Outdoor Odysseys

Revisiting the Fairfield Horseshoe: A stirring trek through some of the Lake District’s craggy beauty

The overriding memory of July 2022 is that of the record-breaking temperatures endured during the middle of the month. In hindsight, it would have been more productive not to have tried working through this at all, telling my client as much at the time. Scarcely anything could be accomplished in these conditions.

Not having air conditioning in a terraced cottage in the north of England was no preparation for temperatures exceeding 30° C around the clock, which meant that nights largely were sleepless as a result. Having a place near the coast in Ireland might have made for a good holdout while this was happening, something that only came into my possession last year, two years too late for that episode.

Before all that meteorological fury, I scurried north to the Lake District for a day hike. The destination was inspired by reappraisal of photos in my online gallery, a pervasive trend throughout 2022. It had been the most of twenty years since I first completed the Fairfield; a reprise came not before time. Since film photography was my mainstay back then, this was an opportunity to engage in some digital capture of what is found around there while following a similar route.

The preceding night may not have been as restful as I might have liked, yet I got to Rydal at around 10:00. On that round all those years ago, there were fewer people around until I got as far as Fairfield. The reprise was busier, especially on the ascent of Nab Scar, where the steep slopes caused others to clump together on rest breaks. Even at that stage of the day, there was summer heat to be felt, so the ascent was sweaty work.

When the gradients relented, I found somewhere to stop for a while to take on board some refreshments and savouring views of Rydal Water, Loughrigg Fell, Grasmere and whatever else lay about me. Because it was likely that there was a bolus all staring at once that morning, I left others pass on their way. One joked that they were on their second way around when they passed me again after my overtaking them during the initial ascent. It might have been prompted by the pandemic strictures easing substantially, but there was a feeling of added camaraderie on this round.

Once I got going again, Heron Pike was my next landmark. With everyone now more scattered, each could have more space, and that also applied to me. The going was now gentler than before and greater views were opening around me. It never ceases to amaze me how stiff the first few hundred metres of an ascent can be, only for things to ease off once you are higher up; then everything can feel a little more plateau like. This can catch you at the end of a descent too, as I found on this hike, and glacial action often is the cause of such arduous going.

The summit of Grey Rigg was my next staging post as I navigated the undulations atop a narrowing ridgeline; gradients again stiffened on the final approach to the summit to open up more views for me. To my left lay the narrow valley leading up to Grisedale Hause and then Grisedale Tarn. It was a scene showing the latter that I had in my mind’s eye for its capture using newer technology than I had all those years ago. The further up and the further in that I went, the more that I got to savour.

Even with reaching the top of Great Rigg, I was not done with uphill gradients just yet. The last heave on the way to the flat top of Fairfield needed to be surmounted first. Patience was in order at this point before things became much kinder. On the way, I could glimpse my return route as it threaded between Dove Crag, Hart Crag and other eminences. Once on the top, the high point of my day’s walking, I could glimpse St. Sunday Crag and Helvellyn to the north. The former was the subject of a yomp around eight years before, and the end of August would see me surmount the latter. There was topological majesty in every direction anyone could face, all brightly lit on the day.

Once you reach the greatest height of your day, the only way is down, not that such a reality means that it gets easier from there. Initially, the inclines were kind enough, and I could peer into Patterdale and make out the outline of Place Fell, a summit I surmounted in January 2010 at the start of a year of career turbulence for me. The list of fell tops that I would cross became Hart Crag, Dove Crag, High Pike and Low Pike.

It was after the penultimate of these that gradients again stiffened, that being my lot until I reached the floor of Scandale at High Sweden Bridge. Walking poles were essential for saving some knee strain, and patient foot placement was my lot while allowing the fleeter of foot to pass me; everyone has to hike their own hike. For a time, it seemed easier to follow the informal path by the stone wall instead of seeking out the line of the public footpath.

That came to an end when a challenging down scramble lay before me. Then, I sought out the public right of way to High Sweden Bridge, leaving the topological drama of High Brock Crags and Low Brock Crags behind me. This also left a walking group to go their way, possibly towards Low Sweden Bridge, mine turning out to be a quieter affair; the rest of the descent to Ambleside was now at hand. This broad track better suited wearied limbs, allowing patient progress to convey me safely onto busier streets, where I sought out the main bus stop after a satisfying day.

In summary, I had experienced what I came to encounter, making many images and enjoying the round. Though I normally seek quietude, the moments of shared camaraderie added its own special moments too. Any challenge posed by the warmth of the day has faded from recollection now; it was a scenic grandeur that stood out for me. This was a reprise more than worth doing as it took me around places that I have frequented before. It was great to see them all again.

Travel Arrangements

A return train trip from Macclesfield got me to Windermere. From there, I had a choice of bus routes for getting to Rydal for the start of the hike. The same applied for getting from Ambleside to Windermere. You can use either service 555 or 599 for this; the latter goes between Bowness-on-Windermere and Grasmere, while the former goes between Lancaster and Keswick.

Hiking lofty Helvellyn: A commendable scenic detour on the way to Scotland

2022 was the year when I really began to emerge following the constraints of the pandemic. Trips to Ireland allowed me to become reaccustomed to staying away from home, as well as seeing more of the place than I had before then. While there had been day trips to the South Pennines, Wales and the Lake District, none had featured a stay away from home in the U.K. before the end of August.

My not having been in Scotland since 2019 was what drew me north. Other than having a client meeting, I cannot explain why I did not take Friday as a non-working day for travel to Stirling. That might have got me some better days for hiking up there, negating the return visits that I have described in other trip reports on here. We live our lives with so much unknowing.

Another complication was the performance of Avanti West Coast and Transpennine Express. Both operators were unable to operate their full timetables because of staffing challenges, resulting in many cancellations. That, and the Friday evening travel time, meant that I spent two nights in Carlisle, facilitating the third (and final) Lake District day hike of the year. Having pondered an ascent of Helvellyn during July, that became my choice. Terry Abraham’s Life of a Mountain: Helvellyn was one inspiration behind that endeavour, and I reaped the rewards of my day around the Cumbrian landmark.

On Saturday, I headed to Glenridding from Carlisle, first by train as far as Penrith and then by bus from there. Car parks were full and visitors were struggling to find a space as I made my way towards Greenside Road, a gravel track despite the name. At one point, I found myself being asked if I was leaving, meaning that I was freeing up a space for someone. My mode of travel meant that I was no help in that regard, and I carried on from there to quieter surroundings. The sunny weather, the long weekend and the still reduced nature of international air travel all contributed to the busyness as much as the proximity of Ullswater and the surrounding fells.

Thankfully, I picked a quiet way to Helvellyn. It meant that I had much of the place to myself, though others very occasionally passed me. Naturally, there was an ascent too, and I noticed a certain lack of strength in my legs. Because the outing was part of a weekend away, I brought a heavier rucksack with me, the one that I used to use all the time before the pandemic came our way. Since the difference between that and the Lowe Alpine that I acquired in 2020 was easily perceptible, the effect on my legs was attributed to that. Taking things steady was the only option available.

Others could be seen on a track on the other side of the valley, highlighting that numerous route options are available. Because Striding Edge and Swirral Edge, well known though they are, seemed too airy to me, I opted for a gentler route. They may have been busy too, not the best when there is not so much space for everyone. Instead, I was bound for Whiteside Bank, from which the way to Helvellyn would take me over Lower Man. A longer option might have been to go via Stick’s Pass and include Raise on the way; eschewing Helvellyn altogether, that might have opened up a myriad of routes leading north. One thing is certain: there is no shortage of hiking possibilities in these parts.

The skies might have been full of dispersed clouds, yet they still obstructed the sun from time to time. A few of episodes cam my way while I was ascending the flank of Glenridding Common and around Whiteside Bank, and there was less luck with sunshine for anyone around Catstye Cam. Looking back towards Patterdale drew my eyes to what lay behind me and how far I had come. The lack of rapidity was no concern of mine, given the delights through which I passed. After all, shortcuts can take longer, especially when there is significant height gain involved.

While I was up high, a pervading thought struck me: the views from a lofty vantage point can save much traipsing along the ground. When you have distant Skiddaw and Blencathra in your sights, as well as nearby Ullswater and Thirlmere, that point is rather rammed home for you. Throw in a sighting of Bassenthwaite Lake and the suggestion becomes incontestable. It is little wonder that Helvellyn draws so many, some of them from the Grasmere side of the fell.

Though this might be rugged countryside, Helvellyn’s summit was a busy place when I was there that day. So many were making selfies around the trig point that I never got to touch it, a very human inclination that can possess me when I am near them. With all the scenic drama that lay around me, that was no omission and there could be no sense of loss. Though there may have been a compulsion to linger, there was a descent ahead of me. That meant that I needed to get going.

The way down to Thirlmere was unrelenting, possibly even brutal; this is not one to recommend for winter conditions when a fall could have consequences. In my case, it certainly took its toll on my knees, even with many breaks to savour the surrounding scenery. The hint of all this when a passing walker said that one of their number turned back on the ascent from Thirlmere. Others that following the same line uphill clearly were labouring and some were suffering, showing such signs of not being regular hill walkers that you could see them quitting. Even on the descent, pacing oneself became essential; this is not one to rush.

As often happens, the last part of the descent began to drag on for me. The routing felt indirect around Highpark Wood; it was a case of having come far yet having further to go. Once down on the A591 beneath Highpark Wood, the next move was to locate a bus stop to await the next service to Keswick. Thirlspot was in my mind, though it was not necessary to even go that far, which was just as well after the descent. While the terrain may have been more level, any rest was appreciated, and I marvelled at what I managed to get down while looking back on the route.

The bus to Keswick came soon enough, which felt just as well given that I was near a car park that was located away from so much. Even so, there are numerous trails around there would be more suitable for some of those trying to go up my descent route. My time in Keswick was brief, since I fancied getting going back to Carlisle as soon as I could. Cancellations of train services lay on my mind a bit, and they affected my eventual departure from Penrith so much that I wondered at my haste to get there. It felt like a ghost town after the busier spots in the Lake District, especially when so much natural glory had been my lot that day.

Travel Arrangements

Bus service 508 got me from Penrith to Glenridding after a train journey from Carlisle. The train journey to the latter featured changes at Manchester and Wigan. Bus service 555 got me to Keswick from the end of my hike, while bus service X4 or X5 got me from there to Penrith for a train back to Carlisle. The next day, train travel conveyed me from Carlisle to Stirling, with a change in Edinburgh. The rest of that story is elsewhere on here.

Added springtime serendipity around Stirling and the Trossachs: From Forthside to lochside

To complete, the Stirling series of trip reports, I am leaping forward to April 2024 to relate the rest of the excursion to Stirling that closed out my rambling around Ben Ledi. That portion of the trip has been described already as part of the collection of hikes around Callander’s main local hill. That was not the only highlight offered by a few days of sunshine that contrasted with previous dull weather stints in the area.

Footsteps Around the Forth

Stirling is not always a dull weather spot for me, though. While my first encounter with the place in 2002 might have gone like that, others have not been so. Typically, they have been weekend affairs, with a Saturday arrival and a Sunday departure. There are a few that stand out in my memory. One from November 2023 is among these with its incursion into the Ochil Hills on a gravel track shod with lighter footwear, not my usual way of working. That too has been described elsewhere as one of a collection of hikes around the said hills. There has been some slicing of hill walking trips to the area, of which this is another example.

Returning to Stirling walks, one from February 2016 remains lodged in my mind, coming as it did in a period of great change for me. The Sunday of that weekend came as a crisp, chilly, sunny day that I could not waste. Going inside to see what is in Stirling Castle or the Wallace Monument did not feel right to me, so I stayed out of both of them. When there is a significant fee, there often is a commitment that I am not willing to make.

My traipsing then took me around Gowanhill, the caste perimeter and Old Stirling before I wandered in the direction of Cambuskenneth Abbey, or what remains of it, which sadly is not that much. Then, I pottered around the Wallace Monument before circling around to Old Stirling Bridge. All this occupied enough of the day beside part of the River Forth that I had no inclination to approach the Ochil Hills, which I was then viewing from further afield.

Stirling’s Castle has its photographic attractiveness, and that brings me to May 2019 when I arrived in the city to make use of some evening lighting. Otherwise, it was a case of retracing old steps before returning south after the last of a string of Scottish incursions, mainly centred on Edinburgh and starting around Easter of the year. For later visits, the motivation was photographic, while the Easter escapade featured much walking and slaying of old wounding memories from my time living in the city for educational advancement.

The first evening of my stay in April 2024 drew on those previous visits to Stirling. Wandering by the River Forth took me by the Cambuskenneth Abbey ruin. After a photographic vigil, I set on for the Wallace Monument while more photographic exertions resulted before I started to explore the trails around Abbey Craig. Since the monument was shut for the day, there were few about to intrude on any solitary ambling. There was much to savour in this compact area before I again struck on for Old Stirling Bridge and followed the River Forth as far as Forth Valley College before turning towards the castle while the day wore on towards sunset. The light was faded, so photography was near halted, or at least the results got regarded as mere record shots. Going around by King’s Knot, I made my way towards the lodgings for my stay, noting in the west where I was headed the following morning.

Lochside Rambling from Callander to Aberfoyle

It is often that an outing inspires a follow-up excursion. It was during the hike around Ben Ledi that I spotted an information board mentioning the prospect of circumnavigating Loch Vennacher among other possibilities. Naturally, that popped an idea into my head. With the Ochil Hills being closed off by an incursion in November 2023, that left a day free to make use of the idea. It all was in the spirit of serendipity, and that was set to affect the execution as well.

Thus, I returned to Callander after the gifts of the previous day. Hovering over the day was a throwback to the English August Bank Holiday weekend in 2007 when I ventured north to Scotland to hike part of the Rob Roy Way from Drymen to Callander with a stopover in Aberfoyle. A tumble in a train station rather cast a shadow over the proceedings because of my having hurt my ribs at the time. That made the use of a rucksack more challenging, especially since I was carrying quite a load for the weekend. Nevertheless, I managed to follow through on my plans with an overcast arrival in Callander after a sun blessed start in Aberfoyle. Even so, there were many thoughts about coming back to the area that were lost to me until I revisited that old trip report, even giving a little re-editing for clarity.

Thus, when I followed the A81 across the River Teith after a circuitous deviation caused by my stocking up on refreshments, I probably was reversing a route taken nearly seventeen years before, albeit in continuous bright spring sunshine. It was as if I were using an idea parked in my writings for years before. Once off that A road, which can be busy, I was on quieter tarmac. Since this also is part of National Cycle Network route 7, I also had cyclists for company, even leap frogging a duo until they got going and left me after them. Heavier traffic like timber lorries can go this way, so care is needed, and there was one that passed me at one point. Mostly, though, I was in quiet surroundings.

Patient trotting conveyed me to the shore of Loch Vennachar, which I had viewed from around Ben Ledi the day before. Some wild swimmers were in the water, and I left them to their pursuit, surveying what lay north of me. Naturally, one of the hummocks was Ben Ledi and its neighbouring hills. One of these, Stuc Odhar, even appeared its equal in a distance of some kilometres; in reality, the summit heights differ by over two hundred metres. Nevertheless, these were to detain my attention for much of the way.

All the while, there were constant reminders that Aberfoyle is not that far away; Scottish Rights of Way Society signage offered evidence of that, tempting me to reprise the former route from August 2007, albeit in reverse. Even so, I stuck with the cycling route because that hugged the loch shore. After an awkward meeting with others near the Sailing Club premises around East Lodge, I continued past West Dullater with a brief stop at the Invertrossachs Scout Activity Centre, where I was reminded of days spent at the Firbush Field Centre during my university days in Edinburgh.

Around Invertrossachs, I left the roadway for a narrower track that still acted as a cycle path, forming part of NCN 7. It amazed me that the trail was in use by bicycle tourers, given the lack of width. Thankfully, it was quiet and a pleasure to stroll, with only one cyclist passing the way. While the bucolic woodland may have limited views, they had been somewhat unchanging anyway.

That had altered by the time that forest cover began to thin to allow views of the western extent of Loch Venachar, which was petering out, unlike its eastern end, which is dammed. All this may have started below the dam of Loch Drunkie, which I would meet later; at that stage, it was hidden among the trees around a kilometre away to my left. My surroundings began to feel more peopled as I approached the track junction where there was a sign for Aberfoyle, one of several that I had passed that day.

A desire for ice cream lured me onto the route of the Three Lochs Drive to find the way to Brig o’ Turk. If I had stuck with my initial plan, the Great Trossachs Path would be carrying me back to Callander. Instead, I had decided to make for Aberfoyle, conscious that its last bus to Stirling was earlier in the day than that from Callander. Nevertheless, I continued to Brig o’ Turk on what became a fool’s errand, for there is nary a service station in the place. However, I did get to spot the way to Glen Finglas, somewhere that tickles my fancy for another time.

On the way back from Brig o’ Turk, I took a chance and went as far as Loch Achray before circling back to the junction where I left the NCN 7. Time was on my mind at this point because the twists and turns of the trail to Aberfoyle made for difficult ready reckoning of progress. Even with the noticeable strength of the sun and the heat of the afternoon, I pressed on uphill.

In time, I would meet with Loch Drunkie and stop for photographic exertions on a periodic basis. The Forest Drive was being well-used by then, not necessarily the most relaxing situation for a passing hiker, though it was to have a compensation later. Many were stopped by the loch, which hardly was a surprise in the circumstances. Once past this sprawling watery landmark, the heat experienced on broad forestry tracks was punctuated by a random act of kindness: a Tunnock’s Tea Cake was offered through a car window, and it would have been rude to refuse it. Profuse gratitude after acceptance could be the only response.

Near an unseen Lochan Reòidhte, the Forest Drive route was left behind me as the trail entered shadier surroundings, another blessed relief from the weather. While warm sunshine is great and is sought, there can be a cost for a journeying rambler; using sunscreen is a must (especially for fair skinned types like me), as is keeping hydrated. A descent laden with progress lay ahead of me, yet my thoughts turned to anyone coming the other way on this steep track. It was becoming clear that my timing worries were for nought; there was plenty of time in the end.

Once the gradients slackened, aching limbs needed coaxing to continue the rest of the way. Thankfully, the end was in sight by then, and refreshment supplies were augmented ahead of a replenishment break before the bus appeared. That left me about an hour in Aberfoyle, a very quiet place, while I was there. Protesting knees got some respite as information boards were surveyed. Not without reason has Aberfoyle been highlighted as a centre for mountain biking, with all the tracks and trails that thread the Queen Elizabeth Forest Park. The moniker “Gravelfoyle” has been invented to reflect this, for there is much here, though some steep slopes can be expected. To one weary wanderer, all that felt far away, so the arrival of the last bus to Stirling was a welcome sight.

Looking through photos now, I realise that I pottered around Stirling again before retiring for the night. There should have been continuing fatigue after the day’s exertions, yet the sunny evening drew me outside again, though not for an extensive stroll like the first evening in the city. The next morning, sunny surroundings may have attempted to hold on to me only for life’s responsibilities to ensure that I returned south again. Nonetheless, there remained an air of satisfaction as I did so. Scottish sunshine had done its magic and its landscapes gleamed as a result.

Prospects and Reflections

Though I might be less inclined to focus my attention on Aberfoyle, I am left with some ideas for possible future visits to these parts. Hiking the northern side of Loch Venachar is one option with a few added extensions. Glen Finglas is the first of these that could be part of a larger circuit around Ben Ledi. After that, there is Loch Katrine, which lay some kilometres west of where I found myself, and time was against my reaching its shores. A lengthy out and back trot from Callander would fit in that one during longer daylight hours. Sometimes, adding to one’s ideas collection can prompt a fear that one will remain ever distracted by them and unable to attend to the essential matters of life. Even so, it is even worse not to have any at all.

From distant viewings to up-close encounters and incursions: autumnal traipsing in the Ochil Hills

It was a series of weekend visits to Stirling that drew my eyes towards the Ochil Hills to the east of the city. My first recollection of that happenstance takes me make to February 2016, in a period when other life activities sapped energy for exploring the outdoors. Just finding a hotel for a night and wandering around the historic citadel was enough for me. There were other visits, like a photography inspired one in May 2019, part of a run of Scottish incursions that year. The pandemic confined me to local wanderings, yet the possibility of a Scottish one based in Stirling never left my head.

When Scottish hill country outings came to mind, the lures lay further north and further west. It was too easy to pass Stirling en route to elsewhere. Eventually, thoughts turned to using the place as a springboard for exploring less familiar parts. Overlooked though they might be by many, that meant the Ochil Hills; they inspired a first trip to Scotland late in August 2022. While heading up there, the idea of Ben Ledi also popped into my mind, dividing my loyalties in the process.

The Ben Ledi forays get described elsewhere, while this report collates those centring on the real inspiration for the August bank holiday weekend excursion. There was a return several weeks later in September, around the time of the Royal funeral for Queen Elizabeth. That was to attend to some loose ends from the first traverse when a soaking was my lot. Though there was an added consolation at the end of August before I headed south again, it took until November 2023 for some photographic closure to be reached.

A Tillicoultry Circuit That Got Me a Soaking

If the weather that I had enjoyed during the ascent of Helvellyn on the last Saturday of August 2022 had continued, there would have been no dilemma posed by my dreaming up an ascent of Ben Ledi to complement an incursion into the Ochil Hills. However, the run of Scottish weather did not make life that easy, even if it looked promising when I got to Stirling on the Sunday of the same weekend when I hiked up and down Helvellyn.

Based on the height of Ben Ledi, I decided to visit that on the bank holiday Monday when I had a guarantee of clear summits. The bank holiday was English and not Scottish, which made public transport work better for me around Stirling than it would have done around Macclesfield. The decision meant that I left the lower tops of the Ochil Hills for a day when summit visibility was not a foregone conclusion. There was a price to be paid for that.

There is an enduring memory of dark dreich mornings during this August sojourn. Even so, that must not have been the whole story, for I got some brightness to start my Ben Ledi foray and a brief incursion into the Ochil Hills in bright sunshine before my journey south. Two mornings would have brightened on that evidence.

The problem then was the morning of my first Ochil Hills traverse. However, the air remained drier at lower levels; the problem was when enough height was gained. There was another hitch: the initial plan had been to ascend Ben Cleuch from Tillicoultry and then proceed east from there. Though there was a warning about a collapsed section of path in Mill Glen, I decided to see if the difficulty could be surmounted. When I found that was not a possibility, I more or less retraced my steps to go west towards and through Ochil Hills Woodland Park. There would be no ascent of The Law, not that it bothered me that much.

From there, I went across Silver Glen to pick up the track leading past The Gowls and The Nebit. If I had wanted an escape route, the way to Alva was signed, but my mind was decided by then. In time, I left the main track to ascend Ben Ever and go into the clag that would soak me until the descent towards Dollar. While visibility was reduced, making use of navigational handrails like fences kept me from going astray. At least, I could not see anything of the wind turbines that were near at hand.

From Ben Ever, I made my way to the summit of Ben Cleuch, the highest top in the Ochil Hills. Given the restrictions on visibility, any descent to Tillicoultry via The Law would not appeal to me; it felt too risky to me in the circumstances. Avoiding that original planned ascent of The Law, found in a guidebook, might have made me use slopes that were less punishing, never a bad thing. In a similar vein, manageable undulations were my lot as I continued from Ben Ever to Ben Cleuch and then to Andrew Gannel Hill. The name of the latter may suggest that it was named after a real person, yet it is more likely a corruption of an earlier Gaelic name.

After Andrew Gannel Hill, the subsequent descent and ascent needed to reach King’s Seat Hill was more noticeable, and peering along the glen leading back to Tillicoultry made me wonder what delights could be savoured if the weather so allowed. This could have been another escape route if I had wanted it too. With a certain determination, I crossed the last major summit of the day before beginning my descent to Dollar.

That dropped me out of the damp cloud to allow my gear to dry a little. The views were clearer too, though there remained a pervading general greyness. Now that I think of it, I had the hills to myself, which was more of a bonus than a consolation. Maybe there are times when dreich and off-putting weather has its upsides.

My descent route took me past Kames and the Banks of Dollar before crossing the top of Bank Hill to commence the final descent into Dollar Glen. The ruin of Castle Campbell lay below me as I continued downhill. Once on the floor of the glen, I may have tarried a while for some refreshments before continuing; lunching on the tops was out of the question. Students of the Dollar Academy, one of Scotland’s independent schools and an alma mater of Hamish Brown, well known for a first continuous self-powered round of Scotland’s Munros, were out and about. That did nothing to stop me acquiring more refreshments, for my journey was not over yet.

Dollar had lost the regular bus service that it had before the pandemic, so I needed to reach Tillicoultry for the nearest stop with a regular service. This feels a bit odd since the southern side of the Ochil Hills is bedecked with places that are not far from each other. In any event, I made for the combined Devon Way and National Cycle Network route 767 that ran along the trackbed of a dismantled railway. Shadowing the River Devon, I shortened the journey to Tillicoultry while glimpsing as much as I could see of the nearby hills, among which I had spent much of the day. This last portion did not take that long to complete, so I could catch the bus to Stirling and dry out even more after my wetting.

Much Drier, Albeit with Limited Sunshine

The combination of a feeling of unfinished business and the instatement of an extra bank holiday due to a royal funeral, that of Queen Elizabeth, meant that I had a chance to go north again. After travelling on the Saturday of that weekend, Sunday was available for what became a walk from Alva to Dollar and Tillicoultry that diverted through the Ochil Hills. There may have been some breaks in the cloud, yet conditions remained largely overcast, not that it troubles me as I write these words.

From Alva, I made for Alva Glen before climbing out of there to approach Silver Glen. My route instead shadowed the glen as I reprised the way that I went a few weeks before. Passing The Gowls and The Nebit, I did not continue to Ben Ever, but instead kept going until the track petered out near Ben Buck. As I kept looking back, I marvelled at what lay behind me and wondered how the landscape would appear if the skies had been more cooperative.

Once on Ben Buck, I realised how close the wind turbines were. Though we have an ongoing climate crisis, these fixtures are controversial in any landscape, and the Ochil Hills are no different. Not being a fan of such industrialisation, they intruded on how I previsualise my preferred photographic results to be. Once something is in place though, we just have to bear with me, and I kept walking according to my plan.

An undulating course took me across Ben Cleuch and Andrew Gannel Hill. To the north of where I was wandering, I could glimpse sunlit hills, perhaps wishing for a swap or a bit more inclusion from those breaks in the cloud cover. It needed patience, but some magic began to happen when I was around King’s Seat Hill. It started when I was still ascending after the hefty height loss on the way down off Andrew Gannel Hill. Would it deny me while I was labouring uphill?

Thankfully, it did not. In fact, it gave me time to be in position for the desired lighting and made me wait for it, too. Thus, I dawdled on a photographic vigil that yielded some passing success. When the show ended, I began to make for Dollar again. While the route was similar to that of weeks before, my mood differed after the light show I had been gifted. The day of the week allowed more to be around the town while I continued on my way to Tillicoultry, going the same way as before.

Consolations and Resolutions

This part of the account is going to hop and jump in time. The overarching connection is autumnal sunshine, though in different years and circumstances. It illustrates the strange ways in which closure can be reached. A certain sense of being underequipped is associated with this portion of the compendium of accounts.

Firstly, we head back to the last morning of the first trip at the end of August. Inadvertently, I left my Pentax DSLR on overnight and the battery was exhausted. Thus, I resorted to a Canon RP instead, even if that was not as well-endowed with battery capacity and also was not fully charged; some recharging was attempted when morning sunshine was noted. Thus, I headed to Alva while shod in Merrell trail shoes. They did the needful as I climbed out of Alva Glen on the way towards The Gowls, and sufficed for the descent too.

Numerous photos were made before the Canon’s battery ailed, meaning that I needed to use my phone to capture what other delights were on offer. Time was at a premium, too, since I needed to check out of my hotel and travel south. Even so, I was not denied, as the above photo should show you; that was made with the Canon, too. The experience likely encouraged me to return to Stirling a few weeks later.

The same trail shoes, albeit older and showing their age a bit, facilitated another incursion into the Ochil Hills, this time in November. Having halted in Edinburgh a little that day before, mainly for seeing what I could do with eastward views from Corstorphine Hill. That night was spent in Stirling, though, and I had designs on gentler strolling the next day.

Before something more expansive happened, I had to visit Gowanhill in Stirling before sampling its delights. After that, I caught a bus thinking that I was going to Alva. However, I blundered and was on the bus to Alloa via Tullibody instead. It might have been my Irish accent, but the driver should have told me when I said Alva. Realising my mistake, I made do with starting from Alloa for Tillicoultry on a wonderful morning. This was no hardship and placed no restrictions on my rambling on a November day with shorter hours of daylight.

This time, the Devon Way and NCN 767 combination would get me to Tillicoultry from Alloa, expanding the extent of the route that I have followed over the course of time. Others were out and about, some walking dogs. Once beyond Alloa and nearing Tillicoultry, the Ochil Hills were laid out beside me, making me wonder if I could see Ben Cleuch. In short, they were showing nicely.

On making my way through Tillicoultry, I joined the Hillfoots Diamond Jubilee Way near Lady Ann’s Wood. That showed me more of the hills while on the way to the place where I once had hoped to ascend The Law on that first damp traverse of these hills. Passing that, I followed a more direct way than before; the first visit had seen me traipse through the grounds of a disused quarry that I avoided on the November stroll. This was to be a far more civilised amble.

The Ochil Hills Woodland Park was the next landmark on my way. The trees were barer than on that August hike from more than two years before. The sun broke through too to make for a far more happy passage among the trees. While proceeding uphill took me towards Silver Glen again, there was much to relish.

Once beyond the woods, I found myself below The Gowls. When a lady rambler asked if I was going far, I gave a partial answer because I felt not a little underequipped for hill wandering. People are so friendly in these parts that I wonder if they know me without my knowing them. On my second time in Dollar, I found a lady giving me a broad smile from her car that set me wondering.

Once I began to follow the track in earnest, the human encounters declined to nothing, and I could savour the scenic delights in the wonderful afternoon sunshine. The experience showed me what was missing on that second time in the area. At the end of the track, I just turned back. It felt adventurous having even got that far; the top of Ben Buck may have been near, but I prefer to use boots for off track travel like that. Shadows were lengthening, too, reminding me that getting to Alva was pressing. Thus, I set to doing just that and retracing steps from before for that descent. The gradients made me wary until I got to Alva Glen, especially around The Gowls and even when nearing the glen itself. Confidence in one’s footwear makes a big difference.

Once on Alva’s main thoroughfare, I set to awaiting the next bus to Stirling, keenly aware that I might have been cutting things fine for the rail journey home, especially for getting beyond Stockport to Macclesfield; trains stop running earlier on a Sunday. There must have been no issue in the end because that surely would reside in my memory. The trail shoes would be partially retired after I noticed stitching giving way on one of them while on a trip to Limerick a few weeks later. Over the course of three years, they had acquitted themselves well enough to encourage me to get a new pair anyway.

Reflections

One thing that has not been mentioned in these accounts is what inspired me to go following the trails that I did. The short answer is that a Cicerone guidebook had its part to play. In some ways, I ended up assembling routes from portions of what it described while combining others. As ever, there is more to explore, even if that needs more commitment than using the local bus service 52 (it was service 51 that I inadvertently used in 2023). So much has been savoured so far that other designs can wait while other places get their time too.

Tales of patient persistence: ascents of Ben Ledi

It was during my early incursions that I first found myself near Ben Ledi. That was in August 2002, and I started from Stirling, staying in Bannockburn to be precise, before my touring carried me across Scotland. One of my stops was in Callander before I continued to Fort William and then to Portree on the Isle of Skye where rain finally caught up with me. From there, it was a sodden journey to Edinburgh via Inverness, most of which I was inside a coach, thankful for being under shelter. After an autumnal stint in Edinburgh, I returned south to Macclesfield again.

My brief time around Callander, essentially a day, saw me venture out along what is now part of the Rob Roy Way and past the Falls of Leny. The day started cloudy but brightened up later to offer some pleasing scenes to capture on film; this was in the days before I converted to digital photography. Any combination of dramatic skies and sunlit scenery still appeals to me today.

On looking at the map now, I am unsure as to what I did next. After being around that area a few times now, it bewilders me as how I did not follow the track to the top of Ben Ledi only to go blundering along other trails that I now struggle to locate in the forestry. Given that, it was not before time that I made an ascent of such a prominent hill in the area. After all, someone sharing a breakfast table with me the next morning was going to do just that. All I can say is that I might have been put off by a cloud start to the day. Otherwise, a certain lack of confidence or even lack of knowledge could have accompanied this.

A Day That Was Better than I Recall

The first time I got to the top of Ben Ledi, it was not even the lure that drew me to Stirling after not being in Scotland since the arrival of the pandemic. For a variety of reasons, it went back to 2014 when I last was in the highlands on an elongated weekend stay in Oban. Ben Ledi is just on the right side of the Highland Boundary Fault to be considered within the Scottish Highlands.

The previous Saturday, I had enjoyed a sunlit hike over the top of Helvellyn from the shores of Ullswater to the shores of Thirlmere. The descent was brutal, while any coming up from the western side really was making it tough for themselves. In the hill, the shorter the distance, the steeper the gradients and the slower the going. The weather overcompensated for any hardship, though my luck was not to come north with me.

My reason for being in Stirling was to explore the Ochil Hills; that incursion will be described separately. The distraction by a spur of the moment though was enough to cause me to use the better day for the higher summit. Thus, I found myself in Callander on the English Summer Bank Holiday (Scotland and Ireland have theirs at the start of August). With a mind connecting to twenty years before, I ventured along the Rob Roy Way, taking in the hills beyond Garbh Uisge and recalling that encounter from years before.

Near Creag Dubh, I picked up the trail leading uphill and began my ascent. This is a direct approach, so the often steep gradients can feel relentless. Thus, it is just as well that the views opened out below to offer excuses for rest breaks. Though my enduring recollection is of cloud cover limiting photography, there remained some opportunities of I would have the images that you see above. For some reason, I was hoping for more than I got. Maybe I was spoiled by what came my way around Helvellyn.

Reaching the summit needed patient progress. As well as needing some self-compassion for one’s physical condition, there also are false summits on the way. Frustration can set in if you are not keeping a lid on expectations. Once I reached the top, I pottered about a bit before starting on the descent. While others were about, we were not in each other’s way. It was possible to benefit from the quietude that was on offer.

With much of the descent completed, I fancied a deviation around by Boschastle Hill, though signs indicated ongoing forestry operations. It seemed quiet, but I eventually heard the noise of machines at work; thus, I needed to retrace my steps while conscious of the times of buses to Stirling. As things happened, all worked out well for the walk back to Callander and the transport connection back to my base. The next day brought a soaking that made me eager to return when the opportunity arose. Then, it looked as if I needed to await the following spring.

Including a Summit within a Circuit

The opportunity for a reprise came sooner than I had the right to expect. It came courtesy of events in Scotland around the time that I was there; the Queen fell ill and soon passed away. The result was an extra bank holiday that could be used for some hill wandering. Not being a royalist and feeling a certain disaffection after political events freed me up to do this, when the loyalties of others compelled them to be elsewhere.

Thus, I found myself in Callander on the day of the funeral after a day spent traversing the Ochil Hills in drier weather when I encountered them before. That Saturday had been a time for travelling north, while Sunday was spent in the Ochil Hills, making the best of what was on offer. Things looked promising for sunshine in Callander, though low clouds decked some of the surrounding hills. That did little to frustrate my Ben Ledi designs.

Since the previous encounter, I had happened on a circular route in a guidebook that appealed to me. The result is that I made for the shore of Loch Lubnaig before turning back on myself to go through Stank Glen after a refreshment stop while the events of the day were displayed on a screen. Some breaks in the cloud cover allowed the sun to light up the surrounding hillsides for a while, doing a better job than it did around Loch Lubnaig. Others were going this way too, so it was just as well that they did not witness a clothing failure that I needed to cover up by wearing overtrousers.

By carefully navigating up steep slopes with faint paths, I made my way onto the shoulder of Ben Ledi not so far way from Bealach nan Corp. Again, patience was needed to reach the top before starting on a by now familiar way down. The sun was making no headway through the clouds by this point, not that it mattered so much at the time. Getting back to Callander to avoid getting stranded possibly was that little more important at that moment.

Enjoying Sunlit Surroundings

The most recent encounter was during a sunny weather window in April of last year. That was when I based myself in Stirling, without any inclination to wander the Ochil Hills after a pleasing incursion on a sunny Sunday the previous November. It was only later that the prospect of a hike by the shore of Loch Vennachar entered my mind.

Unlike the previous occasions when morning sunshine faded over the course of the day or a cloudy start restrained me, this was to be a day of constant sunshine with ample opportunities for capturing the beauty that lay around me. So successful was the photographic side of the venture that I struggled when it came to picking the photos to accompany this account; there were so many from which to choose, like the one showing Ben Ledi from Callander that you see above.

The way from Callander was a conventional one that made use of a cycle trail along what once was a railway alignment. My surroundings looked resplendent as I made my way from Callander on legs that did not feel so strong. While one might blame strolling around Stirling the evening before, there also might have been the after effects of a seasonal hiatus in the works too.

Near Boschastle Hill, I departed from previous convention to follow the forestry track that I might have travelled following the ascent made at the end of August 2022. The provided a more gradual ascent to acclimatise those unready limbs. The effects of forestry operations had opened out the views too, which was an added attraction, especially in the bright morning sunshine.

The part of the ascent with its attendant ever-increasing steepness was not to be put off indefinitely, though. Leaving the forestry track, I made my way uphill through the trees to emerge into bare hillsides with someone ahead. At around the tree line, they stopped for a rest and I carried on past them with the views opening out around me as I had been hoping. Those to the south and east were challenged by the position of the sun, so it is others that you see here. Steady progress with photography stops became a way to coax my limbs to convey me to the top.

Once at the top, the next step was to commence my descent towards Stank Glen, reversing the ascent route from my second hike around by Ben Ledi in September 2022. Since paths became indistinct, careful route finding was in order until a more distinct trail was found. Otherwise, it is easy to go awry and end up nearer Bealach nan Corp than is desirable, especially when visibility is suboptimal. For those fancying other summits, there are ample options when you have the required energy and strength to go with any weather opportunity.

When a clear path became a well-used track, thoughts could turn to reaching the shore of Loch Lubnaig. That sent me around and beneath Creag Gobhlach while traversing Meall Dubh. Other waymarkers on that descent were Creag Chrom, Creag na h-Olla and Tom Bheithe. Since all was sheathed in tree cover at this stage of the hike, views were eliminated, not that such a thing perturbed me. Because much had come my way on the day, there could be no cause for grumbling; any ingratitude would have been rude.

While photographic opportunities may have been limited near Loch Lubnaig because of the position of the sun in the sky, I remained sated with those that were allotted to me. It also helped that my whereabouts were essentially unpeopled, which allowed me to linger a little before commencing my way back to Callander.  My passing the Strathyre Forest Holidays resort meant that I could acquire some refreshments in their shop (which has provisions and a café for anyone staying in a cabin) before continuing my return to Callander; while there was an early closure that day, it remained open long enough for my purposes. Suitably reenergised, I got going again on a glorious evening.

While I remained on the tarmacked trail for the rest of the way, there was one part where I deviated from it for the sake of added novelty and extra quietude. The alteration made no deviation to my ability to get back to Stirling by bus that evening; it perhaps shows that an ever present curiosity drives me a lot of the time. At the time, it formed part of an act of closure that freed my mind to go off on other explorations.

Reflections

In some respects, this is a tail of four incursions, from a reconnaissance encounter to a fully sunlit circuit with a summit visit on the way. Though there were different decades, there are some common themes. The hit-and-miss with the lighting is as much one of those as a sense of building a connection to the Scottish Highlands. That was nascent in the early years of the century and became a post-pandemic rebuild more recently.

The whole combined narrative is one of patience and persistence paying off, certainly for photographic purposes. That is never to say that each trip did not bring it share of delights when they all did. An equipment failure was part of the tail, proving that a certain resourcefulness cannot be anything other than essential. All in all, repeat traipsing on foot is a great way to get to know an area intimately.

It also helped that bus service 59 made it so easy to reach Callander without a car, though its operator changed ownership during the sequence of trips related here. The first encounter made use of an infrequent Scottish Citylink service, only for the more local service to be a better enabler for the more recent trio of visits.