There was chat of fires and broken fences at the Lang Craigs and I could get there first, so after a wee job in Dumbarton I headed up to the Maryland side and parked up for the walk in. Parking on site is shall we say, inflammatory, as the neighbour thinks he bought a remote house in the middle of the Amazon basin and not in Bellsmyre which is the reality.

The first broken fence was arsehole attributable, it had been burst down so dirt bikers can get their machines on site to ride around and fill their empty heads with blurry images of the environment they’re ruining. They’d left it so a running dog would be sliced lengthwise like a Damien Hirst “art piece” on some wire so I jammed as much wood in as I could to dissuade animal shortcuts and moved on.

I found the fires next, also arsehole attributable. Neds had been trying to light fires on wet grass around the Starfish bunker. It diverted German bombers, stood untouched through the Blitz, but these dicks have to try and ruin it for reasons even they don’t know.

The fence then became a focus and I found lot for the contractors to do, especially one more instance of supreme arseholery. A big section of fence has been cut out by stupids unknown. Some local heroes do it to let deer in so they can chase them with their dogs later.

I’ve spend years trying to nurture my natural empathetic and understanding aspects back to their rightfully prominent place in my personality. But christ, the world doesn’t half make it hard for me at times.

In the middle of this horror I still had time to escape and had a wander over to Auchenreoch Glen where I found some smiles, some wows and took some photies on my phone.
And now over to some positively toned captions…

Above the glen starts gently as the burns pulls water from the moor. It trips over a cutie wee waterfall and picks up speed and volume. You can get down here easy enough, I might do that next time. Exploring is needed.

Below is something that I’ve seen become increasingly rare. The hills used to be covered in Blitz bomb craters, but this might be the sharpest one I’ve seen in many years.

Above is the loneliest house around here. It perches a little back from the glen which here feels just a little otherly. The land is the familiar Kilpatricks turf over volcanic layers but over this side, it’s different in looks and feels. Maybe on such a driech day the vibes were amplified too. Happy with that, walking the lip of the glen was a joy on every step.

Below a vertical slab of one of the harder layers has dammed the burn and diverted the water around it. The height and steepness here doesn’t come across too well, but it’s enough to make me stand well back and peer over. Brilliant spot and I’ll be working out how to get along the glen from the wee waterfall to that spot. No way you can get down the sides.

Below gives a better sense of the steepness and you can see the layers very clearly. How long did it take for this landscape to form? So many showers of ash and floods of lava are in there.
It’s wonderful around here.

On the usual side of the site we have the suspected neolithic dyke that I mention a lot and on this side wee have a similar feature centred at NS 4183 7814.
There’s an old stone wall criss-crossing an even older dyke and I can’t find any information about it. Maybe the imminently opening new museum in Dumbarton will finally start a journey towards an accessible comprehensive local history resource.

Finding all this saved my day in amongst all the human created misery elsewhere on the site. Plus the repaired Exped mat was till holding air when I got home, so on balance it was a good day.

More from these glens soon.

 

There was nothing doing today so Linda dropped me off in Old Kilpatrick and I headed up the track to Loch Humphrey in an array of test kit to get some reminders.
The weather forecast was spot on, although just seeing the speed of the clouds not too far above me was all I needed to tell me that today was as high as I would have gone anyway.

Even floating around the 300m contour the wind was fierce, not blowing me over strong, but nudging me along for sure. It was cold too and I was wrapped up the whole time, hood up for a lot of the day too. It felt like sleety rain, it was stinging my cheeks and nose anyway. it was fine though, Paramo has become my winter number #1 choice and did the job with good layering underneath.
I need to write this stuff up.

I took a route I don’t pick much, up through the trees to the Slacks trig point. It gives different views and misses out that steep gravel road to the old quarry which I’ve managed to cycle up once in my whole life. And so it shall remain – checks watch: 57.
There’s signs of dirt bike use up here. The bastards come up from the Cochno side and are now wearing a watercourse into the easiest descent to Loch Humphrey. We need GPS installed on every dirt bike so they can be traced, crushed and the scrap made into something better. Prison bars or something.

The wind was nipping my eyes too and I was glad of the shelter from the trees by a very choppy Loch Humphrey. My feet were soaking too with just mesh between them and the world but good socks were making the chill less with every step and by the time I stopped for lunch they were warmed up and I was pretty comfy all over.
Not a soul up here either. Most days, even off the beaten track where, I go you’ll find someone. But with a bit of weather today folk are sitting in front of giant TV’s instead of having fun squinting through the sleet.

I came down through the crags and here there were some folk, all runners, mostly pissy faced though. I run, I bike and I smile doing both. Why do so many folk not find joy in these activities?
I realised that what’s left of the hair on the top of my head was being sucked out by the wind. There’s so few there I count them every morning to see how many are left, It’ll be a quicker count in the morning, I should have worn a beanie.

Back on the tarmac I saw the worst case of cultural appropriation I’ve seen in a while, a horse was wearing a coat with cows printed on it. It didn’t look happy so it could be as much a victim as the members of the Bovine Alliance.

I had good testing miles, I found the limit of grip on my trail shoes, my muddy arse bore witness to that and the pack continues to impress.
Very soon the oven was on with chili and lemon marinaded haddock fillets ready to go and I took my peat infused feet into a bath and get the rest of me warmed up.

 

I’d just been signed off on two pieces for TGO, which I am very excited about, and since I was already on the laptop I got on with some other work which led to comms and meetings and site visits getting booked that weren’t today.
Hmm, I thought.
“You want dropped off somewhere?” said Linda.
I shall pack right now said I.

The weather was clearing so it was a very pleasant amble up the front of the Slacks to Loch Humphrey. Quiet too which is an increasing rarity. The wild weather is probably putting folk off and I did get caught in the fringes of the passing sleety pulses a couple of times but it wasn’t until I was descending at Overtoun later I actually put my shell on so it really was quite nice to be out.

The light was beautiful, golden from the start and I was aware that it wouldn’t last so I kept the pace up to get across to the views up Loch Lomond while they were visible.
They were kind of visible, the cloud was lower to the north but there had been a huge dump of snow on then tops above 500m filling in the gaps from the thaw. It looks so enticing.

A rainbow followed me from the Black Linn and as it was a sunset rainbow is was all the more colourful despite being on the ghostly side. It was only a couple of hours I was out, but it was 12km and just under 600m ascent on my wandery route so a nice wee leg stretcher.

And back home, Linda had made soup. Happy days indeed.

 

The past six weeks have been all about the family. Jimmy got a new knee and it was time for me to try and pay the folks a wee bit back by doing what they couldn’t. It’s been quite the adventure and I haven’t seen this much of them in years. I’ve still had hills days when Linda’s covered for me and I’ve been able to catch any engineering breakdowns no problem, except in Edinburgh. I’ll get there soon. Honest.
Then Linda broke her wrist in an unusual pumpkin accident. Really. That slowed us down a wee bit and for a couple of weeks I was getting all my miles in by charging along the canal and riverside trails. Which was actually magic and got me very consistent results on the socks I’m reviewing.

Things are a little better this week, Jimmy and Linda are less of a worry so I dropped everything, packed and jumped on the train to Old Kilpatrick for one of my regular loops round the hills of home. It’s been a wee while and I was skipping up the private road to the trail despite a morning where I could have happily fallen face first into my pillow and stayed there.
Bright skies and sun with a little heat had me unzipping and eventually stopping for a breath or two but the wind once I got to around 300m was bitterly cold and I knew as soon as I stopped I’d be pulling out my down jacket fast.

I didn’t stop at the usual spot though, I’d seen glimpses of shining white over the tops of the trees and another km would see me on the crag edge and maybe the best north facing seat in the house.
The wind was now cutting straight through my fleece and I walked a wee bit faster to keep my temperature up. It’s forest road here and quick walking with long but not overly steep climbs.
Ben Lomond was the beacon it’s named as, shining bright through the regrowth on the edge of the cleared plantation. Glorious.

It was however absolutely baltic and I quickly switched up my gear with down jacket and beanie because as good as my tartan bunnet is, it doesn’t cover my ears. The wind was ferociously cold coming straight at me uninterrupted from a vaguely north east direction and I hid in the trees to get away from it, the view was quickly secondary.
Wind avoided, the sun shone on me warmly as I sat and ate my beef/cheese/peri peri mayo pieces with a cuppa. Absolute bliss.

The sun slipped down as I poured my second cuppa, it was late when I left and I was prepared for a dark descent. I stood and walked around with the wind reaching round the stumpy trees trying to get to me. The snow so tantalisingly close to the north had a shimmer of pink and orange. This is one of my happiest times, to be in the hills when the day shift hands over to the night shift.
I walked the crag edge towards Dumbarton as the sun caught the streaks of cloud that had manifested between us from nowhere. It wouldn’t be a glorious sunset tonight, but behind me was glowing and that was more than enough. The Ben wore a stripe of shadow across it’s snowy summit cone before the light washed out and the colour drain away.

I walked on as it grew colder, keeping the down jacket on was a good idea, I wasn’t overheating at all. I know every footstep of this route but it’s still different every time, especially after a few weeks away.
This was a wee steadying hand on my shoulder, winter isn’t escaping me yet, it was just up the road.

This black sheep was new, what’s the story here I wonder. And the horse cosplaying as a pantomime horse? Still worrying about that one.

I have a bunch of gear to get miles on for TGO and the Lang Craigs is the best place to properly evaluate stuff, a complete mix of all the mountain terrain you get anywhere else bigger but it’s round the corner so I can do it every day which really builds of a database in my head of comparisons between different brands models.
So it was with no grander design that taking some kit for a walk as I eyeballed the crags I headed out yesterday in the late afternoon with a full recharged headtorch and a freshly filled flask and five different bits of new kit just out the wrappers.

It was very warm on the way up and I was down to my base layer before I’d even hit a gradient. A bright blue sky with some fine cloud and a steadily lowering sun warming my back. It was very pleasant indeed.
I was sweating and breathing hard when I got to the crag edge up the steep giant’s staircase. My return to fitness has stalled many times with everything else that’s been going on but I’m adjusting my pace to suit and I’m okay with a stop to look around with a big deep breath to match.

The sun was golden now and occasionally diffused by thickening cloud to the west. The light was lovely, pretty even, it’s that slide from autumn into winter where sprays of colour are holding on to the trees here and there as the last leaves cling on. I walked to a favourite spot, dropped my pack and poured a cuppa as I settled onto a nice flat rock.
I was back up on my feet within seconds as the midges appeared from nowhere and circled my head. I toasted them from a few paces away with my stainless steel cup “Cheers you wee bastards, you’ll be dead soon…”

The view was probably better when I was standing anyway. Ben Lomond was catching a few wisps around its shoulders but Ben Lui, Beinn Ime and Stob Binnein beyond were islands in a blanket of white, there were inversion conditions from the top of Loch Lomond. Beautiful.

The sun slipped low and the light shifted to orange and red which turned the rusty Kilpatricks moorland into a blanket of colour so deep I lifted my glasses to check it wasn’t a trick of my prescription.
Just stunning light.

I met a dirt biker near the top of the site, “You’ll be going back the same way”? was my opener, he can tear up the Forestry tracks all he wants, they’ve defaced the hills here more by themselves than the bikers ever will.
We chatted for a while and darkness crept in quietly around our conversation. The moon rose over Donut Hill, I wasn’t making the summit tonight, not with dinner to sort. The sun was soon gone, it caught the top of the Ben then shone on the highest clouds from it’s journey round the other side leaving some flashes of pink and gold before taking all the colour with it.

The moon was glorious though, full and bright, I never reached for my headtorch. It lit up the last golden leaves in the woodland as I descended, they shimmered in the dark like the ghosts of summer.

Overtoun twinkled welcomingly on my way to the van and bats circled my head all the way. Are they confused by my alarming new hairstyle? This is becoming a common reaction, we’ll speak of that soon.

I think this was spring this year looking at the streaks on snow left on Ben Lomond. I also vaguely remember this one because the light was so nice. A huge canopy of cloud hung over me but the hills seems to force holes through it and the light spilled through up the loch and across at the Luss hills.

Cowal below out to the west had a few lighter spots but the gloom just looks deeper with the sun catching the streaks of low cloud unawares.
Definitely something going on above Dumbarton there, the souls of the damned rising from the ASDA carpark perhaps?
There’s fresh green in those fields too, the season was indeed changing, in which case I was about to be retired when my neck decided to cut off the signal to my hand.
Mixed emotions there looking back then. Ha.

That burnt heather still hasn’t regenerated much after the wet summer we had, still looks scorched and bare. The old fence is very visible here now and there must be hundreds of metres of that same fencing across the site, maybe even kilometres of it. Ready to trip the unwary and snag a fleece of two.

It’s a cracking perch for a cuppa and a sit down to watch right across the Lang Craigs and see pretty clearly further afield. I like going up here, looking north and knowing what I’ll need when I head there in a day or so. It’s nice be back in that same zone, it’ll not be this week though, next week I think.

I’m going to have to write up those Santeco insulated stainless steel cups, they’re excellent.
No gloves, microfleece as an outer layer, grin, must have been a nice day to be up there.

That patch of blue stayed up there, I’d have taken a photie or two if it had come any closer.

Still, look at that view. I love it up here.

Here? I mean there I think?. I wonder if that’s a subtle slip on my subconscious view of my relationship with this place when I’m actually here on the couch.

Sometimes its like there’s nothing there. When the colour drains away the silence replaces it.
I walk through the cold damp air and my breathing grows into a increasingly loud companion as I shin up the familiar slopes to find no views, no grandeur, just calm and quiet walking through the grey.
It’s odd how the sky can seem to suck the life from the land, the grass is a muted khaki, the trees are now bare and thin and nearly black.
The sun does try to break through at times but it doesn’t have the strength at the bottom end of the year.
But it’s still lovely. The distant might be cloaked but the near deserves some attention too and the moss and lichens are like little glowing beacons on days like this.
And hey, at least it isn’t raining.

My memory of this is as hazy as I am above. I don’t really know why I pick certain days to take photies and some days none at all. Sometimes I’m just in the mood, the light is nice, the air is fresh, the bird song is lively. I don’t often take a camera either, these here are all from my phone which is why it’s so fuzzy above, it’s just sitting on the ground operated by cold fingers and optimism.

It’s a cracking spot that, it’s our very own granny stopper and it’s been a genuine barrier to visitors in winter because it does cornice and fill with snow. It’s still obviously shaped with a vertical drop so it’s from around here I’ve escorted folk back down on several occasions.
The pinnacle is out of sight there as is the growing hawthorn bush in the gap, which with berries and leaves right now is visually filling in some of the “Oof, that’s a drop…” ambience. I do wonder how that’ll play out over time if folk that don’t know the route don’t register the risk in the same way.

Above Ben Lomond shines invitingly down the loch, it would have been a gloriously cold day on there, ice on the moustache for sure. Ah…
The stand of Scots Pines in the middle distance below is Black Wood which is also in the bottom photie taken a couple of hours later, I was standing at the far left of the trees, looking left/west out to the firth.
It’s a fantastic view and although it might look plain, there are so many hidden gems here some of which are seasonal. Hiddden glens than bloom in spring, buried stone circles, volcanic crags and wildlife throughout it all. I still find something new and I’ve been up here for decades.

Below is a nice view of the dyke that runs across the Lang Craigs, neolithic we think, there’s certainly no record of it appearing suddenly over the years anywhere in the documents gathered for the area. It’s hard to see in summer, you need the sun to sit just right to make it pop out like it does here. It’s very visible in the evenings just now. You should take a wee wander up.

Overtoun Burn is in the deep gully that breaks the dyke, always running, sometimes raging and it’s eroding the north side ever more. I’ve seen some landslips the past couple of years and although it’s natural, I’ll miss that beautiful black crag with its multiple exposed layers of lava and ash. It’s like looking at the trailer for the movie that tells the story of how this land was formed. Lots of clues, but luckily they don’t give away the ending.

Evidently I made it to Donut’s trig pillar just as the sun went through the Muirshiel Hills. This meant a steep descent to the burn to follow the deer fence towards Black Wood. A good choice but tricky in the dark, regardless of headtorch choice as the ground is very boggy and extremely hummocky. It’s a knee twister for sure.

Still, worth the risk for getting to see Dumbarton and Greenock across the river looking pretty with their lights on. It’s still a good walk to get down from here, no track, rough track, steep track then easy track, the neapolitan and walking I suppose. Or gateaux?

Oh, I think I need a cuppa. Do we have cake…?

My laptop is very old now, it wheezes and crackles as the old fan and disk drive fight to sustain one another to complete the tasks I’m unfairly asking of it. I’ve got three tabs of new laptops in PC World open as I write this and I still don’t really want one, I just want this one to work, I mean it’s got a tray for CD’s. You can’t get that for love nor money now.
I feel guilty for those open tabs though, it’s like taking your lifelong faithful companion along to the shelter to look at potential new lifelong faithful companions. I wonder if it knows…

If it dies, it’s okay, everything is on hard drives now so I can afford to lose it. I’d just be sad and mildly inconvenienced. This laptop still has Tracklogs on it, dated in it’s mapping now but still functional and still useful. I’ll miss that and a few other things that’ll cost money to renew and update but hey ho I guess.

I still have a lot of photies stored on here and as I double check them to make sure they’re copied elsewhere, I delete them or as is going to happen more often than not I’ll sport a few out a few and write a blog post like this.
Trying to fit an actual narrative around these is going to be tricky, but I’ll see the sky, the landscape and me too and I’ll get a sense of it.

A walk at the Lang Craigs is rarely in a single mode of weather, there’s a surprising change of altitude from top to bottom and more often than not I’m drying the sweat from the warm ascent by the time I’m walking along bit with the views and the vertical drops. These photies look cold, but the sun is warm, I can feel it, it’s just so familiar. I can see my foot placements, I can hear the long grass swish and the water running from the overflow at the corner of the Black Linn reservoir.

From the watre to the top of Donut Hill is always wet, it’s wide shallow angled slope which holds onto water like it owes it money. It’s actually only really dry when its frozen and then it’s treacherous and why I carry spikes here in winter.

Always changing.

That’s the last metres to the top above and it never fails to spark a grin. Will there be a view, will the wind be howling, will there be another wierdo hanging around to talk to? it’s amazing how often I can get three yesses there.

It is a glorious spot. Mountains to the north with hills and water closing the compass circle for an entirely wonderful horizon. There’s no evidence of it, but I know had a flask, I had snacks and I stood there getting cold enough for my face to go numb.It’s what I do, he natives don’t even bother their arse now.

This last one tells me of a detour, maybe to see a fence gate, or a water gate, but whatever, I was over towards Meikle White Hill for a descent through Black Wood. There would have been owls heard, bats seen and indiscriminate rustling in the dark woods.

I don’t remember it, but aye, I can get a sense of it.

 

Just as I was feeling optimistic, just as I was making plans, the nastiest strain of COVID I’ve had floored all of us. Holly bounced back okay but Linda and I are still feeling it weeks on.
There’s been a few wee walks on the flat which were exhausting, but after months out I am just desperate to be in the hills. I love autumn, but I want at least some of my legs back for winter.

So with some unexpected sun and one engineering callout quickly dealt with, I thought I’d try some steeper ground on home turf at the Lang Craigs. I also though I’d throw the kilt on, make a day of it, have some fun. The kilt’s excellent for walking anyway.

I felt it straight away, not so much in my legs but in my chest, the pistons and turbo were rattling and squeaking pretty soon up the first incline. I slowed the pace, I’m starting from almost zero, this is not the time to be a dick about it.
Birdsong, blue skies and soft light on my back from a bright and warm but not harsh autumn sun. Left, right, left, right, pause and gaze, forwards again…
It was okay, I can feel just how much my fitness has slipped and how much the COVID has ramped that up, but I worked with it, not against it and when I got to the lip of the crags I whooped and grinned and took photies, I didn’t hang off the broken fence with cold sweat running down my face trying not to puke.
I think I can do this now, accept where I am and work from it. This means I will have fun, I’ll often be burst and tired, but I will be out.

I stopped for a cuppa at favourite spot, birds swooped, a couple fought surprisingly (a buzzard and raven or a really big crow) and the rest chatted to each other as I sat with the Arrochar Alps and Ben Lomond just out of touching distance up the loch.
Maybe I should report a wave of grand emotions to fit the moment but the truth is it was just plain old lovely to be there, it just felt right. Also because I haven’t been able to track the seasons on a daily basis as I’ve done for so many years, so much of what I see, feel and hear feels new again.

The crags were deserted, a few folk walked far below me but the edge was all mine and I wandered along with a grin, warm in my baselayer, cool in my kilt.
The views are so good, it doesn’t feel like Dumbarton’s garden, it’s hill and loch and sky the whole way. Some heather is still blooming brightly, but brown is bleeding in everywhere, autumn is pushing in. The trees will soon be glorious, and I’ll be here to see it. I’ll be over there too, and there…

Met a lovely couple from Croydon on the track down. They stopped to chat (they never stood a chance of escape, let’s be honest), they were here for their annual break and had climbed Beinn Narnain this week already, “My favourite hill!” I said. And so it is, have I even climbed it this year? Doesn’t feel like it.
It’ll be as good as always, maybe I’ll wait for the snow for full effect.

I got back down to Overtoun and the van was a welcome sight. I could could feel some wee niggles, neck to hand being the danger zone, but nothing too bad. Could feel a wee hot spot on my heel, good grief my feet have gone soft too.

Work in progress then, but I love my work.

Diary of a madman
Walk the line again today
Entries of confusion
Dear diary, I’m here to stay

I dunno, is a 43 year old Ozzy song a good point of reference? For me, of course it is.

The Kilpatrick Hills in general and for some years now the Lang Craigs in particular are my home, it’s where I live, it’s where I play and since I’ve been back reviewing outdoor gear it’s where I get consistent testing miles on kit. Random big hill days where I have to travel tell me specifics, but you cannot beat rotating the same gear samples on regular repeated routes in different conditions to get a real understanding and reliable results. I also get good wear and tear, the terrain is rough, the weather is wild and in my time at TGO I have had some brands pissing and moaning because I’ve found that their all weather extreme gear isn’t quite as good as they say it is because of what my sometimes daily use in these hills tells me.

And of course there’s my nearly eleven years as a volunteer ranger (They changed the actual title to warden a while back which just makes me think of Patrick McGoohan in Escape from Alcatraz or Strother Martin in Cool Hand Luke, it’s a shit title and I’ll die before I answer to it. Probably.) for Woodland Trust Scotland. There’s a fine expanded team these days and I continue with my deer fence following and accosting members of the public with banter and/or help as required.
It’s a battle though, neds, dirt bikes, uncontrolled dogs, fires, litter, deer, erosion, time and money are some of the many enemies of our lovely corner of the hills.
The landscape is a continued winner though, the trees’ constant growth has changed the place so much and it feels like that pace of change is accelerating. To see the site alive with actual big trees seemed too far off for me, but just maybe in my lifetime I’ll sit in the shade of something leafy that I helped one of the wonderful waves of folk we had coming here to plant.
It’s a place of contrasting emotions, there’s always hope, there’s always beauty, there’s life all around as the skies and the land attract ever more creatures to take it as their home. It’s still fragile though, and there’s anger when some arsehole breaks, burns or defaces it.

Looking for the sun, or the snow.

I’m there an awful lot, usually late afternoon or night, first thing in the morning if there’s an inversion of course. But I don’t talk about it as much as I used to or should do and I rarely take photies now, just an occasional selfie to accompany a glib social media comment.
That’s changed, I’m having too much fun to risk losing it all in a haze, it’s been stunning up there of late and it’s given me a proper wee shove so photies and stories it’s going to be so I can remember it properly, and just maybe pass some of the joy on if anyone’s still passing through these pages these days.

So: Diary of a Cragman #1

I like meeting folk, even unseasonal ones like this wee guy. It’s still February and spring thinks its had the green light. Frogs coming at us, colour sprouting from the ground everywhere and life in general shaking off the dark nights and getting ready for fun. I just hope it’s not so soon that we lose stuff when the cold comes back like it seems to be doing right now.

The wee fella is also a lesson in watching where you put your feet, there’s much to miss and step on up here if you’re gawping at the view when a few streaks of sun break through the murk and take the bare look off of Dumbarton for a wee while.

I love this path on the edge of the crags, the views are just brilliant, from Beinn Laoigh to Ailsa Craig on a clear day and you can see the whole of the Lang Craigs site, useful for spotting potentially damaging incidents in high ned season (any time the sun shines basically): that which burns never returns.
It’s a joy to walk too, it meanders, goes up and down, and feels airy all the way. Minutes from the car park too if you know the shortcuts. Hey, just ask and I’ll show you.

Rain, sleet? Loch Lomond was being refilled by something. It was dull, but not drab and the sky was moving fast above me so I was keeping my pace up to stay warm. I cut off onto the foresty road and headed for the Black Linn reservoir to swing up onto Donut Hill, maybe it would clear up by the time I climbed up.

It did not clear up by the time I climbed up. I hid behind the rocks and got out my flask for a hot cuppa and watched the forestry machinery wind down for the evening over at Knockupple. Big yellow arms were soon lying still and a white pickup truck swung it’s way north on whatever new dirt road they’ve gouged across the moor.  It’s a helluva mess over there it has to be said.
They’re replacing the clear felled areas across the Kilpatricks with more conifers by the looks of it and putting borders of indigenous tress round the edges so we can’t see them.
That’s going to look great really quickly as birch grows at 0.6m a year and sitka spruce 1.5m. Insert rolling eyes emoji.

No sunset and it was getting really cold. I jogged downhill to the corner gate and its amusing new and surprisingly deep water jump feature to “help” you get through it with thoughts of a hot dinner and well, just hot dinner and other hot stuff like a shower because I couldn’t feel my fingers. I mean at all, I left my Buffalo mitts in my pack way too long.

I should know better. The next day in fact, I did do better and so did the weather.