The Ring of Fire – Compleating the Scottish Donalds

On September 3, 2020September 3, 2020 By ChristoLeave a comment

Date walked: 3rd-6th August 2020
OS Map: Landranger 77 – Dalmellington & New Galloway
Start/finish point: NX 412 656/NX 360 784
Distance: 90km
Elevation Gain: 4300m
Hills Climbed: Larg Hill (676m), Lamachan Hill (717m), Curleywee (674m), Millfore (657m), Meikle Millyea (746m), Milldown (738m), Corserine (814m), Carlin’s Cairn (807m), Meaul (695m), Cairnsgarroch (659m), Coran of Postmark (623m), Shalloch on Minnoch (768m), Tarfessock (697m), Kirriereoch Hill (786m), Merrick (843m), Millfire (716m), Bow (613m), Caerloch Dhu (659.5m), Tarfessock South Top (620m), Benyellary (719m), Bennan (562m)

A 3-day adventure in the Galloway Hills

My first Donald, White Coomb, was actually my first hill walk. Back in 2018 I found myself in Moffat for the weekend and did Mid Craig, White Coomb and Carrifran Gans without fully realising whether they were Donalds, tops, or not. Fast forward to 2019 and I found myself looking at the beautiful SMC guide to the Grahams and Donalds, and I had the idea to get back to the Donalds with some focus, and to walk them in memory of my dad, Donald, and in aid of Mesothelioma UK. Weeks and months went by, and though I enjoyed picking-off individual hills, I knew that to stand any chance of climbing all 140 Donalds and Donald tops within the time frame I had set myself, some epic walks were going to be in order.

But there was one epic I wanted to save until last, and that was thanks to Ronald Turnbull and his excellent ‘Book of the Bivvy’. Bruce’s Crown, The Three Ridges, or my favourite, The Ring of Fire – call it what you will, it’s a walk that takes in the Minigaff Hills, Rhinns of Kells, and Range of the Awful Hand. Runners do it in a 24-hour challenge, but as a walker with all my gear on my back, I gave myself 2-3 days. I was planned and ready to go, I had studied maps so obsessively I felt I could walk it without so much as taking a map with me. Some sponsorship came in and then…

COVID-19 happened.

And so, months behind schedule, I finally set out on the journey to Newton Stewart and got off the bus on a sunny afternoon, ready to walk in to the hills. Being reliant on public transport and timings to and from Glentrool Village not working ideally for me, I decided to walk in from Newton Stewart to the first Donald, Larg Hill, and pick up the route from there. What follows is therefore not so much the exact Ring of Fire, but a slightly modified version to take in the Donalds and Tops and omit one or two unnecessary hills.

The late afternoon, sunny walk-in was a delight. I followed the minor road from Newton Stewart through Minnigaff, along past Barclye Moor, until I reached the turn-off for Drannandow Farm. From here it was easy walking on the farm track, gradually gaining height as I crossed the Moor of Drannadow, and Larg Hill appeared on the horizon. It was never the plan to get up into the hills on this first evening, but to get as near to Larg Hill as possible, and start in earnest the next morning. The weather looked promising, and eventually I settled in for the evening quite literally on the slopes of Larg.

Early the next morning I unzipped the tent door to a completely different world. Strong wind, lashing rain, thick mist. Marvellous. Cursing, I forwent brewing anything on the stove, packed everything into dry bags, and started what would be the hardest few days I have ever experienced on the hill. Larg Hill was a quick bag, and then I followed the misty ridge up to Lamachan Hill, where I seriously considered calling it a day already. Then I remembered that it was already just as difficult to give up and head back as it was to carry on, so off to Bennanbrack I went, and struggled my way down to Nick of Curleywee, where I sat huddled in my little bothy bag for a break from the weather. I had so looked forward to Curleywee, but in the end it was nothing short of hell. I made a couple of errors descending via Gaharn, and relocating my way up towards Millfore was difficult. In fact, the stretch between Curleywee and Millfore was just about as much a test of my navigation and energy as anything I have ever endured.

Actually, I’ll take that back – rounding Cairngarroch to drop down to Black Water of Dee, up past the quarry towards Darrou and on to the Rhinns of Kells – THAT was the biggest test yet. If there’s a snowless version of a glissade, that is what I found myself doing on the way down from Cairngarroch. It was wet enough to slide my way down the slopes, but bumpy enough to find myself upside down at times, legs pointing up the hill, something akin to an upturned tortoise.

I would dearly like to return to walk the Rhinns of Kells when I can see something. It was pretty easy walking in and of itself, and I had this constant feeling that I was standing on a ridge with stunning views. It’s just that I couldn’t see any, and it was hard to stand up at times. The rest of this first day involved battling my way up and down the tops, until finally I left the ridge after Coran of Portmark, to go and find somewhere to camp.

The next day was all about the long walk on the forestry road, where visibility improved at the lower level but the rain kept me in something of a miserable mood. My Terranova bothy bag came in very handy whenever I wanted to eat or have a rest, and eventually I emerged at the break where I needed to head up to Shiel Hill and onto the wonderfully named Ridge of the Awful Hand. This I found exceptionally difficult. There’s just something about this rugged terrain in the rain, and the fact that mist lay heavily anywhere above about 400m – was I going around in circles? Eventually, I was able to pinpoint myself at Caerloch Dhu, and I was back in the game, so to speak. I was also very tired, and a little fed up.

Back up to the Awful Hand, and slow progress along towards Tarfessock, where I left the ridge again and off to camp – shelter really is an amazing thing. One thing that had disheartened me so far in this little adventure was that I hadn’t seen so much as a glimpse of the rough, almost Jurassic paradise that lies on the valley between these three ridges. In fact, I wouldn’t see anything of the lochs below until at the far end of this final ridge the next day.

The next morning, I eventually regained the Range of the Awful Hand, and initially had a spring in my step as compleation was in sight. The place where I really felt I’d hit rock bottom was the steep pull up Little Spear to (The) Merrick. I deposited myself in the wind shelter on the latter, and even though it was almost wintery cold up there, and I STILL couldn’t see much, I had myself a long break. I had just one top left to do.

It is of course, typical that as I descended from Merrick, the mist occasionally cleared to give me glimpses of the lochs below. I felt really quite emotional when I arrived at the final top of this expedition, and of my complete round of Donalds – Benyellary. Of course it was at this point, and on this popular hill, that I started seeing lots of people, and it is perhaps difficult to explain why you look like a broken man when everyone else is toddling up to Merrick with a spring in their step. I wandered down to a level area away from the summit, had myself a little moment, and reflected on the round of 140 Donalds and Donald Tops.

This final walk in the round had been one of the toughest, but my adventures in the Moffat Hills and on the two outlying Donalds near Callander surely came close. Most of the Donalds had been walked in awful weather, and all but one had been done solo and using public transport (the exception was Windy Gyle – but the weather was still awful). Low as these hills may be, they had been a character-building test in every respect, and I now find myself craving a little rock to walk on. We raised some money for a charity close to my heart, and I felt chuffed to be added to the SMC list of compleaters – no. 241, and next in line from a fellow WalkHighlands user, Ian G Park, whose own reports of tough walks in Donald country inspired some of my own.

Back to Galloway, and the weather (and suddenly the views) improved as I dropped down over Bennan, and when I arrived at Glentrool visitor centre summer seemed to have returned. I myself returned to Newton Stewart by bus, and started the long journey home.

Dad, this one was for you.

Penrith to Threlkeld, by way of some Elusive Fells

On August 13, 2020August 13, 2020 By ChristoLeave a comment

Date walked: 24/25th July 2020
OS Map: Explorer OL5 – The English Lakes: North-Eastern Area
Start/finish point: NY 511 299/NY 322 254
Distance: 55km
Elevation Gain: 2500m
Hills Climbed: High Seat (802m), Kidsty Pike (780m), Rampsgill Head (792m), The Knott (739m), Rest Dodd (696m), Brock Crags (561m), Angletarn Pikes (567m), Sheffield Pike (675m), Hart Side (756m), Stybarrow Dodd (843m), Watson’s Dodd (789m), Great Dodd (857m), Clough Head (726m)

Lakes 1

I’m a fan of coming up with long (perhaps idiosyncratic) walks, joining up hills that I have either missed on previous trips, or would perhaps be a little awkward for me to get to generally. It also makes me feel like I’ve ‘had my money’s worth’ so to speak, given that it takes so long for me to get places on public transport.

And so it was that I set off from Penrith with a plan to walk some of the High Street Roman road (or at least as near to it as you can in the 21st century) and then head off somewhere near High Raise and do a few of the Far Eastern Fells. I strode out of Penrith with a spring in my step, following footpaths through farm fields, the fells teasing me on the horizon. After a while, it became road walking, and I half planned to walk up to Celleron then up on towards ‘The Cockpit’ and on to the fells, some of which I had walked before. In fact, I got to Celleron then suddenly had a change of heart – why not drop down into Pooley Bridge, then walk some of the Ullswater Way? I could always hit the fells somewhere above Howtown.

And so that is how I found myself wandering, one early summer evening, along the path above Ullswater, happy as a pig in muck.

Once past Howtown, I entered Fusedale for the first time – and what a glorious valley! The good path took me gradually along Fusedale Beck and then gradually climbed, and climbed, and climbed, emerging on Wether Hill – hey presto, I was back on the Roman Road. The sun was getting lower in the sky, and up a height the temperature dropped substantially. My mind turned to a bed for the night, but not before bagging Kidsty Pike, Rampsgill Head, and the rather shapely Knott.

Descending The Knott, I found a lovely little flat area overlooking Rest Dodd, and caught sight of several deer. Tent up, perfect spot. Throughout the night the deer came close to the tent and made the most terrifying noises – who’d have thought Bambi would sound like something from a horror film? Very early the next morning I breakfasted in the rain then tackled Rest Dodd head-on, before dropping down towards Brock Crags, along by Angle Tarn, then somewhat awkwardly up to Angletarn Pikes and its list of summits.

As a side note, I was delighted at my previous night’s pitch high up on Knott, and counted no fewer than 17 tents dotted around Angle Tarn. I also counted no fewer than 6 bum cheeks going about their morning movements by the tarn, and found myself feeling a little angry at my fellow man. Or perhaps just bitter that I have braved all manner of uncomfortable conditions in the hills, attending to business far away from my tent, far from paths, digging little holes. At Angletarn-by-the-sea they were only a burger van away from being a resort. Anyway, onwards.

I say onwards, I came across another pair of cheeks at the Boredale Hause ‘junction’, tutted as the cheeks retreated through the tent flaps, then made my way down to Glenridding. Time to adjust myself, attend to aching feet, get rid of rubbish (in a bin, fancy that), before making my way up to the Greenside Road and along the busy path we all know so well.

I stopped to watch the lines of people snake their way up towards Helvellyn, and then left the path to head up to my own private fells, up Stang End and through the interesting remnants of mining works, to make my way to Sheffield Pike. Back down to the path, and then steeply up Glencoyne Head, I was off across to the rather inconveniently situated Hart Side, when the mist suddenly rolled-in and the landscape looked more like it usually does when I’m in the hills.

Next on to the Dodds. The mist cleared every now and then to give me little glimpses of Thirlmere, and by the time I arrived at Watson’s Dodd (an underrated fell in my humble opinion…) the conditions were excellent. I lingered at Watson’s Dodd, and not just because of the name.

The rest of the walk was straightforward, gentle walking – Great Dodd, Calfhow Pike, then straight up the (wet) side of Clough Head. This latter fell has teased me so many times when I’ve travelled by bus into Keswick, it felt great to have conquered it at long last. But it soon conquered me, because the steep descent down the screes made the ending to the walk rather more dramatic and telling on the knees than I would have liked. Great views, though.

And so I snaked my way down to Threlkeld, and had a pint while waiting for my bus, chuffed that I could now tick off a whole bunch of beautiful fells. Fells that have been teasing me for months. Cheers!

Writing about the Great Outdoors

On May 24, 2020 By Christo1 Comment

I’ve been meaning to start blogging about my outdoor adventures for some time, but have always stopped short of typing the first few words – how does one know when they have enough experience to share anything meaningful? When does an outdoors newbie cross the line and think of themselves as experienced enough to have something to say? Lockdown has, for all its hellish impact on all our lives, given us a chance to reset and perhaps take stock of the things we do – and so recently I have found myself totting-up my hill bagging tallies, poring over notebooks from long-distance walks, editing photos from the last couple of years of hiking adventures, and I feel perhaps I might just have had enough adventures to be of at least some interest, to someone, somewhere.

It all started in 2016, when grief and ongoing family illnesses made me crave an escape. I was no stranger to travelling, and had spent a lot of time in previous years hopping across Europe on short trips and adventures, but urban adventures no longer felt like the right fit for me, and I felt an inexplicable urge to head to Scotland. I’m glad I did. With some cheap boots on my feet and a lot of cheap gear on my back, I disappeared to Barra in the Outer Hebrides, with no skills, no experience, and even less clue about the fact that August is not necessarily the best time to camp there. I returned to the mainland, and my normal life, a changed man. Since August 2016 the outdoors have been more an obsession than a hobby, and thanks to the likes of Walkhighlands and their incredible hillwalking resources, thanks to the myriad guidebooks and maps out there, thanks to blog posts by other, more seasoned adventurers, I have spent the last 3-and-a-bit years getting out at every opportunity. Next came the Hebridean Way, the island bagging, the wild camping, the fascination with hill bagging, a few more long distance walks. At the time of starting this blog, my hill lists are as follows:

12 Munros
29 Corbetts
28 Grahams
74 Donalds
120 Wainwrights
111 Hewitts
92 Scottish Marilyns
A host of other, little hills, often of no less character

And so, sitting on top of this list of hills and exploits, having spend a lot of time either in my tent or bivvy bag staring at the stars, having walked and scrambled in all weathers and at all times of year, I finally decided I can call myself an outdoor enthusiast rather than a newbie walker, and it is time to start typing, at long last.

I hope the blog posts that follow are of interest. Perhaps you’ve walked the same routes, climbed the same hills; maybe I can learn from fellow outdoors people; maybe I’ve met you on the hill already, or our paths might yet cross out there in the wilderness; maybe, just maybe, my posts will be of some interest or inspiration when you’re planning your own adventures and exploits.

Most of my outdoor trips are done using public transport. All of them are done on a budget. It amazes me, when I’m sitting atop a somewhat remote Donald in southern Scotland, that I was able to get there on a string of trains, ever-smaller buses, and a healthy dose of determination. I hope that the theme of ‘getting out there no matter how awkward the place may be to get to’ rings clear in my blog posts, and finally I should make mention of the power of the great outdoors to soothe the soul. Fortunately, the idea of ‘mountains for the mind’ is a popular and well-documented one these days, and so many people I meet have tales to tell about how the great outdoors is good for their mental health, their wellbeing, their soul. My own adventure started out of painful and emotional times, and I have found the great outdoors to be the greatest healer of all.

I hope you enjoy my posts, and perhaps I’ll see you on the hill…

The Man in the Buff

Tag: wild camping

The Ring of Fire – Compleating the Scottish Donalds

Penrith to Threlkeld, by way of some Elusive Fells

Writing about the Great Outdoors