The King and I

10 years ago this month, I parked my car at the bottom of Dollar Glen and set off up into The Ochils. Fresh from shopping in Tiso's the day before, I was all shiny leather boots, baggy TNF pants and a "Wild Rover" ruckie, packed with fleeces, waterproofs, a big flask and assorted paraphenalia that the magazines told me were "Essentials that must be carried at all times" or somesuch. The day was hot and humid. So muggy, in fact, that even the midgies stayed home lest their hair go all curly and daft-looking. Needless to say, I didn't get far. My target of Kingseat may as well have been on the dark side of the moon. I flopped down, completely burst, on some wee bump.

The highest point of my first attempt

I could've thought "F**k this for a laugh" and gone home but, as the Lucozade Sport and flapjack worked their magic, I realised that I was actually having fun. Looking down on Dollar from way up on high, I actually remembered why I loved being in the hills. I dawndered back down to the car and that was it; I was hooked again.

I was out on the hills nearly every weekend after that and, 6 months later, returned to Kingseat. This time, I only stopped on the way up to admire the views. In just over an hour, blazing past all and sundry (including the man who did the "Walk of the week" for The Scotsman) I reached the shelter cairn and sat there for ages. The day was bright and clear, the temperature barely above freezing. Even the banter was good that day.

I left the top via a steep, and slightly reckless, direct descent down to The Burn of Sorrow. The glen was quiet, everything rimed with frost and not another soul in sight. A great walk out by any standard.

Back to the present and Wednesday saw me with a free day and a need to stretch my legs. Wanting to stay local, I headed along the A91 and swung a right at Dollar. 15 minutes later, I was walking up the road to Castle Campbell and, not long after that, I was heading up Kingseat.

Looking back towards Castle Campbell

It's no' a terribly big hill but it's broad as well as high which means there's a bit of walking across as well as up. It's also lumpy so there's 4 or 5 false summits to mess with the mind.

The saddle between Tarmangie and Whitewisp. Wind turbines just visible.

It's well worth the effort tho', the shelter cairn giving extensive views in every direction. It's a great place to linger.

Refuelling station.

I can see the hoose fae here. Well, nearly.

The lumpy, bumpy way up and down.

There was a wee bit of banter with a couple of auld boys, the only folk I saw, and then, 45 minutes later, I levered myself up and away. I actually found myself jogging back to the car, such was the spring in my step. Great stuff.

Somebody's been nibbling. Wisnae me. Honest.

The author.

Note: This is my 100th post and it's hill-related. Things must be improving :o)

The Ochils 5/1/08 - A Mixed Bag

So I stopped procrastinating and announced, publicly, that I would, this very weekend, go for a walk. The weather didn't look great but that wasn't going to stop me. And so, with the requisite fannying aboot out of the way, I set off for Tillicoutry.

The journey along the A91 wasn't as scenic as I've seen it. Patchy snow in the fields and the tops hidden under a blanket of grey. Arriving at 11am, the rain started. No problem, it'll be snowing higher up.

Kit choice for the day was slightly retro; I'd dug out my Buffalo Mountain Shirt, Jack Wolfskin Greenland Pants, Brasher Hillmaster GTX boots and matching Berghaus Paclite Smock and troo's.

As the rain looked like it was here to stay, I donned my Paclite outer layers and set off. The walk up thru' the Mill Glen was a treat; the rain had swollen the burn and the waterfalls were in full swing. It's a great wee walk in any weather and worth half an hour of your time if you're ever up that way. Leaving the glen, I cut up towards Kirk Craigs and picked up the path that traverses the hill above the Gannel Burn. Shortly after, I hit the snowline. And that's when my troubles started, You see, I'd re-packed my bag when I was back at the car, ditching stuff that I didn't think I'd need. Stuff including gaiters. Big mistake.

As I hit the deeper snow, I could feel the tell-tale sensation of melting snow below the ankle-line. No problemo. Dig a finger in there, scoop it oot and carry on. As a plan, it was doomed to failure.

The path that traverses above the Gannel Burn goes from a reasonably wide affair to a deeply eroded, narrow, miniature slit-trench the higher up you go. Not a problem in dry weather but with rapidly thawing snow and pissing rain it had turned into a slush filled horror fest. Even where it wasn't thawing, the snow was that wet, slippy kind that affords no purchase for the feet. Worse, I was the first person to head up that way so there was an added element of breaking trail. Somebody had come down the path but the bugger's feet were so small as to be useless for planting my size 11's in.

Looking back towards The Law from the path above the Gannel Glen - Jan 07

Now, the old me would have said "F**k it. This is rubbish. Let's go home, smoke fags and watch the telly". But not today. I was actually enjoying myself in a perverse kind of way. My boots were awash but my feet, like the rest of me, were warm. The wind was on my back and the sound of rain, and occasionally hail, rattling off my Paclite exterior was oddly comforting. I knew my usual lunch stop was up ahead and that I'd find deep snow, and therefore shelter, close by.

I was nearly there and looking forward to the rest when, head down and concentrating on Mr Size 5's footprints, I put my left leg straight in a boggy bit, right up to the knee. That woke me up.

The author enjoying similar conditions not far from The Bog - Jan 07

On a wee bit further and there was the snow bank, right where I knew it would be. Dumped the pack and stamped myself a deep seat out of the wind. The next hour passed in no time at all. Flask of coffee, pieces and Mars Bars were consumed to the mixed sounds of hail, wind and complete silence. It's what I come here for. I was back.

Re-fuelled, it was up and off to Kingseat where the views were non-existent but that didn't matter, just being there was the thing. Dropping back down, I picked up my trail and slipped and slithered my way back the way I'd come. Still smiling in the teeth of a biting wind. Great stuff.

Oh aye, on the way home, my car broke but that's a post for another day.

Fair Weather or Foul

Well, the forecast for this weekend is looking "interesting" to say the least. MWIS reports that progress on higher ground will be "impossible" at times with gusts of up to 90mph. Now, that seems like a perfect excuse to stay at home and warm up the sofa but that's not the name of the game any more, Dear Reader. No sirree.

Come lunchtime, I'll be off to Asda to pick up some supplies; veggie Samosa (The Greatest Hill Snack Known To Man), sandwich stuff, sweeties and own-brand Isotonic drinkies (waaaay cheaper than Lucozade Sport btw).

I wanted to go farther afield but I reckon The Ochils would be a safer bet; close to home and almost impossible to get lost on. No big pointy bits to get blown/fall off of, either. Besides, I've a soft spot for the "wee" hills so they're never a chore.

Good excuse to field test the PHD Minimus Vest, as well :o)