Collected Musings of a Hill Wanderer

When I first moved to Edinburgh, I had a good view of the Pentland Hills from my bedroom window but somehow never got the notion of visiting them. It is true that Scotland has many distractions and the city of Edinburgh itself can be listed among them but I suppose that the idea of visiting lesser hills was never about to happen when the country is rightly famous for its highland areas of Lochaber, Skye, Argyll and so much more. In fact, that’s where my attention took me when I decided to see some of its countryside before I left Scotland to work south of the border.

Ironically, it was that relocation to the north of England that spurred the development of the hill wandering habit rather than the empty wonders of which Scotland has so many. Thus, I have since discovered areas accessible from Edinburgh such as the hill country near Peebles and the Southern Uplands proper. Countryside immediately north of Glasgow like that surrounding Loch Lomond was a worthy proposition for more visits than I paid to the area and it wouldn’t have been that far away either.

You might try explaining away the fact that I didn’t travel so widely in Scotland when I lived there by saying that I was a student in those days. The proximity of the Pentlands makes that only a partially successful excuse. As it happened, the world of computing commanded my interest while outdoor activities for me then mainly involved cycling around Edinburgh itself and frequenting its public parks. In other words, I simply hadn’t developed the interest in hill country that I have today. That is not to say that I didn’t have a soft spot for fine countryside but I was wont to go after the exceptional rather than enjoy the wonders of what is less so. A consequence of this thinking was that faraway hills seemed more wondrous that what was nearby. That still can stop me exploring what is local to me and head further away but I have been heading away from the obvious honeypots for a few years now. The great thing about going to places off the beaten track is that they are good for the opportunities they offer for the clearing of my head of the stresses and strains of modern life. They also can be on your own doorstep which is even better.

It is perhaps odd that the journey from exploring the famous and wonderful hill country to quieter and equally enjoyable spots brought me to spending a few hours exploring those hills that I was accustomed to seeing out my window all those years ago. It so happened that it was last weekend that allowed that chance on what was otherwise a social visit to Scotland’s capital.

As if to accentuate the curiosity of my never have set foot on them, the Pentland Hills are well served with frequent bus services. That accessibility allows a number of possible starting points for a walk and the one that I used was dictated by the appearance in St. Andrew’s Square of the number 15 going by Hillend on its way to Penicuik. That might seem a little haphazard but I could be a little more easygoing when I wasn’t going that far from civilisation anyway. Otherwise, I treated the outing like a local walk among hills near to Macclesfield so I wasn’t carrying that much but still brought plenty of water, waterprooofs and a good map among other things.

Thus, Hillend was where my walk began and I was soon heading uphill in the direction of Caerketton Hill. The heights that I was to reach weren’t heady but even low sized hill can present a good workout for the legs and this one is very much of that calibre. Allermuir Hill, where I went next, is of the same ilk but it was largely downhill from there on. There might have been a spot of uphill action on the meandering path taking me to Bonaly Country Park but it was nothing compared to the higher points of the hike. I may have been rankled by the route taken by that path but I was soon on the track taking me to the route of the number 10 bus back to base; that track didn’t take long to become a road.

The contrast between my previous disinterest in hill country and my interest today wasn’t the only one that pervaded my mind while there since the hills over which I went offered many very different and varied views, more contrasts if you like. I may never have exceeded 500 metres in height but the relative flatness of the Midlothian countryside round the Pentlands meant that I was able to see far and wide. To the north, I looked down on Edinburgh and picked out its castle, the Commonwealth Swimming Pool, Arthur’s Seat, Salisbury Crags and many other landmarks. Further north lay higher hills brooding under cloud-filled skies while Fife and the Firth of Forth with its islands like Bass Rock were sun drenched in comparison. To the south, heather-covered hills so dominated the vistas that it seemed that they were doing their best to make you forget where you really were.

All in all, I had spent a few hours packed chock full of contrasts: between past and present, in the mind and round about me, the appearance of the land in sun and in shadow and so on. Here’s another one as if all of the others weren’t enough: if I was in Princes Street, I would have been surrounded by hoards processing around on the last weekend of Edinburgh’s Fringe but I was up on hills with plenty of space around me. In previous times, I might have been among the crowds but I now seek peace and quiet to complement and provide relief from the noise of our modern existence. I suppose that we can change over time but I am certain too that there are parts of us too that don’t change so much. It’s amazing how a few hours spent among hills on the edge of a city can reveal so many contrasts, changes and differences.

Sunday, August 10th:

Up to a few weeks ago, I hadn’t been to Skye for a few years so a visit was long overdue, even if it turned out to be a short one while on a journey that took islands that I had until then not visited at all. There might have been showers floating about but Skye didn’t disappoint whenever the sun made its way from behind the clouds. The day before couldn’t have been more wet in Macclesfield (the Sutton Sheepdog Trials could have done with better weather…) so anyone who knew what I was planning could have been forgiven for thinking that I was mad. However, things didn’t look too bad in Glasgow and the sun lit up parts of the city as the coach on which I was travelling made its way to Fort William. Between the upper reaches of Loch Lomond and Loch Linnhe though, the aspect shown by the weather was well wet. I still found Fort William wet underfoot but dry overhead during a short stop there to change coach before continuing to Skye. That drier theme was set to continue all of the way to Kyle of Lochalsh where Skye was displaying a damper appearance. Further north on the island, conditions were very different with a good deal of sun on offer in Portree.

Once I had dropped off some of my things at where I was staying for the night, I decided to head for Ben Tianavaig for a spot of hiking. To get there, I had to brave the busy A87 before making my way onto the B883 that serves Braes, a place that is noted for a famous clash between crofters and police who had come to enforce the execution of eviction notices. The result of that battle was the enactment of legislation guaranteeing crofters’ rights that sounds not that dissimilar to the demands of the Irish Land League. Different histories sometimes exhibit certain common threads.

Braes was five miles away from the A87 so that was never going to be my object for the day; more than ten miles of road walking is not my idea of fun so a bicycle would offer a better way of getting there. As it happened, my initial target was Camastianavaig on the shores of Loch Tianavaig. There, I met some people who said that there were porpoises playing off shore and I got to see what they were enjoying with my own eyes. I left them to savour the sights and soon found a rough path taking me out into open country to start on my way up the steep sides of Ben Tianavaig. I chose a route away from any really steep drops, particularly those looking a little bit too close to the sea. After braving the leg busting ascent and any showers that cam the way, I found myself on top of the hill with marvellous panoramic views to be enjoyed. The sights included Raasay, the Trotternish ridge to the north, the Red Hills and Cuillin to the south along with Skye’s indented coastline. I had it all to myself for those moments before thoughts of getting back down again came to the fore.

The route down was to be different to the way up and Scotland’s access laws were well used as I negotiated the rough country between Ben Tianavaig and Penifiler. It wasn’t all downhill with there a small bit of uphill action before I got onto less testing ground. Conditions underfoot weren’t too wet considering the rain that was about and the vegetation wasn’t too bothersome either. There was a tricky thicket of scrub that through which I forced my way across a stream but heather, bracken and marsh grasses were the less challenging mainstay. I don’t recall seeing much wildlife and I don’t remember any interest from midges so they can’t have been too bad.

Even with my return to tarmac, there was still the matter of rounding Loch Portree as the sky grew darker. If there was a bridge across the loch, then I wouldn’t have needed to take as long to return to my lodgings for the night. That darkness soon turned to dampness and I needed waterproofs again by the time that I reached the A87 again. The rain was to persist for a few hours but I was after a good walk with its moments of sun and so had no complaints.

An easier day followed and I couldn’t really get up to much with a 14:00 ferry to Harris to be caught. I spent some time mooching around Portree and trying not to buy so much as to be overloading myself with it; the weight on my back was already enough for me. I left Portree at 11:35 on the bus to Uig where conditions were drier with no showers happening on me while I waited there. I may have ended up with some hours to spare but buying a ticket took up some of that time and the sun came out while I was waiting. That ferry came soon enough but that’s a story for the next post in the series.

Skye is yet another of those iconic spots in Scotland’s Highlands and Islands that continues to draw me back. My most recent spot of island hopping had me encountering the misty isle yet again, albeit briefly. The story of my most recent stay will wait for a future posting but the stopover has caused me to cast my mind back over previous visits, just like what happened after my excursion to North Argyll at the end of May. Those trips haven’t been as numerous as those to the likes of Lochaber and Lorn but Skye remains an island for which I retain a certain fondness.

The fact that it has been reasonably kind to me with the weather has helped me to see the island in its best light. That certainly was the case for my first outing up there in the last week of July in 1999. Up to that point, the month had been very grey, in Edinburgh at least, so I took my chance when I got it. Travel by coach landed me in Portree at around 17:00 in the evening and I made my way to the Portree Independent Hostel for my night’s stay. The glorious evening drew me out for a potter about the place for glimpses of the Cuillin Hills in the distance. The following day saw me hire out a bicycle and I made my way across the island to Dunvegan and its castle. The day was hot and the hills that the road surmounted, though none too impressive, did take their toll on the legs so my rest in Dunvegan was well earned. Nevertheless, roads were quiet and sights of the coastline and its many small villages kept me entertained as did the sight of MacLeod’s Tables in the distance. For the way back, I took a different route to follow the coast road to Sligachan as far as Bracadale before turning inland on a wonderful if scary narrow road though the hills to Portree. In evening sunshine, the countryside couldn’t have looked any better. The only fly in the ointment is that due to a lack of camera film, I have to rely rather more on my memory than photos for this account but that’s no bad thing. After staying in a different hostel, I reluctantly left Skye to return to Edinburgh, stopping by Eilean Donan (and annoying the coach driver on the side of the road near Dornie because my bag was in the wrong place and buried under loads of others; it’s a lesson that I haven’t forgotten: ask where to put your luggage first!) and Inverness. I may only have stayed a few days but my appetite had been whetted.

It was August of 2001 before I found my way back again, on the first of what has become my now near annual summer Scottish breaks. The weather was more uncertain on this occasion and I made my way from Edinburgh, where I had met up with a friend of mine, through some miserable wet and windy weather; it’s just as well that I was travelling in a coach and under cover at the time. The day after could not have been more different and I took my chance to savour part of the Trotternish. The views of the coast and the Quiraing were enticing enough for me to be putting my then newly acquired Canon EOS 300 SLR through its paces, even from this less ideal vantage point. My trek started at Ellishadder with my taking in a nearby waterfall cascading down the cliffs. Onward progress towards Staffin guaranteed me ample views of the Trotternish ridge. Continuing on towards Flodigarry and beyond garnered closer views of the twisted geological wreckage before I caught the bus to Uig. Its being a port might not make Uig a beauty spot but the day remained wondrous and thoughts of an excursion to Harris emanated in the brain; various distractions meant that they remained as such until recently. A bus returned me to Portree and the next day, a duller affair, saw me leaving reluctantly again with a bus taking me to Armadale and a ferry taking me on to Mallaig, from where I made my way back to Edinburgh again after a stay in Oban and a visit to Mull.

August 2002 saw me crossing Scotland ahead of a band of wet weather that was approaching from the east. A quick run to Skye resulted with my having a short walk around the the Old Man of Storr and I stayed only one night before heading off again. It was just as well because the following morning was well soggy but things cheered up as I made my way southeast again.

My next escapade, a longer affair, took place in July of 2005. In some respects, it was inopportunely timed because the failed 22/7 London bombings immediately preceded the trip. My base this time was Broadford because there was some real hill country wandering in the head. In fact, one of my hikes took me among the Cuillin and the Red Hills while the other was a crossing of the Trotternish ridge. The Cuillin ramble started from Elgol, then having a less usable bus timetable than today, and took me up a narrow path along Loch Scavaig with disconcerting drops into the sea on my left. Even so, any difficulties were more than worthwhile with fabulous views of the Cuillin Hills and Rum on offer in the wonderful sunshine. Reaching Camasunary saw me take a welcome break before continuing along the track to Sligachan under Bla Bheinn. The scenery remained wonderful with the likes of Sgurr nan Gillean and Marsco easily keeping me occupied. The sky might have clouded over by the time of my arrival in Sligachan but I was after having a very good day. Cloudiness dominated the walking the day after too, at least in the early stages. My trek started in Brogaig from where I followed the minor road up onto the Trotternish ridge. Once on the ridge, I headed south to go up and down hills like Bioda Buidhe before going down into Uig via Glen Conon. I was tempted by the idea of mounting Ben Edra and dropping into Glen Uig but I changed my mind en route. During my descent the sun came out and any glimpse back would be towards rounded humps that attempt to belie the existence of the inland cliff that forms their eastern faces. Having a spot of time to spare before the next bus, I found a quiet shady woodland spot, replete with a waterfall, where I could laze for a little while. That opportunity was much enjoyed, a perfect end to an adventurous hike. All in all, I don’t recall getting any rain during my stay on the island but there certainly was a lot of cloud about only for it to disappear at the right moments to allow Skye to display its magic. Broadford served well as a base with all of the essentials that I needed and some good views of hill country to boot. It certain allows for even more and deeper exploration of the area about it than I did.

My having been to Skye only a small number of times has its uses: there are plenty of reasons to return. That’s not to say that Skye hasn’t been a satisfying destination for me but leaving somewhere wanting to go back is so much better than feeling that you’ve seen all that is there to be seen. After all, those yearnings for a return can generate new hiking ideas and added motivation for exploring the outdoors. I am inclined to think that Skye merits another longer trip, perhaps in a season other than summer. Only time will tell what happens but I was treated like I was on my most recent encounter with the place, it will not have been bad to me at all.

I have written on this blog before about an idea of exploring the Western Isles that I got into my head. Well, it has come to pass and I’m now back from what turned out to be a good trip. The weather wasn’t too unkind to me at all and I reckon that I got far more sun than I had right to expect and even the rain that I got wasn’t unbearable either. Public transport got me from place to place without too much fuss and all of my lodgings did for me what I needed. Not surprisingly, I got in a good amount of walking with Skye, Harris and South Uist seeing my footfall, perhaps scratching the surface of what was on offer. Travelling about allowed me to see even more and the list of places glimpsed while on my way becomes a long one that includes names of familiar stomping grounds along with those on which I have yet to set foot. Relating it all in one long post seems too much so I’ll split up my account of the trip. I don’t know how many pieces there might be to it just yet; I think that I’ll see how that goes in the telling.

We humans are a fickle bunch when it comes to weather and I am no different. My ideal walking conditions involve a dry sunny day with a bit of a breeze and temperatures between 10 and 20 degrees Celsius (I have to say that the Fahrenheit temperature scale is next to meaningless for me). Over the course of this year, I have been battling that easy inclination to stay at home on grey days or any time when rain threatens. While it can be a good way of keeping you at home to get things done, you can overdo it too and never get out there at all.

I think that you could ask any walker and they’d suggest that soggy days are a turn off but I have thought of another one: hot boiling sweltering sunny days like what we had at the end of July. Some adore these but I don’t think that they’ve ever really suited me; I suppose that we all differ from one other. To me, it could be seen as being just as unpleasant for hiking as getting constantly soaked. In fact, if you don’t watch it, the health consequences of being out in boiling heat could be worse than wet weather. Hydration is very much part of this and OutdoorsMAGIC recently posted a very useful article on the subject that provides some food for thought. Otherwise, head coverage, keeping well watered, using good sun screen and finding the occasional shady rest spot to keep yourself together is all very much in order.

What has put this idea into my head was my going for a circular hike around Welshpool that took in a part of the Offa’s Dyke Path a few weeks back. I experienced the sort of weather whose absence is source of many a moan. Last year was a case in point but those who were on the receiving end of the deluges last July really did have cause for complaint. Its timing was unfortunate in the sense that it happened during the summer school holidays and it might be all that some remember of 2007, a travesty given the wonderful start that the year had. Even though I too have fallen victim to this notion of a summer climax, I am beginning to come around to the delights of a cooler if damper summer, particularly when it comes to wandering through hill country. Another downside to this idea of there being a climax to the year is that your outdoor outings plummet in frequency once August has passed. It’s all too easy to do and I know because it tends to happen to me. It’s almost as if I hibernate until December when I manage to get going in earnest again. That’s a pity because autumn can have lots of special moments to offer.

Speaking of autumn, it has a lot to offer those who wander through hill country. The days might be shorter but they are cooler also and without being too chilly. Destinations that are thronged in July and August are quieter, just like they were in April and May. After all of that, there’s the glorious autumnal colour that can come upon us, depending on the year (drier summers are better for this, apparently). The ambiance might be like the calm after a storm or, if you prefer, after the climax but there’s much to savour in the mellowness.

I have often talked of my liking of spring on here and I now want to make better use of the delights of autumn but there’s another matter taking up occupancy in my head: is it worthwhile scaling back summer walking a little and devoting a bit more attention to the rest of the year? For one thing. the ever present threat of global warming might well make this approach something of a necessity.