Ballmurrie Fells to Glentrool: E2 Day 40

A day in wind farms, forestry and boggy moors with few people about.

The first part of the day was through a large wind farm, among commercial trees and some moorland. Although the author of my guidebook dislikes them I was thinking that each turn of the white blades of every turbine meant less fossil fuel burnt, so less climate related damage, and less dependence by Europe on Russia's gas, which President Putin is using as a weapon to expand his empire into other people's countries. The turbine blades turned with a whooshing sound as I looked down on them from the summit of a small hill. I was surprised last night that there were no blinking red lights on top of them as I have seen elsewhere. Presumably they are not tall enough to be a threat to aircraft (and less efficient as a result). From the top of the hill, in addition to the many white columns of wind turbines spread neatly over forests and nearby mountains, I could still see in the far distance to the west a sliver of sea.

Wind turbines were a common sight.

Light rain fell periodically throughout the day. From clouds which reached down to the ground I could see rain was travelling over valleys to the east, driven towards me by westerly winds. The beehive bothy stood in a clearing in the forest, so called due to its modern and unique design. Looking through the glass of the door I could see someone sleeping in a puffy, bronze sleeping bag, even though it was almost 9:00 am. Really late for an early riser like myself. They had left their walking sticks outside, maybe to warn people the bothy was occupied. I decided not to disturb their slumbers and continued to the next sight, a pair of standing stones of modest size on which crosses had been inscribed. Their origins seemed a bit obscure according to the associated information board.

Beehive bothy, like other bothies free for use by passing walkers.

Leaving the wind farm, I followed a single track road which linked remote farms and cottages. The houses were typical of rural Scotland, single storey with dormer windows for attic bedrooms, solid stone built walls and slate roofs, huddled down as if to prepare for winter storms. After crossing a secondary road I stopped for lunch. 

All morning I had been feeling tired. For several days my nose had been running so perhaps this contributed to my lassitude. A headache was also growing. Putting that down to a lack of coffee I had a couple of caffeine tablets. These, or else my lunch, seemed to revive me, and I enjoyed the following heather and fern lined section of trail (although the heather's purple flowers were past their best). The willow herbs' displays of purple flowers had also passed, replaced by curved pods of cottony seeds. In Canada they call it fireweed, as it grows where forests have burnt down. On my walk I noticed it where trees had been felled. I suppose the sudden loss of trees, whether burnt or felled, provides much the same opportunity for this plant.

As I walked over a gentle hill, tall grass swaying in the wind, a panorama of hills around me, I was feeling free and unfettered in the open, empty surroundings. Such feelings of well-being did not however survive a trudge through a bog, the path indistinguishable from those made by cows and sheep. I accidentally put my left foot down deep into a hole filled with a muddy slurry, wetting my socks, only to spot wooden planks a little to my right, planks which carried the correct path over the wet area. Some improvement to this path would be beneficial. Earlier paths had been improved by laying aggregate down, particularly over boggy bits. The rough stone was not always pleasant to walk on, but at least the surface was firm.

I am now settled in Glentrool campsite, a little embarrassed as I left mud in the toilet block where I undressed to shower. Unlike some campsites no mop or squeegee had been provided that would have allowed me to clean up my mess. Tonight I hope to have a good meal at the nearby pub, which at least from the outside looks an attractive, old, whitewashed Scottish building.

The remote Hotel o'Hill where I enjoyed dinner.