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.