I’d had a pretty terrible long weekend off work. Eight days off, and having caught up on some stuff around the house I had hoped to get out on the hills, bearing in mind the limits of the current Coronavirus restrictions. North Lanarkshire was (and still is) a Level 4 area, which means that you should not travel outside it for leisure purposes, and for that reason I had planned to visit the northern reaches – the Campsie Fells! Then, the day before my planned walk I was struck low with throat problems and had a coronavirus test which thankfully returned negative. Instead I was diagnosed with a viral infection and ended up confined to quarters, but had recovered somewhat by the Wednesday, and decided to hit the hills on my final day off before returning to work. The weather was promising, sunny intervals, but at the last moment I threw my main headtorch into my bag – something I would be glad of later.
The car park near Tomtain on the Tak-Ma-Doon road is sometimes referred to as the “car park in the sky” and it’s not hard to see why. The view here takes in much of North Lanarkshire and across to Glasgow and Falkirk, The Pentland Hills, and the Forth Bridges, with the Kelpies being a particular stand out in the morning sun. On leaving the car park the road turns north east and gives a stunning view across to the Ochills and the Wallace Monument, and a clear day from the summits of the hills which I was about to visit you can see across to the Arrochar Alps. Unfortunately today wasn’t a clear day, and within minutes the 453m summit of Tomtain had been swallowed in cloud. This gave me time to look around me, and after some 400m I noticed a track which promisingly led off to the north through the plantation of trees and which I made a mental note of for later exporation.
The top of Tomtain was soon reached, adorned with a cairn on the north side of the fence and a trig point on the south. I touched both, and carried on towards my next target, Garrell Hill. It’s a pity that the public transport is not so good here, as a traverse of the southern flank of these hills, continuing across to Cort-ma-Law and Jamie Wright’s Well would be well worth doing. So instead I would stick to my (vague) plan of either a circular walk from Tomtain to Meikle Bin, or a straight out and back on the same route, the latter being one of my least favourite approaches.
The ground between these first two hills, in fact for the entire route from Tomtain to Meikle Bin, is a bog-trotters delight. In other words, it’s wet. Spongy in parts, churned black in others, pooling elsewhere, there’s little straightforward here, and it would be ideally visited in very dry weather or after a long period of snow and extreme cold. Today was cold, and the we weather was threatening. Not ideal, but it was enjoyable just to be out, after this week, indeed this year. Garrel Hill “summit” took a bit of finding, and having wandered off the fenceline in search of it, I found it – on the fenceline. Marked with an old piece fenceing and a pile of stones, it really is a blink and you’ll miss it affair.
The next section across Plea Muir is bleaker and wetter, and is difficult to traverse. This route runs along a spine of ground which is marked by fence and drystane dyke, and there are often two and sometimes three paths on the go at one time, and I switched from one to the other, crossing wall and fence as necessary to avoid the worst of the water, a tactic which worked well until I reached the source of the Garrell Burn, where my nice, dry, gore-tex boot sunk into a spongy green morass, leaving me with one wet foot and one dry. And then it started to snow…
I ploughed on, through the first winter snow showers, until I drew level with Birkenburn Reservoir, where I recalled my last visit here, perhaps 10 years ago with my daughter. We had climbed from the Queenzieburn side and had stopped at the treeline for hot drinks. Now a teenager, she prefers retail parks to country parks. I headed on west, along the treeline, searching and eventually finding the break in the thick plantation which would allow me to breach its green wall and make the final ascent. Firstly though there’s a drop down a slope churned black and running with rain water into a mossy valley.
From here the path heads uphill, and this is where things get tricky, Covidly speaking. So far my entire walk had been in North Lanarkshire. As soon as I headed uphill I would be in the environs of Stirling Council, as the summit of this hill actually lies around 800m across the county line, and if I carried on westwards I was only around a kilometre from East Dunbartonshire. Sometimes you just have to bend the rules a little, and I would have to make a brief excursion into Stirling to bag the summit, before returning to the legality of North Lanarkshire!
I started up the path, and it’s in a pitiful state, as were my heels. As soon as I started to climb I realised that I couldn’t put things off any longer, and sat in the sleet, partially sheltered by the trees, dressing two blistered heels. The joys of new leather boots! Having lost some time here I was keen to get going again, and shouldered my pack, heading up into cloud illuminated by the winter sun, counting down the paces and until the summit was in sight. Within minutes I was atop Meikle Bin, beside the trig point, catching brief glimpses of the surrounding area as the cloud swirled, the view coming and going, revealing and hiding features before I could focus my camera. There would be no decent shots today, just the hint of what was there.
Having used what little visibility I had to do a quick bit of route planning, I left the summit to a group which had arrived from the north. Why is it that I can walk for hours and see no one, yet the minute I arrive at the summit I will be met by someone from out of nowhere. Dropping down to the woods I tried to avoid the sludgebath that passed for a path here, and noticed that there is a faint path through the trees, and this made for an easier and cleaner descent.
Back in the valley I followed the burn north east instead of climbing back up, having opted for the circular route, and was soon on a forestry track, which led down to the dam and the car park, and apparently a “historical village”. On the map there is a path from said village directly to the spot I had seen earlier, and this looked like a fairly decent way back to the car. The forestry track ascends and descends through monotonous pine woodland; I was glad I was using this for a quick descent. The way in may have been slow and difficult, but it had views, more than can be said for this. My speedy (or what passed for speedy with blistered feet) progress through the green wall reminded me of tabbing around Ardgarten Forest with full kit around 30 years ago with the TA. I didn’t enjoy that either…
As I approached the historical village I decided that the failing light and worsening weather were not in my favour and so decided to shave off around a kilometre by missing the village altogether and taking the forestry track uphill before heading south where the footpath bisects the track. I found this point easily enough, there being a clearly defined mountain bike trail heading north to the village. Of my path though, there was no sign. I walked backwards and forwards, and despite usually having a god eye for spotting tracks and trails, I could find no sign of this one. I was confident that I had seen the far end of it though, so my only option was to carry on along this track – adding another kilometre or more. There was nothing for it but to go for it, and so I ploughed on, and by this time my knee was also throbbing. I came to the end of the track and by now the darkness has crept in; if there was a path leading off from here I couldn’t see it. I fished in my bag for the headtorch and there it was, a faint trail heading south east, handrailing a dry stane wall. I plunged into the darkness and soon came across a howff built into the wall. If this wasn’t the right path then I’d be staying here for the night! Thankfully this section of the path was indeed still in existence and I was soon back where I had stood that morning. Thick forestry plantations can be a maze, and are often criss-crossed with paths which ultimately lead nowhere useful. In the darkness they can be extremely difficult to navigate through, and this walk had been a great reminder of that fact. My backup head torch is fine -as a back up, but I was really thankful that I had only needed it for a short section. The thought of wandering “Jack Torrance” like through an impenetrable green maze brings me out in sweats. This area certainly is worthy of greater exploration and I plan to return to see not only the historical village which is apparently pretty interesting, but to approach the missing section of path from the south and try to trace it back to find if it it is still in existence, or whether it was just a careless flick of the cartographers mouse!
The Airdrie Rambler 