that she’d asked for a fried egg, and been given two! She’d asked for a small portion of mushrooms and did this look like a small portion to her? The other moaned that the tea had been brought too early and was now stewed. “Can I have some hot water for it please”…”do we have to listen to this music at breakfast? Can you switch it off please dear” …… and so it went on. They reminded me of my brother!

I felt like asking the poor girl to switch the music back on, just to be awkward, as they’d not even asked me if I was listening to it. I wasn’t and was also glad of the quiet, but even so….

I said my thanks to the girl and ignored the ladies as I made my way upstairs. I mooched around the room for another hour before finally heading out at 10:00. It was warm enough, the wind had dropped and the rain had stopped. There was even some blue sky in the north, exactly the direction I was heading in.

I found the start of the path and wound my way up the cliffs, using stone steps which seem to have a geological history time line engraved into them, which was novel. I climbed through several million years of layers in about 5 minutes.

The cliff top path was great. Very similar to the start of Wainwright’s Coast to Coast path from St. Bees, but actually better in my view. The path sticks close to the cliff edge and drops into a couple of small bays, into the first of which I explored to look for a couple of small pebbles to take to the east coast. I couldn’t help but consider the dichotomy of this situation. I’d sawn the handle off my toothbrush down to a barely usable nub, I’d saved weight everywhere and now I was picking up a couple of hundred grammes of rock to carry with me! But it’s traditional, so I had very little choice. I found two small ones, with nice features and stuck them in my pack. I dipped my boots in the sea and hauled myself out of the cove using the chain beside the steep steps that are provided.

Stone steps out of Port Kale

After a short time I could see the lighthouse at Killantringan, still a fair way ahead, across a short section of cliff top moorland. This was my favourite part of the day, the blue sky was above, there was only a slight sea breeze and I felt fantastic! It was good to be walking again, with a long distance path ahead of me.

Lighthouse at Killantringan

The lighthouse marks the end of the lovely cliff top section though and I soon found myself on tarmac, heading inland, steadily uphill. The heavens opened shortly after and I donned my Paramo jacket, after a quick experiment with the umbrella I’m carrying, but it was too windy. Although the umbrella can cope with the wind, the rain was coming horizontally from my left and I was going to be soaked very quickly. I was glad I’d decided on the waterproof overtrousers from the outset, being worn over no trousers. A trick I picked up from Rambling Pete and one I’d used on my last couple of walks to great effect.

I passed a couple of homes beside the road, exchanging hellos with a man at one of them, before heading up Killantringan hill to bag the trig point at the top. It stopped raining at that point and didn’t start again until I was in the pub in Stranraer.

Trig Point at Killantringan

I passed my first wind farm today. I’ve never been so close to one of these things before and I’ve had a bit of a rethink about them. I’m still dead against them in certain locations, but at an individual level they are a thing of beauty. Both an engineering masterpiece and an actual beautiful object. They are incredibly tall, much bigger than you’d probably think and their blades are curved in the vertical plane, looking sleek and stylish. If you placed one next to the Angel of the North for example, I’d rather look at the wind turbine every day. The blades make a slow revolution, irrespective of the wind conditions, and this is also a majestic sight.

As a mass they are awful though. They dominate the landscape, they hum and their sound travels for a good distance across the open moors. The infrastructure that supports them creates a scar on the environment that will not soon disappear. This doesn’t even take into account the minimal amount of contribution they make to the National Grid supply. It seems illogical that so much resource and investment can be made into something that contributes so little to the nation’s electric supply.

I would love to know what the carbon investment is to build, install and maintain a single wind turbine, and how many hours it must turn to repay that initial investment. I imagine it’s many, many years. I just don’t see the benefits of placing these things in the wild and remote sections of the Scottish countryside. Perhaps they have a place offshore, where they have less environmental impact, but please keep them off the hills!

As well as the major wind farm on Broad Moor, every farm and many of the houses on the walk today seem to have their own small wind generator. I would imagine these are well subsidised by the government. Even when the wind was barely blowing this afternoon, the turbines I saw were whipping away, no doubt providing some benefit to their owners. In an area where the wind is so prevalent, I would imagine they are a sound investment on an individual level.

Anyway, enough of environmental politics, back to the walk.

Broad Moor is the location for the first Kist of the walk. A Kist being a hidden container with a small cache of Waymerks, which are coins, specially minted for the Southern Upland Way. This is a great idea I think and I’m hoping to find as many of these special caches as I can along the route. There are 13 all together, but I think one of two of my diversions miss out a couple of Kists.

Kist on Broad Moor

Finding location information for these Kists, on the web, before I started the walk, was very difficult. No one seems to want to reveal their exact position, which I suppose is a good thing, but is still frustrating for a control freak like me. I’m half tempted to make a special page with detailed information on how to find the Kists I do actually locate. The first one was a doddle, almost immediately after the Southern Upland Way marker post with the special ‘Ultreia’ plaque on it that tells you to keep your eyes open for the Kist. I pulled out a lovely silver coin, the first of many I hope. There were still plenty in the Kist, so the stock has either been replenished recently, or they are not being picked up very often. The fact that I saw no one other than the homeowner at Killantringan hill suggests that this is a quiet path, something that all the walking journals I’ve found on the Web also agree with.

As I wandered into Stranraer at 13:50 I realised it was way too early to turn up to my B&B, so I sent a quick Tweet out, suggesting I was looking for the nearest pub. Within just a couple of minutes I’d got a response, from Paul Byrne (@prb43) recommending The Grapes on Bridge Street as the only pub in Stranraer that was listed in the CAMRA pub guide. I searched for it on Google maps and found it was only a couple of hundred yards away. I made a beeline for it.

Entering Stranraer

What a wonderful little place it is too! It’s run by a guy named Jimmy, as you would expect in Scotland, and after I’d been served and sat down, he came over to say thanks for coming in and visiting. The bar is tiny, and it was pretty busy this afternoon, with lots of locals all having a jar and a jaw. I’d mentioned the distance I’d walked when the barman asked me where I’d walked from and I think this is what had prompted the owner to come over and day hello. It was difficult to ignore me as I’d entered, I’m a big chap and the bar was small and people had to make space for me at the bar, which they did with good humour and generosity. “There’s room here for ya, big yin”. I was gasping and ordered a Shropshire Gold from one of the two hand pumps on the bar. It was while the pint was settling and the barman was waiting to top it off that he asked me if I’d walked far (I was sweating a bit in the warmth of the bar). I explained I’d come from Portpatrick, about 10 miles and had had this pub recommended to me, so I’d sought it out and here I was.

Jimmy had then come over while I was relaxing at an empty table, to say his thanks. That’s the first time ever, I’ve been thanked for coming into a pub. If you’re ever in Stranraer, look up The Grapes on Bridge Street, it’s a super little pub. I stayed for a second, going for the other cask ale they had, a pint of ‘Cotleigh 25′ which was even nicer than the Shropshire Gold. I had some shopping to do though, so called it quits after that, said my farewells to the owner and the barman and headed out to find a shop. I was rocking a little as I made my way down the street, I don’t drink often enough to walk straight after two pints! How bad is that?

As a final service, Jimmy had pointed me towards the local Morrisons, where I bought water, lunch items and some bits for a picnic tea in my room. I didn’t really fancy wandering round town looking for somewhere to eat this evening, so I figured a night in would benefit from some snacks.

I arrived at my B&B at about 15:30 and received another warm welcome. Marilyn showed me to a lovely big room with loads of space, huge windows and a soft comfy bed. After a shower I’m feeling much cleaner and I dare not lie in the bed in case I fall asleep! A Sunday afternoon nap after the pub is something I haven’t done for many, many years!

More to come.

27th April 2013 – Travel to, and arrival in Portpatrick

“I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want to take, all the books I want to read and all the friends I want to see”  John Burroughs – American Naturalist (1837 – 1921)

The last few days have been quite testing for some reason. I don’t remember previous long walks starting with such a period of nervous apprehension or anticipation the way this one has. The week has dragged by, not helped, admittedly by the fact that it’s been fairly quiet at work and I’ve not had the usual hustle and bustle associated with a busy week to occupy my mind. I’ve wished the week away and if the truth be told I’ve been a bit of a grumpy bugger round the house. The usual daily chores took on new levels of annoyance and I really don’t know why.

Thursday and Friday were worst, with butterflies building in my stomach and an urge to get to the start of the path and just walk the bloody thing.

I had a report from Tim and Ben, two friends who have just finished the walk, from the train on their way to the airport. They encountered strong winds, icy and snowy sections, bogs and water-logged stretches, but an overall evaluation of a walk well deserving of National Trail status, one they were sure I would enjoy. That made the anticipation even worse.

I was up early this morning, as the wife was on an early shift and I wanted to see her off. An early start to Scotland however, had been kieboshed by my son having to go to the local EE shop to pick up his new phone. An event that even I wouldn’t veto, with my eagerness to be on the road. Shiny new tech is always something that should take precedence. The delay gave me an opportunity to faff over my kit, worry that I didn’t have enough socks, that I’d packed too much tech, that I might miss shoes in the evening – in short, question every decision I’d made in the past few weeks. I had too much time on my hands!

We were eventually on the road for about 10:45. My Copilot satnav told me the roads were clear as far as Carlisle.

As always, the drive north along the M6 was great, especially as the weather was warm and sunny for the most part. You get the glimpses of the Lakes from about J32 onwards and then its the sweeping drive through the splendour of the Howgills, followed quickly by a closer view of the Far Eastern Fells as we passed Shap. High Street was still (or possibly recently) snow-capped with the pointy prominence of Kidsty Pike next to it. A scant few minutes later and we could look across to the right and the Cross Fell range, which actually had more snow than the Lakes. The white pimple of the radar station on the white slopes of Great Dun Fell was easily spotted with the crystal clear visibility we had.

Beyond Preston the traffic thins too, so the driving becomes easier and I could relax into the journey a bit more. The stress and anticipation of the past couple of days seemed to fall away now that I was travelling.

We headed initially for Beattock and the Old Stables Inn where I was dropping off a resupply parcel with the proprietors, rather than have to carry 6 days lunches with me. It also allowed me to split my maps up and also throw in a clean pair of socks. The lack of shops across the middle section of the walk isn’t easily overcome and I’ve been reluctant to rely on the provision of lunches from the accommodation I’ve booked.

We listened to the Man City vs West Ham game on Radio Five, with the AM reception getting steadily worse the further west we headed from the A74M. The result never seemed to be in doubt until the last two or three minutes when they got a late goal back to make it a nervous 2-1 victory to the Blues.

We arrived in Portpatrick about 3:30 and the sun was shining, the sky was almost cloudless and it was warm and wonderful. I had a little faff while I swapped shoes and picked my pack out of the boot, making sure I had everything I needed before I released my son to the journey home. I still have a nagging doubt that I’ve left something at home, but that seems about par for the course for me.

I checked in to the Harbour House Hotel and wound my way up the huge spiral staircase to the upper level, crawled under the lowest sloping ceiling I’ve ever seen, into my room, facing the harbour. What a view it is too!

I dropped all my gear and headed out into the sunshine. I was pretty hungry as Stuart had shunned the offered pub lunch at Beattock in favour of making better time and getting home that little bit earlier. I was fairly confident of finding a chippie on the harbour somewhere and sure enough I spotted a van vendor on the other side of the water. A small but perfectly formed tray of lovely chips was taken down the stepped harbour front and enjoyed in the sunshine, ever wary of circling seagulls.

I mooched across to a rocky headland with an ancient anchor and flagpole on it. It gave a great view back to the sea front and the hotels and shops there. I quickly came to the conclusion that this is the nicest start point of any long distance path I’ve ever done. It knocks Milngavie into a cocked hat, as much as I hate to admit, it beats St. Bees hands down, probably has the edge on Edale (just) and would make Chepstow blush with shame, if it could. Perhaps if the wind were howling and the rain was bucketing down it would feel different, but as it stands at the moment, it’s my new favourite.

Stone arch in Portpatrick harbour

I found the start of the path for tomorrow and took a few photos while I had good weather, on the basis that the views in the morning could be significantly worse. There’s a Southern Upland Way notice board beside a kids play area, at the foot of the path that heads up the cliff face. It’s unsurprisingly very similar to the start of Wainwright’s Coast to Coast and I’m looking forward to getting started.

Start of the path

Although the sun is warm, it’s also a little breezy on the front, so I retired to my hotel and sat at a sunny but sheltered table out the front. I’ve got a pretty good WiFi signal here, so I’ll try and upload this with a few photos. They could be the only ones you get for a day or two, as I have no idea what the state of connections will be as I cross the country.

Rocky headland in Portpatrick harbour

Ancient anchor in Portpatrick harbour

Local artwork