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Having kept my beady eye on the weather all week, the possibility of a cracking sunset hill was on the cards. I didn’t need to drag Ronnie up the hill (we’d climbed Ben Cleuch via The Law the week before and as he hadn’t died of exhaustion and he was still speaking to me (I’d kept saying “
just a bit more....oops, sorry – that’s another false summit”... might do a report for it, I don’t know), the invite of climbing something softer was met with relief).
We met up in Tealing at 6.30pm, off the south bound A90 and headed off to the start point with Mez screcking in the back of the car. When parked, I grabbed the hound and back pack (Ronnie – his man-bag full of cameras and 20 different kinds of lenses) and we clambered over the gate with 10 padlocks (yes – 10).
After a short way by a cattle grid, we were met with about a million cows on the lower part of the hill on the pathway. As we got nearer to the cattle grid, some frisky looking youngsters hopped towards us mooing and kicking their hind legs out as if doing some kind of strange Gymnastic Hong Kong Phooey Cow Dance. So, not wanting to be splattered and made into cow food, we decided to head on up the hill to the right along the fence line. We would go the long way to Craigowl Hill.... which meant of course breaking promises of an easy walk.
Reached the top a bit on the sweaty side and after heading over to the summit, it was around 8pm.
Stopped at the summit for about an hour and took some snaps. (And someone stole my jam piece...not Mez)
Some of Dundee from Craigowl Hill
That's a Big Mast...
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Trying to be Arty
The sun was slowly setting.
Mast, Man and Trig
Craigowl Masts
Slinky Dog
Sun Hiding
The sunset was sweet and we could see for miles. After a bit, we left and headed on down the hill.
Mez Waiting
The cows we had seen earlier were still there near the start of the walk so we retraced our steps. With Mez on her lead, we crept past the cows (some way off on the left but near enough to see they were keeping their peepers on us and the young Kung Phooey cows on our right safely unable to cross the grid unless they suddenly grew wings or leapt for it). Mez had a whale of a time rolling in cow pats and grabbing at a gobfulls of poo when I looked the other way. Her new nickname now, is faecy face farty nickers...
After climbing over the final gate then having a last look back whilst congratulating ourselves over not having being eaten alive by the kick boxing bovines, a humungous white beast of a bull came sauntering right out from where we had just walked to escape the rest of his clan. Gasping “
Where did that thing come from....?” the beast waddled it’s huge kachy bulk across the path towards those poor females.
So glad I’m a human...
