Morebattle to Windy Gyle: E2 Day 52

Today I left St Cuthbert's Way and climbed into the Cheviot mountains on the more famous Pennine Way.

I woke up stiff and tottered to the toilet. Most mornings I am stiff. Some of it is due to the hiking but I experience a similar lack of flexibility getting out of bed at home as well. An effect of age and arthritis I suppose. A few exercises and my mobility gradually improves. At first I can only reach a few inches below my knees with my legs straight, but after gently trying it ten times I can reach the line between lightly tanned and white skin which marks where my socks end. I have always been rather inflexible, maybe as a child I could reach my toes but not since then. I dread to think of a time when I cannot do up my laces or get up off the floor if I fall, so I keep up with my morning exercises whenever possible. 

I went for a lighter continental breakfast this morning. The eggs, bacon, sausage, mushrooms, toast, etc. typical of British hotel and bed & breakfast establishments (quite different from what people eat at home) can be rather heavy on the stomach when walking. 

Leaving Morebattle I climbed into the hills reaching the highest point on St Cuthbert's Way, Wideopen hill. The name is a good description as there should have been extensive views all around, however the weather was not so favourable, wishing to show off cloud formations rather than distant hills. However the Cheviot hills I am about to climb could be seen, topped by cloud. Before that I dropped down into Town Yetholm and posted the Southern Upland Way guidebook back home to (slightly) lighten my load. I am carrying two days food up into the mountains which adds to my weight, as the next few days are through remote areas.

View from St Cuthbert's Way, clouds obscuring distant hills.

A little farther in Kirk Yetholm I looked for a plaque unveiled in 1999, 23 years ago when the E2 was first inaugurated in Britain. Failing to find it I asked a passer-by and the lady at the Border Hotel, without success. Even the E2 waymark on the finger post for the start of the Pennine Way was missing, a waymark I had seen before. By the look of the post it had been recently replaced and presumably that was when the E2 insignia disappeared. 

The Border Hotel is where you can collect your free half pint of beer for finishing the Pennine Way, thanks now to a local brewery. You can also collect a Pennine Way completion certificate or even order a wooden plaque to mark your achievement. Over lunch I looked at the logbook where Pennine Way completers can leave their comments (or at least those walking the route in a northerly direction). Finishing the 435 kilometre Pennine Way, Britain's oldest National Trail, gave many people a lot of justifiable satisfaction at their achievement. I was pleased to see comments by an asthma sufferer and a 70 year old. Age and health need not prevent you finishing a long distance trail, it does not matter if it takes you a little longer.

Leaving Kirk Yetholm on a single track road I was hit by a sudden squall of rain. On putting down my rucksack to don my waterproofs I was shocked when it tumbled down into a ditch hidden by vegetation. Landing upside down my water bottle and Garmin GPS fell out of its pockets. The rucksack and bottle were easily retrieved but my GPS, loaded with my route and digital map were somewhere in the water lying in the bottom of the ditch. While I had navigational back up in the shape of my phone, the GPS was more suitable for lengthy use, especially in poor weather. Feeling around with my hands among the grass, thistles and water I was glad to find it, no worse for its wetting.

Looking back down the Pennine Way on the climb up the Cheviots. Given the blue skies it may be difficult to believe it was photographed on the same day as the others here. It shows how much the weather can change in the same day.

Climbing into the Cheviots I looked back frequently at the ever extending views, right over to the North Sea. Sometimes when plodding up a hill I forget to look around and appreciate the scenery and the height gain I have achieved. A herd of cows blocked my way. Some might have been the Belted Galloway cattle that I had been looking for on my walk on the Southern Upland Way, a breed unique to the area. They are black with a wide white "belt" around their middle. However some of these cattle were all black. Their thick coats were well suited to the harsh weather that can be encountered in these mountains. 

Reaching the first refuge on the Cheviot section of the Pennine Way at about 4:00 pm, I considered stopping the night in this small cabin. However there were still a few hours of daylight and I had not completed the 25 kilometres that I had planned for, delayed by lunch at the Border Inn, so I continued on, mainly in an upward direction. As the wind increased in strength, with intermittent rain, I began to wonder if I had made a wise decision. 

The path was wet, and muddy in parts, with standing water to avoid. Elsewhere, slabs of rock had been laid which made for faster walking. They also meant I could look at my surroundings rather than where I put each foot to avoid tripping or losing my footing in a wet or muddy hole. And the view was dramatic, light and shade, beams of sunlight, moving over hills near and far, under a generally grey overcast sky. Rain periodically attacked me, the wind driving the drops into my side.

A beam of sunlight over the hills.

A trig point painted a brilliant white stood out among the murky surroundings. 

I set up my tent with difficulty at a location I used on my first trip down the Pennine Way. A junction with a cross trail a little before the path climbed up to the summit of aptly named Windy Gyle. There was a rare area of flat grass, large enough for my tent, beside the crossing. Unfortunately as I unrolled my tent it began flapping madly in the wind, immediately anchoring it with a peg I managed to erect it, but am hoping nothing breaks overnight given the battering the thin nylon was taking.

Jedburgh to Morebattle: E2 Day 51

A walk through mixed farmland and ribbons of trees on a sunny but blustery day.

Today a shorter walk stopping in the village of Morebattle. Then in the following two full days I should reach the campsite at Byrness, after a night wild camping on the Cheviot hills. Such is my plan.

I rejoined the St Cuthbert's Way by following the Border Abbey Way out of Jedburgh. On the way, lively, rock music coming from a field made me look and see a couple of men shearing sheep. As it was October rather than spring when sheep need to loose their winter coat I was suprised. Google however explained that shearing in October was common, there was still time to grow a winter coat and it stopped the sheeps wool becoming matted and dirty. Last time I walked this way I recalled flowers on the dog roses, today there were only a few old red rose hips. A wicked thorned branch reached out and scratched the back of my hand, as if to hold me back, although the gusty wind was probably responsible. 

Otherwise the walk today was enjoyable, through fields of grass and stubble from some harvested crop on paths or quiet roads. The fields often bordered by dry stone walls. Occasional cows looked at me as I walked by. There were several stretches of woodland paths among tall pines and mature beeches underlain by ferns. The trees often formed rectangular corridors between fields. They at least provided shelter from the cool breeze although a few succumbed to its force and collapsed to the ground. The roads (and paths) were surprisingly straight with right angle bends.

Straight road among farmland.

Trees above the path of ash, pine and oak, blowing in the wind.

The one tourist site was the ruins of Cessford Castle. Dating from about 1450 it was on the front line in the long running confrontation with the English. Today I searched for shelter from the wind outside the remaining walls so as to enjoy my lunch.

Cessford castle, home of the Kers.

Soon I was in Morebattle, a small village where I am checked into the Templehall hotel. Next door is an old church which a man was restoring when I passed by last year. He was hoping to create a sanctury on the St Cuthbert's Way which could enhance its religious significance for pilgrims. It seemed he failed in his mission as the building has been sold, possibly to be made into someone's home.

Melrose to Jedburgh: E2 Day 50

A morning climb in the Eildon hills, followed by leafy riverside walks and a trip down a Roman road.

Today I started St Cuthbert's Way. He was a saint who was born in Melrose and died and was buried on Holy Island (Lindisfarne). This long distance path traces a route between the two. A pilgrimage trail for some but for me it was how the E2 linked the Southern Upland Way with the Pennine Way which it joins at Kirk Yetholm. 

I have walked today's route before, but in the other direction, which is why I probably forget about a long steep flight of stairs that I had to climb up this morning on leaving Melrose. The climb into the Eildon hills was an early test of any pilgrim. Reaching the flat cleavage between two peaks there was a reassuring view of flatter lands beyond for the rest of today's walk. 

Long flight of steps leaving Melrose.

Walking down the hills, a cocker spaniel carefully placed his ball in front of me and looked up at me with pleading eyes. Of course I threw it for him. Then his owner appeared and said he will let anyone throw his ball for him. I felt demoted from a specially chosen person to just anyone. Later I came across some black sheep. Most sheep run away from people but two of these animals came up for a close look at me. I expect they do it to everyone, hoping for some food (or a ball). In the pretty village of Bowden a lady used some hay to tempt a horse into its box beside an old, stone, octagonal structure once used to supply water. A tiny lizard which scuttled across my path, some ducks and a heron were my other animal sightings today.

A very friendly black sheep.

I was walking through many areas of trees today; oak, beech, pine among others. The leaves were just starting to turn, changing colour to yellow and orange for a last period of beauty before the bare, black, branches of winter.

Leaves turning on a woodland path.

Having walked this way before I was aiming to return to a bookshop café in St Boswell I had thought particularly good. My memory of its location was undimmed, and I indulged in a coffee and a chocolate and orange cake for my elevenses. Looking around I noticed that a number of famous authors had visited to promote their books. Robert Harris was coming this weekend, £30 for two including a copy of his latest book. The write up was good enough for me to download his book onto my kindle. The village was small so I was not sure how the modest bookshop managed to attract the big names. It did have a comforting air, it was hard to say why, but it was difficult to get myself moving again.

The path followed the meanders of the River Tweed which today was fast flowing. In places clusters of bubbles on the muddy brown water shot past me moving at a running speed many times faster than I was walking. Turbulent eddies welled up and the high, water level was advancing into bankside vegetation. No doubt the consequence of recent rain.

River Tweed.

On reaching a junction I met two of the rangers who look after paths in the Borders. They asked after my plans and I thanked them for maintaining the area's paths. Much effort has been spent on St Cuthbert's Way installing stairs, railings and footbridges. Earlier, by Melrose, there was a new, chainsaw carved, memorial bench dedicated to the late John G. Henderson, who helped develop St Cuthbert's Way and other Scottish pilgrimage routes.

Dere Street was once a Roman road, now a straight corridor of lightly wooded land bisecting the surrounding farmland. I followed a path which wound around trees, long grass and willow herb. After crossing the Tweed a final time I passed Jed Water. The river was racing in its struggle to empty its hinterland of water. I hoped no-one suffered flooding. Heavy rain had been forecast today but fortunately little had fallen, maybe it came early, I had heard heavy rain overnight. Due to the forecast I had changed my plans, opting for a hotel rather than a less costly camp site. Now I felt a bit of a fraud. However the Royal Hotel is very comfortable, warm and friendly, so maybe it's worth the extra.

Comments on Southern Upland Way

As part of the E2 I have walked about 70 % of the Southern Upland Way. Prior to this trip I had the impression that it was a boggy route, with wet feet being a daily occurrence, and that it ran through a lot of commercial, conifer plantations. Certainly there are wet, muddy and marshy sections, however much of the path is either good or has been improved by adding aggregate and/or drainage ditches. There are also parts in forestry, with straight lines of Sitka Spruce,  however much of the route is across open upland, moorland with scenic views. In addition some of the woodland is of oak or similar deciduous species, with holly and rowan making for a pleasing walk. Even in conifer plantations, rather than following hard, gravel, forestry tracks, much the route is along grassy paths, winding among the trees, a more pleasant experience. 

I was impressed by the views from the rounded hills and ridges, where trees were absent there was a feeling of openness and freedom. The occasional villages and small towns were very welcome for a coffee, bed and supplies. Tourist sights worth a visit included Castle Kennedy, the Wanlockhead's Lead Mining past and Traquair house. Earlier in the year there would have been more flowers to admire, the heather had mostly died back during my walk in late September and early October. 

Parts are remote and should only be attempted by those with previous long distance walking experience in this type of mountainous terrain. Good planning is required to ensure you have a place to sleep each night e.g. by arranging pick up and drop off with nearby Bed & Breakfast establishments, wild camping or the use of bothies (refuges free for (tidy) people to use). There are also companies that will organise it all for you.

The route is well waymarked but a GPS with a track of the route loaded, and/or a suitable guidebook is needed as all junctions may not be clearly marked. Weather in the Scottish mountains can be harsh, turning cold, wet and/or windy at any time of the year, so you need a complete set of waterproofs, spare clothes and something warm.

Where the E2 and myself left the Southern Upland Way for the St Cuthbert's Way by the River Tweed. Note the white thistle symbol on top of the post which marks the Southern Upland Way. Like this one, many finger posts have become difficult to read due to age.

Innerleithan to Melrose: E2 Day 49

A wet day among the Border hills.

Light rain for much of the day meant there was less to see as I walked among the clouds, it did not encourage me to dally. Such days can be a bit of a trudge, with water dripping down your neck and sweaty steam rising from inside your waterproofs misting up your glasses. Thinking that you have eight hours or so before you reach your destination can be demotivating in such conditions. To avoid this it is important to have intermediate waypoints that you aim for in turn. Fortunately today had several. I was familiar with them as I had walked the route before (in the opposite direction) when walking from Land's End to John o'Groats.

After a climb through forestry with a number of fallen trees to negotiate, my first waypoint was a piece of landscape art. Circles had been cut in the vegetation, or were they ovals? Their shape depended on the angle you looked at them. Spectators at professional cricket matches may be familiar with the effect where adverts on the ground are distorted so they look good on the TV cameras. Nearby there was another curiosity, the Cheese Well. People were still leaving coins at this spring to ensure the fairies gave them safe passage over the hills. 

After a long length of walking across the moors, coloured reddish by the dead heather flowers, the next sight emerged through the mist. The "Three Brethren" were a group of three cairns on a summit by a white trig point. 

Walking through the mist.

The path then dropped down through forestry. I stopped, despite the rain, to examine the toadstools. Red with white spots, more attractive than the earthy white or sickly yellow ones that were more common. Crossing the River Tweed, among the yellowing leaves of the nearby trees, was my next milestone. Immediately after there was another climb which was a bit disheartening.

Colourful toadstools.

The Southern Upland Way was taking the shortest route to the town of Galashiels by climbing over a few hills across farmland. I stopped for a rest under some trees to eat the ham salad baguette I bought for my lunch, a reward for climbing out of the valley, but the continuing rain meant I was soon on my way again.

Just prior to the town's suburbs the Southern Upland Way went through a forest park on an intricate route ending by a school (waypoint four). Skirting around the playing fields the route avoided entering the main urban area of Galashiels but began another climb past housing, onto a tree lined track. A party of nursery aged children passed me coming down, all in matching blue waterproof "onesies", grown ups at front and rear.

Dropping back down through fields I then followed the recently reopened railway for a while before returning to the River Tweed. With the recent rain the river seemed full and fast flowing, although this did not prevent a gentleman standing in the waters fishing.

Finally, I left the river at a finger post which included the E2 symbol (yellow E2 on a blue background surrounded by a circle of yellow stars, a rift on the European Union symbol although the European Ramblers Association, who are behind the E-paths, are not an EU body). This was the first E2 symbol I had seen on my trips and marked the end of the E2 following the Southern Upland Way and the start of St Cuthbert's Way. 

I walked down the main street of Melrose, my destination for tonight. I was looking for a coffee shop as I felt after some 30 kilometres I deserved a slice of cake. Sadly they were all closed, but I did manage a takeaway coffee with a slice of fruit cake which I enjoyed in the rain, on a bench outside Melrose Abbey's on a bench by the fence enclosing the ruins. (I belatedly noticed a National Trust walled garden nearby which would have made a more attractive spot).

After a hot shower and dinner at the Station hotel, now I am replete, dry, warm and happy!

Pikestone Rig to Innerleithan: E2 Day 48

A walk around St Mary's Loch and a climb over hills to reach Traquair house where I enjoyed lunch and a maze.

Waking early, the overcast sky again meant the dawn was just an emerging grey. After descending from the hills in a light drizzle I arrived at the shores of St Mary's Loch. Following the shore by its still waters, I walked through a remnant of an ancient wood. Sheep were eating any saplings that had naturally seeded, so volunteers had planted young trees behind protective wire mesh so that there would be trees here after the old trees had fallen. Leaves were beginning to yellow. The red berries of rowan and rose shone brightly in the dull daylight.

St Mary's Loch, biggest in the Southern Uplands.

Dryhope tower.

At the end of the long lake I started to climb into the hills passing the ruins of an old "tower house". Dryhope tower, built in the 1500's, was a fortified house designed to protect against raiders. However the Scott family who owned it appeared to do a bit of raiding themselves. I climbed up a steel spiral staircase within the tower, causing a fluttering of wings as brooding birds took flight. From the top of the ruins there was a view over a farm back to the Loch, and in the other direction my path into the hills. In a nearby stand of tall trees, crows cawed and moved around restlessly. 

I continued up and down the rounded hillsides on a good path, among the long grass blowing in the wind. Rams with curly horns glared at me, other sheep moved away in a line. Ridges in the middle distance had taken on patches of reddish brown as the heather and bracken was dying back as winter encroached. 

As morning turned to afternoon I saw the town of Innerleithan in a valley below, grey in the distance, enclosed by mountains, their slopes splashed with scree. This was my destination for tonight and encouraged my fight against tiredness. Even better it meant I was soon at Traquair house, the oldest inhabited house in Scotland, famous for its traditional brewery. I was especially interested in its tea room, which amused the ticket seller who assured me there were many other attractions. However first I indulged in coffee, cake and a cranberry and brie toastie, the warm cheese oozing from its sides. Then I tried to find my way out of the maze.

Traquair House.

Tonight I am at a campsite, and have walked into town for dinner at the Traquair Arms. Choosing a bottle of the Traquair House beer to accompany my Sticky Toffee Pudding dessert, I found it pleasant but at 7.5%, rather strong.

Moffat to Pikestone Rig: E2 Day 47

An enjoyable day in good weather with high level ridge walks, great views and a walk on a quiet road by the river of Ettrick Water.

After my rest day I was feeling more energetic this morning. I hope it lasts! First there was a road walk to rejoin the Southern Upland Way. Admittedly the road I chose meant I missed out 500 metres of this National Trail, however I am not a purist who feels I have to walk every step, although I have never cut out sections using public transport or accepted a lift in a car.

The path followed the river of Moffat Water through a beech wood, and then along the edge of a field before turning uphill, entering forestry and starting uphill. There were two alternative routes that the Southern Upland Way offered. As the weather was good I chose the high level route. A steep, winding climb at the start and then on leaving the trees, a lovely ridge walk. The ground was drier than earlier on the Southern Upland Way, covered with grass, heather and whinberries rather than reeds and spongy, water soaked moss. Around me I could see down valleys empty of farms or houses, clothed with patches forestry or heath. Clouds travelling across the sky gave slowly moving areas of sunlight and shade over the rounded hills. High in the sky some bird of prey circled slowly, their silhouettes too small for me to identify. Down in the valley a large area of trees had all been blown over, maybe the effect of Storm Arwen last year.

Looking back at Moffat.

On one of the posts a metal notice stated that Anna Rutherford had recently run the entire Southern Upland Way in 62 hours, 34 minutes and 55 seconds, i.e. less than 3 days! Having spent 7 days already on this trail and barely past half way I can only admire Anna for such an incredible achievement. 

Looking ahead.

Unfortunately on the steep descent to rejoin the alternative branch of the route, moving a lot slower than Anna would have been, I slipped in slow motion on some mud. No big deal, a little graze on my elbow which I cleaned with a wet wipe and applied antiseptic cream. The one other person I saw walking today, a man with binoculars and a beard, saw me doing this. I extracted a "hello" from him in reply to my greeting. 

The path then followed a stream up a "V" shaped valley. Feeling guilty that I had not tried to find one of the "kists" that are unique to the Southern Upland Way, today I was making an effort. Spotting a metal badge on one of the waymark posts, that might have said "Ultreia" before it rusted, I knew a kist was close by. I looked around and saw a pile of stones. On closer examination they were held together by a metal rod and the assemblage was called "Wind Soldier". Beside it was a container of "waymerks", specially minted coins. They seemed have been designed by a local school. I took one to show my wife and anyone else interested and then left everything as I found it for others to discover.

The "Wind Soldier" and kist.

Following a bit of commercial forestry, I ate my lunch in the Over Phawhope Bothy. Actually two buildings, one with a luxury of a toilet. All was neat and tidy and it meant I could enjoy my food out of the wind while reading people's comments in the bothy's log book.

Shortly after I joined a tarmac road through farmland, but a very quiet one, except for the sound of Ettrick Water, a river then ran nearby, and the bleating of sheep. In one field two sheepdogs, border collies, were being trained, and very obedient they were. Crouching low, completely focused, monitoring the sheep until some action was needed whether due to the sheep's movement or the trainers command.

I climbed out of the valley among the long grass on a good path. As I was passing Scabcleuch Hill the setting sun started to colour the clouds. Time to find a spot to camp. I found one on the side of Pikestone Rig, a bit sloping but at least the grass had been cropped by the sheep to give me a smooth spot to sleep.

Path in the evening light.

Rest day in Moffat: E2 Day 46

As recommended by my guidebook I decided to take a "rest" day in the town of Moffat.

Moffat main street.

What I had not realised was that there was walking festival this weekend. I joined the two hour heritage tour, on which I learnt that Moffat grew up as a Spa town, where people came for various water related treatments using the local well water. Still a busy tourist town, with many buildings from the 18th and 19th in red sandstone and/or a grey whinstone. The most unexpected sight was an original Spitfire from 1943 in a suburban garden.

Inside of St Andrew's church

Unexpected Spitfire in someone's garden. 

Dalreen Pass to Moffat: E2 Day 45

A wet and windy day with some unexpected mountains and good paths through forestry.

Heavy rain and high winds had been forecast for today starting at 7:00 am, so I prepared to sleep early last night, lying in my sleeping bag listening to distance sounds. Cars drove by on a road now a kilometre or so away, geese gaggled, a bird whose strident call was familiar, but which I could not place, was a little nearer, then moved farther away. Comforted by these sounds I was asleep well before 9:00 pm.

By 6:30 am I was packed and on my way, my tent wet from overnight showers, recalled during brief periods of wakefulness. Although not raining at first the sky was overcast with dark clouds, so dawn was a muted affair, a gradual grey lightening rather a paparazzi pink horizon. Leaving a forest path for a gravel track I read information boards about archaeological finds; heaps of stones burnt 3000 years ago, and a more recent ruin of a fortified "Bastille" house, dating from when the Scottish borders was a lawless area. A post also informed me that I had reached the half way point of the Southern Upland Way.

On the approach to the Daer reservoir there was a path diversion. The route should have gone over the dam but work of some kind was underway. There was a map of the diversion with many coloured dots, in the morning half light it was difficult to see exactly where they wanted walkers to go. However it looked as if they were referring to an older route of the Southern Upland Way which went below the dam. I had a GPS track of this older route so I followed it.

Looking down on Daer reservoir.

This led me up some mountains on a rough path. When I had glanced at the guidebook earlier I did not recall this mountain moorland climb, it referred to today as "something of a come-down". However in good weather this climb would have resulted in excellent views. Today's weather was not good. High winds and an exposed location meant my climb was a struggle, my runny nose not helping. There was a path but it was rough with water logged patches. In addition it was one of those hills with many summits so it seemed like I would never reach the top. I consoled myself that at least the strong, southerly wind, now armed with raindrops, was machine gunning my side. Although it was unbalancing me, pushing me sideways at least my waterproof's hood stopped my face being attacked by high velocity pellets of rain.....then the path turned into the rain. A steep descent and steep ascent immediately after, hard on the knees, at least gave me a period of shelter from the wind. Despite the wind the turbines in the nearby wind farm were not turning. Too much wind maybe for the turbines? (Later: or maybe too much power being generated, according to the National Grid 54.7% of UK's electricity was produced by the wind for this day).

With much joy I entered forestry, where the trees provided some shelter and the path, located on the line of a buried gas pipeline, was well made and maintained allowing a good speed. I decided against a diversion to a nearby bothy for shelter, thinking instead of the warm hotel room that awaited me in Moffat. So I pushed, on admiring the red leaves of the willow herb now dying back for winter and the russet of the dying bracken. 

Path through forestry.

Joining the "Crooked Road" into Beattock was good as it meant I was nearing my destination but bad because I lost the shelter of the trees. Rain and wind showed no mercy as I trudged over the open moorland. I consoled myself that the wind driving the pounding raindrops and the cold, wet, dampness that was spreading around my loins from some gap in my waterproofs, would make a hot bath at the hotel more luxurious than any scented candles or bubble baths.

After crossing the transport corridor of road, motorway and railway that passes Beattock I turned off the Southern Upland Way onto the Annandale Way for the last few kilometres into Moffat. The man on the hotel's reception told me check was not until 4:00 pm (2 1/2 hours later) but maybe took pity on me as I stood there dripping on his floor and showed me my room. No bath but a hot shower, dry clothes, lunch and a phone call with my wife put me in a cheerful mood. The room is a good size, as I would expect for what they are charging. Apart from a hostel someway out of town it seemed the only place with vacant rooms. Maybe that is because there is a "Walking Festival" this weekend, offering several guided walks. Tomorrow is a rest day, so I have just booked onto a short one...

Sanquhar to Dalreen Pass: E2 Day 44

A few moorland mountains climbed today, great views and lunch at Wanlockhead Lead Museum.

Getting out of bed, stiff, struggling to get upright I wonder if I will manage to walk today, but after a few exercises to warm up, legs were functioning again. Is this just getting old, have I overdone my hiking, will I become progressively less flexible? Putting these thoughts aside I enjoyed a good breakfast and then started on the first of the three summits I would cross this morning, mingling with the dog walkers (who I soon left behind).

A little way uphill out of Sanquhar there was a monument to a hundred years of "Riding the Marches" at Sanquhar, an annual practice in which people ride their horses around the boundary of their local area. The practice commemorates when the boundaries of a clan were patrolled to protect against "reivers" stealing their cattle.

Stream cutting down into an older landscape.

All the mountains I crossed today were bereft of trees, mostly coarse moorland grass and reeds. The paths were good and I made steady progress, admiring the way streams had cut small, steep sided valleys into an older, more rounded landscape. Fortunately I have recovered from the tiredness of yesterday and made steady progress reaching Wanlockhead village in time for lunch. Evidence of the historic lead mining was present throughout the valley leading up to the village. Piles of mining waste and the ruins of old buildings where the ore was treated to separate the shiny, silvery mineral "galena" (lead sulphide) from the associated rock. Information boards explained what once happened at each location. Near the village there was an old beam pump, used to lift water from the mine, which I admired from an old tramway that the Southern Upland Way followed. A visit to the Lead Mining Museum was recommended by my guidebook, so I started at the café for lunch, then looked around the exhibits describing (among many other things) how children were used to sort the ore.

Remains of a lead smelter.

After a welcome visit to the toilet, I began the long climb up to the "golf ball" radar station on Lowther hill. Used for Air Traffic Control I read it has recently been upgraded to mitigate the "clutter" caused by the many wind turbines currently in the area and the new ones expected in the future. A steep climb but rewarded by the wide view over many surrounding mountains. Corries, carved out by small glaciers, now long gone, were highlighted by the angle of the sun. Near the top a waymark post had a plaque explaining where the nearest defibrillator was located - it was at the lead mining museum at the bottom of the hill, not much help if the steep climb had brought on a heart attack! More useful was a little cabin which gave walkers shelter from the wind and weather. Its logbook showed it was much appreciated.

"Golf ball" air traffic control radar on top of Lowther Hill.

View from cabin at corries on a nearby mountain.

After Lowther Hill I had two more summits and some steep ascents and descents. On one descent I met a hiker walking the Southern Upland Way in the opposite direction, so we stopped to chat. He asked if I was a member of the LDWA (Long Distance Walkers Association), which of course I am being a Long Distance Walker, and also if I was collecting the Southern Upland Way "coins". These are specially minted coins or "Waymerks" hidden in "kists" on the route. He had several but I had not looked for any, not knowing what to do with them if I found them, although maybe one day these unique curiosities will be valuable.

Now camped in forestry on an old track, I have confirmed that heavy rain and high winds are forecast from 7:00 am tomorrow. Packing up my tent and belongings in such conditions would be difficult, the tent's canvas flapping madly and everything getting wet, so I want to be up early and ready to go before then.

Stroanpatrick to Sanquhar: E2 Day 43

A fine day's walking with empty mountains in all directions, somewhat spoilt by tiredness, a snivelling nose and a complaining knee.

I rose early as dawn is one of the most beautiful times of day, and today was a great example. Streaks of pink cloud to the east caught the sun beyond the horizon, highlighting wind turbines lining the mountain tops. Above the clouds the sky was a deep blue, promising a sunny day. After packing up my tent, wet with a heavy dew despite a good wind overnight, I hurried up the steep slopes of Benbrack to catch the morning sun as it shone through the large arch constructed on the moorland summit. Whatever meaning was intended by this sculpture, it looked impressive in the morning light. Another arch echoed it, on a summit some miles away. A fine ridge walk took me near this sister summit but veered off down into conifer plantations. 

Dawn.

Sculpture on Benbrack with the rising sun shining through.

Among the trees I found Allan's Cairn, a monument to George Allen and Margaret Gracie who were shot by Dragoons at an open air prayer meeting of Covenanters in the 17th century. Covenanters were Presbyterians, protestants who rejected a church governed by the king, believing people could have a direct relationship with God.

My next milestone among the trees was the Chalk Memorial Bothy. Resting a while inside, I was almost fooled in the dim light by the bookcases painted on the walls. 

Leaving the forest it was a long walk up a green valley, bare of trees. Interlocking spurs on the upper part were a good example of the geomorphology of a valley created by a river in the mountains. There were a few remote farmhouses, but despite being a long way from any settlement, broadband was in the process of being installed, which will make life a little more convenient for the occupants of this sparsely populated area.

Interlocking spurs of a mountain river.

The Southern Upland Way climbed out of the valley and into the next. Near the top I met a Southern Upland Way Ranger installing a gate. He was the first person I had seen all day. The gate replaced a stile and would allow access by horse riders and mountain bikers. We discussed the condition of the trail and the type of trousers we were both wearing. Responding to my comments on the boggy nature of the trail over the last day or so, he said he hoped to place a small digger in the area next year to improve drainage. Getting materials like gravel to remote locations was a challenge. He said he was currently being funded by a wind farm, which I thought very generous of them and a different attitude to the wind farms I had come across in Ireland, which wanted to keep walkers out. I should have asked about the painted posts. Throughout the route posts with a stylised thistle symbol marked the Southern Upland Way, but in this area many have been painted with patterns and pictures, with a few words added to encourage the hiker such as "On and on you will hike and I know you'll hike far".

Sanquhar was now on the horizon which relieved me greatly as I was feeling more tired than I should have for the distance walked. My left knee was painful and I was limping as I walked the last stretch into town. However I am booked into a hotel here and am hoping a bit of rest (I arrived just after 2:30 pm) and good food will restore me. I have walked down the main street to buy a few items of food for tomorrow. Typical of a Borders town it is lined with terraced buildings with some small shops, it also has another memorial to the Covenanters.

Craigenbay to Stroanpatrick: E2 Day 42

Woods, moors and distant views today with a welcome interlude at St John's Town of Dalry for an early lunch.

I reluctantly left my fine campsite among the pine trees this morning, then headed off over moorland and heath. The plays of light and darkness from the cloud filled sky gave the mountains a moody appearance, difficult to capture on camera, if the lighter sky was captured the detail of the foreground was lost in darkness (and vice versa). The human eye is far more subtle. A road led me into a valley of oak and beech by a small river, sunlight occasionally illuminating the leaves from behind, enriching their colours. Mosses clothed tree trunks, stone walls and any other fixed object in its damp embrace. I was so entranced by the scenery I missed a turn, although as the finger post had taken on a shade of damp green like the surrounding woodland it was easy to miss.

Moody morning view.

Climbing out of the valley on a path among the ferns, more of the surrounding hills came into view. From the top I could look down on the grandly named village of St John's Town of Dalry. I thought myself alone but as I took a photo I was accosted by a border terrier. Its owner told me the large estate I had walked through was a quarter deciduous trees, which surprised me as I had thought the woodland in this area of the Scottish borders would be almost exclusively commercial conifers. 

St John's Town of Dalry.

Reaching Dalry sometime later I was disappointed that it lacked a café. Fortunately the shop at the petrol station sold me coffee, a pie and a few other items. I enjoyed them sitting on a bench outside the town hall (where I also enjoyed the use of the toilet located around the back, a simple but great pleasure that other wild campers may understand)! There were information boards about the Covenanters, protestants persecuted because of their belief that God could speak to them directly without need of a priest, and that the bible was their guide. Many died for their beliefs.

After lunch and a climb out of Dalry there was plenty of walking on paths across moorland with excellent views of distant mountains. The end of this section in my guidebook was at the small farm of Stroanpatrick, but I continued on for a while to reduce tomorrow's journey. Unfortunately finding a place to camp was again difficult, the ground boggy and tussocky. The dry spots were on higher ground, exposed to a fresh breeze. However, lacking alternatives I am camped on one of these and the wind is giving the canvas of my tent a good shaking. I hope it survives the night.

Moorland path in the evening while looking for somewhere to pitch my tent, the ground is wetter and more uneven than it looks!

Glentrool to Craigenbay: E2 Day 41

This morning's path ran among sunlight dappled oaks and birch as it shadowed the river to Loch Trool. After the Loch it was forestry, moors and more lakes for the rest of the day.

My meal last night at the Hotel o'Hill was lovely, roast venison in a room which held me in a warm embrace. The waitress said I had a "radio voice", probably the effect of my cold, but flattering nevertheless. A number of the other diners had dogs, much spoilt by the staff. One beefy dog had "Stick Rescue" written on his harness, which I found unduly amusing.

Although it rained overnight I woke in the early hours to see clear skies with a myriad of stars. As there are few settlements to cause light pollution the area (Galloway Forest Park) has "Dark Sky" status. I was glad the campsite respected this by not overdoing the lighting, although one motorhome, with outside lighting, had not got the message.

To rejoin the Southern Upland Way from the campsite I followed a path in the trees beside the road. All along the footway there were collections of painted pebbles left by someone, with cheerful messages such as "Be Happy" and a topical reference to the life of our recently deceased queen.

Painted pebbles.

This morning's walk followed the River Cree and its tributaries up to Loch Trool. Although the river was rarely visible, the pretty path wound its way among oaks, birch, holly, hazel and others. There seemed a plan to restore the oak woodlands that existed in the valley before people changed the landscape. Beside the path thick, bright green moss carpeted the ground, or else it was covered by bilberries, ferns or heather, always something to enjoy as the light filtered through the trees. Apart from a few muddy hollows the trail was well made with handy bridges. 

Path up from Glentrool.

Pools of still water looked especially black, nothing visible beneath, dotted with yellow leaves signing the start of Autumn, the mirror surface reflected the trees above. Streams and rivers were similarly coloured by peaty blackness but it was broken by riffles and rapids, where the water foamed, off white as it tumbled over rocks. On the steep sides of the broad valley through which I was walking, burns cascaded down in thin waterfalls.

Black pools of water.

More people were out today than I had expected for such a remote area. We all had to brave intermittent showers of varying length and intensity, a change from the clear skies with which the day started.

Loch Trool.

Leaving Loch Trool I climbed over a bare, moorland pass on a gravel road, descending on the other side to another lake, Loch Dee. Then a tiring stretch of forest track among conifers, either I am not as fit as I should be or I am getting old. My aching left knee was complaining. Eventually I reached Clatteringshaws Loch and the road which marked the end of this stage in the guidebook. Time to find a spot to camp. I discounted a viewpoint by the lake due to all the empty cider cans and general detritus combined with recent car tyre marks, left by people I had no wish to meet. I followed a long path heading north, part of tomorrow's stage, but there were no spots suitable for camping. The path seemed to be a causeway, a raised, dry route surrounded by bog each side comprising of clumps of rush with hidden water filled holes and channels. I worried I might have to camp on the path itself but fortunately, on entering an area of mature trees on higher ground I found an excellent spot to pitch my tent on a bed of pine needles, up a small path near a large rock outcrop. Evidently used before, there was a half constructed "lean to", but the people involved had been considerate enough to remove all their rubbish.

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.

Stranraer to Balmurrie Fells: E2 Day 39

A sunny day to start the Southern Upland Way.

Although the Southern Upland Way does not pass through Stranraer, it comes very close, so I soon joined it beyond the town's suburban fringes. My walk this morning was along single lane roads and forest tracks by fields of grass and deciduous woodland. Many trees were blown down in last winter's storms, I passed a crew cutting them up and loading the timber onto a lorry. A helpful workman directed me around the work (far more useful than "No Unauthorised Entry" signs).

Pleasant walking through woodland.

My guidebook emphasised that I should not miss Castle Kennedy's gardens. My route took me up the drive of the estate passed the entrance to the gardens. Their proximity and, more importantly, the presence of a tea shop, encouraged me to make a short diversion. The lady on reception let me leave my rucksack with her so after a thick slice of Orange and Poppy seed cake with my coffee, I made a tour of the recommended sights. In the walled garden many flowers were still in bloom, more than I expected so late in the year. Paths intersected each other to give numerous colourful vistas. Outside the walled garden there were avenues of mature trees planted in the 18th and 19th century. One of the avenues was lined with monkey puzzle trees, their height made it apparent that they should never be planted in suburban gardens. Castle Kennedy itself was a large ruined "tower house" from the 16th century. A type of building that could be defended from a raiding party, this one was ruined by an accidental fire.

Castle Kennedy.

After Castle Kennedy the nature of the route changed. Leaving the roads it followed paths through woodland and over moors. With the sun shining through the trees of beech and sycamore and the blue scabious flowers among the moorland rushes it was an attractive walk. Posts with yellow tops and a thistle symbol marked where the trail went at the key points. Boards helped me over streams and a river was crossed by a simple suspension bridge. A ruined farmstead populated by sheep provided some passing interest.

Path through the reeds.

I wanted to camp away from farmhouses. Although wild camping is legal in Scotland I did not want to upset any farmers. In addition I did not want a cow to accidentally step on my tent. So I am now camped well away from any farm or habitation on moorland close to a large wind farm. Although there is a slight wind, it is not enough to keep the gnats away, so I have retreated to my tent for tea. Just as well as the temperature is dropping rapidly. Next to my tent is an information board put up by the electricity company responsible for the wind farm. It pointed out that the land had changed over the last 6000 years. The original woodland has long since been replaced and the scene in front of me was now moorland. They used a long barrow, (which looked like a mound of stone) visible in the distance, as an example of an earlier culture. As I prepared for sleep the sound of the wind turbine blades gently turning mingled with the "baas" of the sheep and the wind flapping the canvas of the tent.

Belfast to Stranraer: E2 Day 38

The day when I left Ireland and arrived in Scotland.

The official E2 path in Britain starts at Stranraer, chosen as ferries from Northern Ireland traditionally docked there. From Stranraer, the E2 follows a number of interlinking national and regional trails to either Harwich, for ferries to the Netherlands, or Dover for ferries to France. For both alternatives the E2 follows the Southern Upland Way, then St Cuthbert's Way and then the original British long distance path of modern times, the Pennine Way.

I decided to walk to the ferry from my hotel near the centre of Belfast. Catching the 96 bus would have been a more sensible option as it was an 8 kilometre walk on busy roads, much of it through industrial areas. Some of the roads I had already plodded along in the opposite direction to reach the centre of Belfast on the Ulster Way. Trees had been planted to make these areas a little more pleasant and at least there were pavements to safely walk on. The cranes at Belfast's port also had a certain attraction by virtue of their size and solidity as they moved containers around. 

Cranes of Port Belfast.

As is my custom I arrived early in case there were any difficulties so had a long wait at the ferry terminal, slightly lengthened by a delay to my sailing. This and the two hour 20 minute ferry journey meant I ate more pastries than I should have. Once aboard and underway I looked back at Belfast receding in the ship's wake, while a car below me sounded its alarm and flashed its indicators thinking the sea's gentle rocking was an intruder. A shower forced me inside where I found almost all the seats taken. The newspaper I had bought said consumer confidence had fallen to its lowest level since records began, however there was a full boatload of tourists (the truckers had their own lounge).

Leaving Belfast behind.

Ferries no longer go to Stranraer (although the train still waits for them at the end of the town's jetty). Now the boats dock at Cairnryan, half way up Loch Ryan, a deeper water harbour first developed in the Second World War in case Clydeside and Liverpool were made unusable by enemy action. So I had a 12 kilometre walk down the side of the loch to reach Stranraer and my hotel. I followed the Loch Ryan Coastal Path which ran between the water and the road. When overgrown with gorse and brambles I dropped down to the pebbly beach. Two helpful bridges were provided over streams, although one of the burns had now gone around the bridge, so you had to cross the water to reach the bridge. Helpful information boards described areas on the way, such as where a Norman castle once stood. 

Loch Ryan Coastal Path through Cairnryan.

Near Stranraer the road was closed for resurfacing. In typical British fashion, one man was working, operating a steam roller, another four in yellow work jackets were having a chat, two more were sitting in their vans with their engines running, another truck had its engine running but no-one inside, at each end of the site a man in a van guarded the entry, moving a cone to allow an occasional lorry through. In unrelated "activity", on the foreshore men were digging into the mud with garden forks for something, maybe lug worms for bait.

The area feels different to those areas of Ireland I recently visited. Sailing into the Loch Ryan the land each side was more remote, with few or no houses. Stranraer lies on the shore at the top end of Loch Ryan. The town of small, solid shops and houses feels huddled down around a medieval tower, ready to face storms, somewhat passed its peak, but still a lively place on a Friday night with plenty of cheerfully lit bars to choose from. As I walked into the bar that acts as the reception for my "hotel", I could feel people, all men, looking at me, an outsider. The landlord rescued me and gave me my the key to my room which has been recently decorated, is clean, tidy and reasonably priced. 

I now need to prepare for a few nights camping.