by Norman_Grieve » Wed Feb 26, 2014 5:24 pm
Haein' finally got fed up wi watchin' le curlin' at les Winter Olympics, I decided tae pay ma wee bro a 'surprise' 50th birthday visit, as he was due to hit his half century not out a few days later.
Thus ah wizzin' doon Airberdin's langest, steepest hill in time tae catch the 4pm loco tae Auld Reekie, takin' advantage o' the latest generosity o' Scotrail tae Auld Foggie's, this extending to even during the kids half term hols.
For wance I managed tae get both ma auld nag & gear aboard without leavin' either behind at the station and soon found mesen surrounded by trios women primary school teachers fae Insh, wan auld, wan middle-aged et wan youngish, on a jolly tae Dalkieth.
This surfeit was leavened somewhat by a big Geordie bloke, who gamely tried tae compete with yon middle-aged school mistress, who yapped on non-stop the entire 2 1/2hr journey, speeding up somewhat after imbibing a large G & T, after I advised her that she was OK to knock back the hard-stuff 'til 9pm...
At wan point I resisted the strong temptation to correct their wildly inaccurate simple mental arithmetic but couldnae help informing them we were passing the rather obvious Montrose Basin, when they declared that we had arrived at Arbroath. All in all I reflected that ah wiz raither glad ma bairns weren't gettin' their schoolin' in Insch...
Their main concern appeared tae be regarding a certain assistant who apparently couldnae cut things oot straight. Yon Geordie finally gave up tryin' tae get a word in edgeways wi the wimmin' & for the last lap approaching Waverley bemoaned tae moi the fact that he had a 2hr wait for his choo-choo tae Durham.
I suggested that he kill time by takin' in the 1st half o' Man. City vs Barcelona but he said he wasnae interested in the overpaid cissie fitbae players, being heavily intae rugger, as wan might o' guessed fae his burly stature. I mentioned that on ma wan night oot in Durham back in '82, every coupla minutes a table went crashing o'er as a fight started up, followed by the combatants being routinely thrown doon twa flights o' stairs back oot on t' street by yon bouncers.
Ah wuss soon thru les barriers & bein' carried effortlessly up the escalators tae Princes St., fae where it was an easy mile or so doon wide Leith Walk, thence left alang Pilrig St. tae reach ma wee bro's humble abode, nae far past Ye Auld Bonington hostelry, nae doubt named after the infamous ancient bearded mountaineer.
As it was still the back o' 7pm, ah wisnae too peturbed lookin' up tae see that ma wee bro's windies lay in darkness, as he usually works late at the uni, so I simply buzzed wan o' his neighbours tae let ma intae the auld tennement. I'd nae lang got ma auld nag safely up the stairs & tethered tae the railings in the stairwell ootside ma bro's 3rd floor flat, when his top totty Polish upstairs neighbours appeared, carrying a procession of assorted furniture up & doon the stairs.
On ma previous visit back in early October they's kindly invited moi intae their flat & plied ma wi food & drink and I was initially hopeful o' a repeat performance. However, although I did get in their door again, what transpired wasnae quite what ah had in mind, as it turned oot they had twa big, hairy Polish helpers, who staggered up the stairs after them, struggling wi a particularly big, heavy wooden piece o' furniture.
As mein auld nag was thus blockin' their way, I had tae fruitlessly search ma pockets for the key tae ma bike-lock, whilst the twa bruisers impatiently looked on, eventually finding that I'd left it in the lock... Hastily bundling mein steel hoss up the stairs I was then ushered by wan o’ the Polish lovelies intae their swanky flat, only tae be promptly ushered oot agin wance their hairy companions had narrowly negotiated their way intae yon bedroom, still staggering under the great weight o’ their unwieldy wooden burden.
Back doon at ma bro’s front door, ah unfurled ma el-cheapo foam karrimat & rather fancier Mt. Equipment sleeping bag & resigned mesen tae a lang, lonely wait… I passed the time reading most o’ the wee free volume given awa by the Scottish Book Trust ‘My Favourite Place’, which I’d been meaning tae read for over a year, beginning with a mildly engrossing piece on the Falls of Dochart by a certain M. Palin, which was apparently the source o’ his trouble & strife...
Eventually I dropped off, after txtin’ ma position tae ma Snr. Safety Officer & her assistant, wi nae sign o’ ma wee bro, nor his American wifey. When ah next checked the time it were 6.30am and after dozing for another half hour or so, I roused mesen & packed up ma meagre gear, the wan early mornin’ light filtering through the skylight above ma heid. Untetherin’ ma steed, ah then rode her doon the steep stairs & retraced ma route fae the nicht afore, back up tae nr. the top o’ Leith Walk. Here things went doonhill somewhat, as the derailer came off mein not so faithful steel hoss.
Again I adopted a stiff upper lip in the face o’ adversity of the highest order and dragged the poor beast onward tae Waverley sta. where I tethered her and proceeded on shanks pony back tae the ticket barriers.
Here I saw a choo-choo was awa tae leave for Glesgae, stopping en-route at Livingston South, which was where I’d purchased ma auld foggie’s el-cheapo ticket tae the previous day. Approaching the station under leaden skies I switched on ma GPS, which was still trying tae find a fix on a satellite or twa as I disembarked. It was only wance I’d followed a straggle o’ rush hour commuters doon the path awa fae the platform, that I belatedly realised that the station wasnae the wan I’d envisaged, that being Kirknewton, several miles close tae yon desired Pentland Hills…
A quick appraisal o’ the way ahead on the fancy wee space-age gadget and it didnae look too promising, involving crossings o’ rivers & mair railway lines. Thus, the way things were going ah thot it prudent tae turn back round tae the left doon thru an underpass back under the railway, crossing & recrossing the Murieston Water. Given the high water level, I reckoned I’d prob’ly done the right thing in giving the crossing o’ the much larger Linhouse Water a body swerve, had I opted for a directissema. Wi the momentum o’ the trip so far this woulda nae doubt led tae a watery demise, had I survived the crossing o’ the line tae Carstairs running alang it’s nearside.
Thru anither underpass I climbed back up a steep bank to join Murieston East Rd, which I left on the right on a path a longside a bridge back o’ er the Murieston Water. This led up twixt some scruffy trees tae join a wee lane leading thru Oakbank Park Ind. Est., wan o’ the less inspiring sections o’ the lang trek it has tae be said. However, at least it was relatively quiet, which is mair than can be said for the A71, which was shortly joined at a roundabout after a left turn doon the main thoroughfare leading tae the trois branches o’ yon Ind. Est.
There was nae even a path along the A71 but at least there was a wide grassy verge, alang which I was rather surprised tae see another odd stray pedestrian wandering forlornly alongside the constant stream of heavy traffic up ahead. Hence I was fairly glad tae leave the busy highway after only ½ mile or so, having crossed a high bridge o’er the mighty Linhouse Water thundering along far below. I exited stage right up a minor road signposted tae Morton Clay Pigeon shooting, which I also quit on the left at a wee wood after less than another ½ mile, after climbing up under the railway tae distant Carstairs jct.
The wet track soon petered out & I crossed a barbed-wire fence, as the going looked greener o’er the other side, only to shortly cross back, as the track reappeared , leading leftwards up towards some earth moving vehicles. Here the track got much bigger, if muddier and climbed uphill, passing a wide derelict bombsite to the left, where the large steel skeleton of a massive shed still stood, looking rather out of place in the countryside. Past a strip o’ trees leading doon tae the left, I reached a gate near the top o’ the hill, on the far side o’ which was a ‘No Entry’ sign, stating that demolition was in progress.
A better track noo led onwards past a coupla fine looking farmhooses on the left, with a wee relatively dilapidated wooden cabin half way between. The track then dropped down tae a metalled lane, the Leyden Rd., where I turned right, finally heading up towards the Pentland Hills proper. After ½ mile or so, I passed Selm Muir Wood carpark on the right, where a middle-aged woman was walking a large Poodle along a wee path in the woods parallel to the road. Beyond a wee burn a steep section led straight up to the crest of a wee ridge, passing Belstane Farm South on the right, from where the lane dropped down to join the A70.
From here East Cairn Hill’s NW summit, adorned with it’s massive summit cairn was clearly visible, as was West Cairn Hill, across Cauldstone Gap, the latter sporting by far the most in the way of snow runnels. I turned right up the main road, the A70 thankfully nae being as busy as the A71, passing Ainville farm on the right, complete with a large walled garden, of which sadly only the high bounding brick walls remained.
I followed the right verge, facing ye oncoming traffic, like a good wee boy scout, up the lang straight road running up the SE flanks o’ Corston & Auchinoon Hills. As I reached a slight fast turn tae the left, twa large trucks in quick succession came careering around towards moi, barely under control. Thus it was with some relief, that after 2/3 mile traipsing up the edge o’ the racetrack, I reached a fair sized car park on the left at Little Vantage.
Here there was a touristy notice-board, providing historical info. aboot the path ah wiz awa tae follow up tae Cauldstone Slap, this being kent as the ‘Thieves Road’. There was also a bit aboot the path having been popular with Victorian hikers, walking tae West Linton fae Kirknewton station, commenting that they must’ve been very fit! I thot that must make moi need tae be some sorta superman if ah was tae complete my current epic quest to reach Currie unscathed via the watershed… This was particularly so, as I’d balked at the imagined cost o’ dumpin’ ma sleepin’ bag, karrimat & spare boots at the Left Luggage back at Waverley, hence was carrying a far bigger sack than I’d hae liked.
At this point I should’ve lightened ma load somewhat by taking off ma relatively light but sadly somewhat lacking in waterproof quality, Teva Trail mid boots and donning ma much heavier S4K Verto North Face 4 season rigid boots. However, for reasons not even clear tae mesen, I proceeded tae carry on doon the boggy path in ma Teva’s, which sure enough soon led tae ma feet becoming rather wet & soggy. I think it mebbe was down tae acceptin’ the challenge o’ tryin’ tae keep ‘em dry by skippin’ along between relatively ‘dry’ islands, like clumps of reeds, tussocks o’ grass & a discontinuous trail of railway sleepers. These had even had many bent nails driven into them to aid purchase but some were submerged, after many a deluge in this wettest o’ winters.
Thus having failed tae keep ma footsies dry I thot I’d keep carrying my heavier boots, lest both got wet, then at least I’d hae them tae change into wance past the last bog o’ the day. By noo, 2hr fae the off, it bein’ back o’ ten in t’ mornin’, ah wiz pretty thirsty, having long since finished ma carton o’ apple juice. Thus I was not averse tae quenching ma thirst when I got tae the Water of Leith at Gala Ford, where I was glad tae find a good footbridge over the rushing torrent draining the Harperrig Reservoir.
Here the going improved somewhat, crossing the fields below Harperrig farm, up to the right, one of the bigger swamps being avoided by traversing along a muddy narrow sheep track running along below a fence. Although the path became indistinct in places, one just had to watch for the next marker post across the far side of each field, handy gates with newish looking big catches also being a fine feature. The weather was holding up pretty well, despite mist & rain having shrouded the eastern Pentlands on the approach, this being the direction I would soon be headed.
The path noo headed towards steeper heathery slopes, following the true right bank of the Baad Park Burn, the Thieves Road then slanting further right, close below the steep rounded nose of East Cairn Hill, where the angle lay back wance mair. Fae here the much more shapely, narrower NE ridge of West Cairn Hill looked a much more attractive target, this top only being a few feet lower than East Cairn Hill but I thought I’d already got enough on ma plate without adding to it still further. A final few hunnerd foot o’ steeper but firmer going through the heather, then led up to the signpost marking the highpoint of the Thieves Road at Cauldstone Slap, where armed Covenanters used tae hae their illicit gatherings in days of yore.
From here I backtracked a few yards to follow the left side of the fence leading across the very wet, boggy col, towards the steep slopes leading up the southern flank of East Cairn Hill, the upper summit ridge of which was by noo shrouded in mist. I had to detour well to the left of the fence at regular intervals, as the swampy path was well underwater for several sections. However, after a few hunnerd yds the going improved as the angle steepened, a goodish, well-worn path emerging, running up through the heather. The firmer, if still rather muddy surface allowed moi tae gain height quickly, despite ma unwelcome burden and after a few hunnerd feet o’ climbing the slope lay back, as I approached the misty summit ridge.
Upon reaching a much wider path running along the watershed, where the boundary wall turned sharply to the right, I decided to live dangerously and dump ma biggish pack, whilst I turned sharp left for the gentle shortish stroll to the massive cairn on the NW summit of East Cairn Hill. Here my trusty GPS informed moi that I was at 574m, rather than the 561m given by the clowns at the OS… although I guess you’d hae tae knock off a few metres for the height o’ the cairn, plus that o’ Yours Truly? I tried vainly tae imagine the nae doubt grand view o’er the Firth o’ Forth tae the Ochils, then turned tail and hotfoot back tae be reunited wi ma meagre possessions.
I then followed the wide, muddyish path o’er the wideish, flattish col towards the SE top, which the OS had reckoned tae be 6m higher, taking a pic o’ the snowdrifts running up the NE side of the wall on the steeper wee final climb to the summit. This was marked by just a few stanes midway between the wall & path, a few yards to the right, being reached 4hr & 10 miles after leaving S. Livingston station, this being the half-way point o’ this particular wee bimble, in distance if nae time. With still nae reward for ma efforts, a steady drizzle noo falling, I pressed ever onwards, the path being covered with wide runnels of thickish, deepish snaw, as it bore round tae the left and descended the steepening, convex {NE} flank.
I soon emerged fae the thinnish Scotch mist, pleased tae see the lang, flattish ridge stretching awa endlessly below, NNEwards towards mein still distant secondary objective of the 2nd sub2k Marilyn, Black Hill. However, both this and the higher tops of the main Pentlands ridge, well to its right were still obscured by the grey blanket. Lower down, where the path turned further left again, a wee wood of stunted pines came intae view and a good, sandy track appeared. This led doon gentler slopes to join another track where I turned right, climbing back up to the watershed, having unfortunately missed the Bore Stane itself, which I presumed to be a very large rounded, flat topped boulder, back towards the wee wood.
I turned sharp left opposite a signpost indicating both Carlops [onwards], & Buteland [back the way], were equidistant, both being 3 miles awa. I was pleased tae see a wee path following the left side of the boundary wall, which wasnae too boggy, nothing like as bad as that across the Cauldstane Slap col towards East Cairn Hill had been earlier on. There was also only the odd wee patch of snow, despite the north top of Cock Rig being traversed at a height of 450m before a gentle drop of only 100ft or so NE to the col with Kitchen Moss, at the head of the charmingly named Gutterford Burn.
Here I was expecting the ground to deteriorate into a ghastly swamp, considering the name ‘Moss’, and the very widely spaced contours but across the other side of a wall coming in from the left, the going actually improved, with a wide margin of greener grass alongside the wall to the right of the heather. By now the snowy profile of East Cairn Hill behind me was looking rather distant, whilst ahead Hare Hill & still mist shrouded Black Hill were drawing ever nearer. . I cut off the corner where the wall detoured to the right before turning back left and followed the narrowing ridge for another mile or so, still heading NE, a track appearing awa doon tae the right, crossing the valley o’ the Logan Burn, beyond which the mist was clearing off the shapely Matterhorn o’ the Pentlands, West Kip.
As I reached the final wee descent doon tae the high-point o’ the track at Red Gate, I gazed doon on the rare sight o’ ma 1st fellow human being [I use the term loosely], since the woman Poodle Walker at Selm Hill Wood, o’er 4hrs earlier. This was a chap, also a dog walker, heading fae right- left towards Balerno, whom I raised an arm in acknowledgement to, his return wave being the full extent of our interaction. The helpful signpost informed moi that he’d 4 miles tae gang tae his destination, it being only 2 ½ doon right to Nine Mile Burn, in the direction fae which he’d come.
I pressed on up an initial steep rise, aided by a good wee path, which carried on up the easy angled, firm, grassy SW ridge of Hare Hill, it taking only 1/4hr tae reach the twin cairns at the head of an auld quarry, a wee flock of sheep congregating around the NW wan, eyeing moi with interest. A wee path led on through heather to a smaller cairn marking the summit, of which ma GPS thingy again gave a higher elevation than the OS [454m cf. 449m]. Looking back o’ er the quarry tops I could see distant Harperrig Reservoir, which I’d passed close by 4hr earlier, beyond which the skies were brightening still further.
Descending the boggier, ill-defined ENE ridge of Hare Hill, the mist finally began to clear off Black Hill, now close-by, just across the hidden, deep cleft of Green Cleuch. After briefly losing the path crossing the gentlest angled shoulder, this boggiest stretch led to a steep, grassy drop of a coupla hunnerd feet, eased by wee zig-zagging paths, to the right of a wall. This led doon tae a swamp of reeds & standing water, a temptingly short distance beyond which lay a good path. For wance managing to avoid the temptation of attempting a directissema, unlike many others before moi, judging fae the muddy, submerged footprints, I turned sharp left alang the foot o’ the steep slope, following the margin o’ the watery morass.
Looking up the defile, mighty Scald Law, the Everest of the Pentlands, was emerging fae the mist, as I eventually leapt o’er the wee burn trickling through the narrow end o’ the swamp, to gain the safety o’ the much sought after track. I followed this left, then bore right, past a path leading left tae Bavelaw Castle, fairly steeply up alang the right side of a wall, o’er which I dumped ma pack, which seemed tae be getting steadily heavier, just below its high point. This wasnae far beyond a wee path which climbed steepishly up the south end of the west face of Black Hill, which I cut up rightwards to join to the right of a fence, glad tae be free o’ ma burden.
The graceful pyramid of West Kip soon came into view, it’s mist cap dispersing to reveal many wee snowfields on its steep flanks. The angle soon lay back and I followed indistinct, discontinuous wee paths up through the shortish heather, trending leftwards up the broad, gentle slopes, towards the summit cone, which had thankfully, finally cleared of its misty veil. As I covered the final stretch over the flat top, crossing an unexpected good track just afore the top, I was rewarded by a fine view across to all the infinitely more popular & shapely summits of the main [NE], Pentlands ridge.
I reached the wee summit cairn 2hr 50 mins after leaving the top of East Cairn Hill, it now being just a few mins after 3pm and after snapping the fine panorama, I set off back doon towards ma ill-concealed pack, hoping it had escaped the attentions of any local urchins, who were noo enjoying their half-term hols. Below I had a birds-eye view of the Threipmuir Reservoir, a causeway spanning its narrower west end, with Redford Bridge & Bavelaw Marsh beyond. I skirted along the crest of steep heathery slopes, to the left of a line of grouse butts, angling down towards moi gear, a couple of brightly clad walkers traipsing alang the path awa below, clearly winning the race tae ma precious gear.
They spotted moi as I crossed a wee ravine but carried on without pausing tae pickup ma booty, with which ah wiz soon reunited after a wee stroll up the muddy path. After a guid scoof o’ the Water o’ Leith fae ma empty apple juice carton, which I’d filled awa back at Gala Ford, I set off for what I hoped would be a nice gentle descent doon tae Curriehills station. The rutted muddy path descending gently doon tae the short causeway at the NE end of Threipmuir Reservoir, was obviously a favourite with mountain bikers, o’ which I could’ve been wan had it nae bin for ma bl*sted derailer…
There was a wee stane hut just above the wee causeway but any ideas which I may have had of using it as a doss, were scuppered by the sound of falling water within, it evidently being related tae the waterworks. Across the other side were my 3rd dog walkers of the day, this time being a granddad out with his 3 grandkids, aged 8 – 11ish and their Labradors, wan o’ which had a wee dip in the water. The path fae here was wan o’ the muddiest I’d come across in a lang time, as I remarked to the granddad when I caught them up, o’er the top o’ the wee hill which it climbed between narrow strips o’ wee conifers.
Just beyond he asked his grandkids if they wanted tae gang round through the woods alongside Harlaw Reservoir, just tae the left or back the way they’d come alang the track across the fields. Both they & me opted for the known quantity of the latter route, imagining that the reservoir woods would be longer but I now ken that they’re equidistant. I took a last couple o’ snaps back to Black Hill fae the high-point of the track in the fading light, it now being well after 4pm, the snow flecked wee spire of West Kip peeping o’er its west end. A few mins later I was strolling through Harlaw House car park at the road end and on doon the lane, turning right by Harlaw Farm.
A steepening descent fae here led doon the Harlaw Road to a very sharp bend at Wester Kinleith Farm, which the narrow lane wrapped around then climbed a last wee hill afore turning left doon the lang, steep hill of the Kirkgate. This dropped straight down 300ft in half a mile, near the foot o’ which a middle-aged bloke was pedalling furiously but still managed tae call a greeting. As I passed twixt twa auld churches on the final right hander doon tae the bridge o’er the Water o’ Leith, was the even rarer sight o’ a young lassie striding purposefully up the hill in the wake o’ the auld cyclist.
Recrossing the Water o’ Leith o’er a fine auld bridge, peering doon at the dark waters below, I reflected that it wouldnae be wise tae top up ma carton, as it didnae lookie quite as pure as where I’d last quenched ma thirst on its nectar 7hr earlier. Turning hard left across the far bank, I skirted above the fine garden of a prime stockbroker belt residence, climbing up a gravel path to reach wance mair the dreaded A70. This was even busier than my initial encounter nearly 9hrs afore, being noo jammed with slower moving rush hour traffic, through which I soon spotted Eureka! A Fish & Chippie just o’er the road tae the left.
Given that I’d had nowt tae eat all day, during which time I’d covered 20 miles & climbed the height o’ the Ben, mein long repressed hunger pangs kicked in. These soon got the better o’ ma fear o’ the constant stream o’ gas-guzzlers, through which I was soon weaving ma merry way towards the beckoning greasy chish n’ Fips. The Polish fish wifey garbled somat tae moi in quick-fire pigeon-English, which I asked her tae repeat mair slowly & hopefully intelligibly, following which I imparted the info. that I would indeed like a large fish supper. To this added a fine cold coke, most o’ which I finished in wan lang swalla, thence headed doon Curriehill Rd. toward the station o’ t’ same name, stuffing mouthfuls o’ burning hot fish & greasy chips intae ma bouche.
I cut off across to the last left turn, thence back right doon a wee path, followed by a final climb o’er the footbridge o’er the tracks, whilst an automated announcement imparted the info. that the machine woman was sorry that the next train was gonna be late – I wasnae or I’d hae missed it… Having scoffed the rest o’ ma sizeable fish supper I made ma way oot o’ the train, pushing thru a stream of folk who’d nae bothered tae wait ‘til ah’d got orf afore boarding. I then made moi leisurely way tae the ticket barriers & glanced back up tae the giant electronic departures board, noting that an Airberdin train was due tae depart fae Platform 9E in just 10 mins time. Thus I broke intae a run doon tae collect ma disabled auld nag fae its tethering post awa doon the far end o’ the station.
Wance there I desperately searched for ma keys & when eventually located amongst the plentiful detritus o’ ma many pockets, released the beast & charged back the way I’d come. When I arrived back at the barriers I asked a train mannie where Platform 9E might be, to which he pointed back round the corner tae the left, which directions I doubtfully followed, given that this was the way indicated to Platform 18… When I arrived there I asked another train mannie where was the elusive Platform 9E. To which he pointed awa further doon tae the right but before setting off I had the presence o’ mind tae ask him if the Airberdin train had left yet. He looked at moi as if ah were daft and replied that the Airberdin train wasnae due to arrive at Platform 19!
I then patiently explained that it was Platform 9E that ah was seeking, not Platform 19, to which he directed moi towards the escalators across the far side of the main concourse, to which I then heaved mein beast o’ burden wance mair. Down the stairs across the bridge fae the top of the escalator I was aghast tae see an East Coast train, which I knew didnae accept ma Auld Foggies, el cheapo tickets. Of even mair concern however, was the fact that their trains had a guards van at the front o’ the train, this being the only place for bikes, so I staggered onwards up to the front o’ the lang loco, in a vain quest tae find said guards van. Having failed tae locate it, I staggered back down alongside the train, only then noting that the platform appeared tae be 8W, rather than 9E and desperately cast mein eyes around for the desired 9E…
Accosting a pump middle-aged wifey, I asked her if she kent where the most elusive o’ platforms might be, which she didnae. However, my supplementary question, of what about the Airberdin train? - Hit the jackpot, as she teld moi she’d just got orf it, pointing o’er to ma left, in which direction I dashed without further ado, sprinting up toward a train mannie, behind which lay the blessed choo-choo which I’d been seeking for what seemed hours. You’ve got plenty o’ time, nae need tae run, says the stationmaster, as I frantically hauled mein poor steel beast ever onwards, bundling her unceremoniously aboard, a split-second afore the iron monster began to slowly haul a*s oot o’ Waverley. After tethering mein steed & slumping doon in ma seat, I was soon being informed over the PA that this was a Cross-Country Train & that both East Coast & Scotrail ticket holders should get orf at Haymarket, a mile or so doon the line…
