Outdoor Odysseys

In need of some tidal awareness

Recent Irish rambles have brought home to me an important lesson to which I hardly devoted much attention before. It may be because I have spent much of my life inland and that I am attracted to a variety of hill country. The subject pertains to tides.

It is true that I made my over and back from the tidal Cramond Island near Edinburgh without incident. That perhaps was because the tide tables were posted on signs nearby. Then, I could assess if such a crossing was feasible so as now to get marooned. That is one of the few, if not the only tidal island that I recall visiting.

Otherwise, risk averseness has its part to play. Worms Head near Rhossili on the Gower in Wales comes to mind. The sight of others did little to encourage me out there. Knowing that I was without important knowledge was enough to stop me needing the services of the Coastguard. No rescue is needed when the risk is not taken.

The same applied to a visit to Galway where I did make my way out and back from Illaunafamona, near Salthill, without getting stranded on there. However, the encroaching tide forced me to go through a caravan park to get back on the return route to Galway to catch a coach back to Cork. Leaving later would have been better but for having made an advance booking; the evening was brightening, so it would have been worthwhile. Still, I got to the Coach Station with minutes to spare. My trespassing nearly cost me that too, and landowners may not have been impressed with a stranding on an island that they owned if it were to happen. The caravan park owners did not intercept me either, yet it is not something that I plan to repeat.

A stroll around Crosshaven was nowhere as dramatic. However, the tide was in, which meant that the absence of a cliff path sent me on a circuit that I had not planned. Given the other delights that were encountered, I do not feel short-changed. There had been a walk along the Greenway from Carrigaline in good autumn sunshine, and all else was favourable until I had to alter my route. In fact, I had the sun at my back, a favourable position for photographic exploits.

My having acquired a new base in Cork means that I now am nearer the coast than I ever have been and for longer too. That means that I get to notice the coming and going of the tides more than I ever have. A walking route that goes along the shore of Lough Mahon assures that. The mudflats that low tide exposes attracts its share of bird life too, so a set of binoculars has its uses here.

The subject of tides also cropped up on a circuit of Cork Harbour’s Great Island that started and ended in Cobh. A narrow road along the north side of the island was seeing some encroachment through the very drainage culverts that ought to drain it. There were no such issues around Marloag Point and any other place that I passed, yet I did not delay. The hour of day ensured that as much as the chances of getting wet feet.

The cumulative effect of these encounters with sections of coastline is that I need to add checks of tide times to weather, transport and other things. Recalling the speed of tides on the island of Jersey accentuates this. It is little wonder that the U.K.’s Met Office includes this kind of information with its coastal location forecasts. It builds out the picture, especially when seas are roughened by gales.

Last hurrahs

These days, this time of year makes me wistful at the passing of summer. However, it was not always so. This also is the season when academic years start, so there are beginnings as well as endings. Even then, the decline in hours of daylight and dropping temperatures brought any attempts to hang onto a sense of summer to an unyielding halt.

Towards the end of my secondary schooling, the purchase of a new bicycle meant cycling it home. That was not only a sixteen-kilometre distance but a frustrating struggle against autumnal winds. That which was plausible in the summer months had become less easy away from them. There were a few more years of summertime cycling, building up distance with the passage of time, that not only met shortening evenings but also the commencing of studies again. That was broken when I moved to Edinburgh, meaning that my time in Ireland was much more limited.

With the end of my university years, the association of autumn with beginnings was broken. It all ended with a job search that preceded by a tour of the Scottish highlands and islands with my brother before a quick trip to Ireland. In truth, the continuity of a research degree throughout the year had faded the sense of autumnal beginnings anyway.

My career saw me move to England, where I had much more time for exploring than I ever did. Without the ebb and flow of academic life, it was all too tempting to try overlooking the seasons, especially when moving south took up so much of spring and summer. August was when the hills of Cheshire and Derbyshire still any prospects of exploring hill country by bike. Walking became the way forward. As the month ended, I made my first trip to Wales in mixed weather that was hinting that overlooking seasons was not an option.

In ensuing years, the range of experiences broadened. A few saw me returning to Edinburgh in August to note how autumnal the place could feel at that time of year. Academic pressures and lack of experience meant that I had been overlooking this. That even included a week of conference attendance in Aberdeen during my research degree. The sense was there yet not prioritised.

Sometimes, autumn can make amends for a less satisfying summer. Being soaked around Lorn and Lochaber during a week at the end of July was enough to send me north again. Numerous visits to the Lake District in August had not healed wounds that only a weekend visit to Lochaber at the end of August could do. The year after was wet for much of the time, and I moved house too. Thus, a muddy November hike from the Cat and Fiddle Inn to Rushton Spencer marked something of a beginning.

September is a month with its illusions too. There can be a lot of sun, so it is easy to think of endless summer. That certainly fitted a sunny weekend around Moffat, crowned by a stunning walk along the Southern Upland Way. The changing colours and closure of businesses at the end of the busy tourist season countermand this. The latter hit me while on a September visit to Gougane Barra with my parents. Still, autumn can offer its chances for partial continuity with local hikes through October, November and into December. There have been a few years of that too.

Seasons are not the only transitions that we meet in life. A change of employer once became a major career event for me, Before the turmoil that led to this, there were contrasting trips to Yorkshire, one in September and another in October. The first was to a sunny Wharfedale, while an often grey Ingleton became my lot for the second. After the changeover, my energy for walking trips was curtailed, yet there was an October stroll along the High Peak Trail and a November excursion to Church Stretton. Though work pressures grew after that, the wandering was much needed and happened more often than not. When even that was halted, local cycles and walks often provided release.

Family ageing, infirmity and bereavement took hold of a few years after that. Grieving continued through spring, beyond summer and into autumn. Nothing could stop an October hike from the Cat and Fiddle inn to Whaley Bridge, such were my needs at the time. The real end of August feel pervaded a weekend divided between Durham and York. This may have been the Summer Bank Holiday one in England, but it often just feels too late for it. As it happens, the same complaint can be levelled at the timing of the British Spring Bank Holiday weekend.

Feelings eased by the next autumn, though a weekend spent in mixed weather around Oban reflected a sense of political tumult that only got more intense in ensuing years. Eventually, a sense of release emerged to allow a memorable September Swiss escapade. Bern and Kleine Scheidegg were grey under autumn clouds, yet Geneva, Zermatt and Grindelwald continued the sunny theme. Inheritance matters lay ahead, but not before a November interlude around Warwick, Stratford-upon-Avon and Bath.

International travel was getting going for me, and dotted the year for a few weeks. An end-of-August trip to sunny Oslo and rainy Bergen bookended the summer the year after the Swiss trip. Inheritance matters were coming to a head to show that office work need not note the passing of seasons, unlike outdoor activities. They were to cause exhaustion, so a later autumn would see decompression at the start of a much-needed career break. That year, there was continuity of a sort from a week in Sweden in August to October day hikes in the Peak District and South Pennines.

Before the pandemic years, my freelancing faced an autumnal challenge that got addressed before the onset of restrictions. In September, there were visits to Oxford and Bath following a summer in British Columbia. The autumnal atmosphere of those, even if people were dressed in period costume around Bath for an event, reflected my mood at the time, for more things were ending than starting in that year.

The pandemic did nothing to halt hiking and, in 2020, even caused a resurgence of cycling. Getting outdoors then was much needed, resulting in a surprisingly rich year of day trips. That more or less ended at the end of September on a day that turned from sunny to grey as I walked from Hayfield to Chapel en le Frith. In the subsequent twelve months, things became less restricted, perhaps too quickly for my sensibilities. That made the discovery of Combs Moss near Buxton an uncrowded godsend during August and September that year. More were to be found when a new variant brought more restrictions around the end of the year.

Since then, the last few years have been about changing what I own. Some is being sold, and I now have a base in Cork that I can use. Manageability is what I am trying to improve now. More time has been spent in the outdoors as well, especially in Ireland. When it comes to the ending of summer, that does not feature so much, though. In the year before last, August was ended with a sunny ascent of Helvellyn followed by less satisfying trips to the Ochil Hills and Trossachs, extending activities into September.

Last year, a longstanding personal matter got attention and progress has felt rather miraculous. That started in August of last year and was got helped by numerous hill walks in Wales in August and September, a trip to Guernsey at the end of August, and a satisfying October encounter with the Ochil Hills from Stirling. While there was a sense of curtailment as the year wore on and other matters intruded, it still is remarkable to note what was happening then in any case.

This year has seen numerous walking trips in various places. Wales, Scotland, France and Ireland all provide the locations. Irish responsibilities continue to be reduced alongside these, and I am looking to progress other work activities as well. Autumn this year is about looking forward more than looking back during a period of letting go of things.

Autumn can feel quiet, yet it is often busy. Places can feel less thronged, giving a sense of new beginning that gets thwarted by the increasing sense of approaching winter. Even so, the working lives of many become more busy, as do places of learning. The latter can be filled with hubris that then is vanquished by academic pressures. This is an odd time of year, looking forward with anticipation, but also looking back with poignancy. Maybe, that is what transition brings. Nevertheless, spring is more to my liking and likely will remain thus.

Pondering past trends

Some years feature multiple visits to a single area, or a sign of a developing theme. Going back in time, 2001 was the year of the Peak District, while it was the turn of the Yorkshire Dales in 2002. 2003 then became a year for the Lake District.

Other places were visited too as I began my hill wandering journey in those years. After all, the first decade of the century saw ever deeper incursions into Scotland, while Wales did not get neglected either. The mention of Wales brings me to 2005, when I spent a good deal of time around Denbighshire and Gwynedd.

2007 was a year for a single theme: long-distance trails. Both the West Highland Way and the Gritstone were completed then using a section hiking approach. That has not been the end of long-distance trail walking for me, partly because it is difficult to avoid them if you want something more established than making your own way.

Some years have not offered any meaningful trend. 2004 was one of those, and not a year best remembered for its weather. House moving also limited movements. 2008 is remembered for recovering from a mental travail as much as its most dramatic foray: spending some time around Skye and the Western Isles. 2009 did get me to the Cairngorms, but only twice before career travails overtook me.

A new job limited things from 2010 before family bereavements then dominated things. After that, international travel took over for a while from 2015 onward. Even so, 2014 can be remembered for multiple visits to the Lake District, offering a much-needed respite from what was happening at the time.

A developing taste for overseas explorations was set back with the onset of the pandemic. Before that, destinations of a Scandinavian or Alpine feel were attracting my attention, and there was a first leisure trip to North America that took me to British Columbia. Local hill country across the Peak District then became a godsend in both 2020 and 2021, though I also got to Shropshire and the Llandudno during 2020.

2022 not only marked the start of my returning to travelling farther away from home, but it also became the first year with numerous incursions into Irish hill country. The moors around Marsden also got some of my attention, as did some Lakeland fells and Scottish hills, and Wales was not excluded either. Even so, the Irish excursions in the counties of Dublin, Limerick, Clare, Tipperary, Kerry and Cork were the big feature of the year. It was as if I were moving beyond the pandemic more in my native country than anywhere else.

The Irish explorations were fewer in 2023, while Wales got much of my attention, and there was a longer distance escapade to the San Francisco Bay Area. The Channel Islands became the subject of two visits too, with the first of these allowing a day excursion to Saint-Malo in France.

Thus far, 2024 has become another year with numerous Irish explorations. The counties of Cork, Kerry, Limerick and Waterford all featured. However, it also has been a year with numerous Scottish incursions, reaching the Trossachs, Strathspey and Lochaber. Other business has deflected explorations from Inverness that would take in more around Loch Ness, as well as getting a hike in from Achnasheen. Much like a mooted trip to the American Pacific Northwest, these will need to wait. Having unused ideas cannot be a source of criticism. France also featured on two itineraries that took in its capital city, Brittany and Grenoble. They may not end explorations of a country that I scarcely had probed, but some extra reflection and learning needs to precede such things.

An eventual completion of the Glen Sax horseshoe

A previous account on here described a Holy Saturday ramble around the Pentland Hills in 2019. What you find here is what I did the next day, Easter Sunday.

Prior Encounters

Completing a round of the Glen Sax hills lay in my mind for what felt like too long. The first encouragement came on a glorious sunny evening in June 2002. While there was a grey start to the day, I still ventured as far as Peebles and tentatively continued along the Cross Borders Drove Road. As I gained heights, the views opened all around me, with everything looking resplendent. Ultimately, the late start and a need to return to Edinburgh to meet with friends all curtailed things and I truncated the trot with a steep descent to the floor of the glen before returning to Peebles for a bus ride back to Edinburgh. The others were left in a little wonderment as to when I might turn up; that is the trouble when an evening turns out so well.

While the first encounter may have been a tentative affair, the same could not be said for the designs that I was having the next time around. That was on what I recall as a hot, sunny Saturday in June 2006. The original idea had been to explore some Northumberland hill country, only for a lack of accommodation availability to scupper this design. A one night stopover in Berwick-upon-Tweed allowed for a bus journey from there to Galashiels, where I dropped off part of my load at the Abbotsford Arms Hotel before continuing to Peebles.

Once there, I reprised a hike along the Cross Borders Drove Road. That took me over both Kailzie Hill and Kirkhope Law. While there was a useful, if strong, breeze, something stopped me from completing the rest of the round. Maybe, it might have been the later start and seeing how long the route can be. In hindsight, it looks as if I lost heart, especially give my later experience. Instead, I decided to descend towards Glen House to meet with a minor road beyond there, after making use of Scotland’s Right to Roam on the way. Road walking then took me past Traquair to reach Innerleithen, where I awaited a bus back to Galashiels.

After that, we come to Easter Sunday in 2017. Since that curtailed escapade has been recounted elsewhere on here, I direct you there for a fuller account. In summary, my mood was forlorn and the weather obliged with some pathetic fallacy. There had been some hope for an improvement that never arrived. Even so, I persevered past Kailzie Hill, Kirkhope Law, Birkscairn Hill and Stake Law. It was not the soggy conditions underfoot that stymied me, but the lack of visibility over what were set to be somewhat featureless hummocks. Depending on a fence as a navigational handrail is all well and good as long it does not cease to continue on you. Given that, I thought it to be best to return to the saddle between Stake Law and Birkscairn Hill to commence a zigzag descent down some steep slopes. Once on the floor of the glen, there was a crossing of Glensax Burn to reach the sheep pens before I could join the track leading back towards Peebles. From there on, progress was swift in drying conditions until I back at the stop for the next bus to Edinburgh.

The Day Itself

By this stage, it might feel as if there has been a lot of rethreading of old steps. In some ways, that probably was just as well, given how much haze was lurking on Easter Sunday, 2019. To ensure that I had enough time, I caught the first bus of the day from Edinburgh to Peebles. While a long day was envisaged, it did not turn out to be as long as that. There may have been extensions in the contributed route profiles that I read in magazines and books.

While I continued to use my camera, the open views from the way to Stake Law were troubled by the aforementioned haze. Beyond documenting my whereabouts for an account like this, I now wonder why I bothered. Accordingly, they have been omitted, though some have found their way into the Southern Uplands & Borders album that you find elsewhere on the website.

The hills that I was traipsing were more brown and yellow than green. That was not such a surprise to me, given that I was familiar with the photographic work of Colin Prior and my own explorations of Scotland in its low season. Conditions were dry underfoot, which made faster progress than otherwise may have been the case. Much like the previous day around the Pentland Hills, ascents and descents appear to have been taken in their stride. In part, that might be the rose-tinting of memory as much as the more rounded profile of what I was traipsing.

Beyond Stake Law or even before it, OS maps do not help you very much with any paths on the ground. Still, finding one’s way onto Dun Rig was no puzzle in the bright, sunny conditions. Fences did change locations, but this was no impediment. Also, the neck of land linking Dun Rig to Glenrath Heights felt broader than the map made it look.

Steady progress took me over Strummeadow Hill and Middle Hill. After Broom Hill came Scawd Law in Hundleshope Heights. From there, it was all downhill to the floor of the glen. Gradients were more human-friendly in the main, except perhaps for the descent from Dead End, where contour lines contract a little.

It was along that last stretch of the hike that the location of the sun in the sky and where I was on the ground came together to allow the capture of pleasing images. The flanks that lay before me were those that I had traipsed earlier in the day. With more distant sights now hidden from view, everything worked better. There are times when photographic composition is about what you subtract from a scene rather than what you add, and this was one of those occasions.

If there was another perturbation to the day to complement those haze-laden hillsides, it was awkward meetings with some that I may have known years before. The passage of time made the encounters non-workable, with uncertainty and unexpectedness being the drivers of this. Recalling that hurts a little now (I hate the idea of my upsetting or insulting others), even if the passage of twenty years may be too much for any accidental reunion. Add in daydreaming and a desire for solitude, and everything really can sunder.

Even with that, the day had been a satisfying one. For those wider views, a return visit could be a possibility. However, other places call out more loudly now. Nothing takes away from my completing the round after so long.

What Came Next

The next day brought more sunshine and more traipsing, this time around Edinburgh. A circuit taking in Princes Street Gardens, Calton Hill, Holyrood Park and Craigmillar Castle was another photographic escapade that suffered no intrusion, allowing some healing after any awkwardness experienced during the previous day.

Afterwards, there was one photographic composition that irritated me, bringing about a return journey to Scotland’s capital on the weekend of the Mayday bank holiday. That addressed the overly tight framing that was on my mind while also seeing me visit Edinburgh’s Botanic Gardens before getting as far as Corstorphine Hill with its own Rest and Be Thankful, a spot with Robert Louis Stephenson associations and the siting of the final parting of characters in his novel Kidnapped. The skies had completed clouded by then (clouds had been intruding on photographic exertions in any case), encouraging yet another Scottish trip the next weekend.

While Stirling was my actual final destination then, it did little to stop me rambling around Edinburgh first. Corstorphine Hill was a port of call, even if the clouds in the sky curtailed lighting of what lay around me. There was some time spent in Princes Street Gardens and around The Royal Mile as well. When I did get to Stirling, it was the castle that drew me out for an evening stroll with some photographic exertions, even if there was scaffolding intruding on the views at that point. More photography followed the next day, around both Stirling and Linlithgow. Some roguish youths may have perturbed the journey between the two places for me, but that is in the past now.

My home country wanderings were coming to a close for the year anyway. The Spring Bank Holiday saw a trip to Cardiff, where revellers were focussed on a Spice Girls concert and I felt the need to get away from all the cyclists that were speeding along multi-use trails. That was found too, and some photos of Cardiff Castle got made as well.

Things were attenuated after that, not least by what lay on my mind regarding a first transatlantic leisure escapade. A week in Vancouver was in the offing to get me over any trepidations of long haul flying and hiking in places where bears may be encountered. Those were overcome, and then it was the turn of my freelancing to suffer an upheaval, with the background travails of Brexit thrown into the mix. Even then, city trips to London, Oxford and Bath came to pass.

No one could see what would come our way in 2020, so looking back on all of this is like looking back on the end of an era. With that in mind, it was just as well that my Easter trip to Edinburgh went the way that it did. Loose ends were resolved, old demons were laid to rest and life could take a new direction.

Travel Arrangements

Return bus journey between Edinburgh and Peebles on route X62.

Easter wandering around the Pentland Hills

Easter 2017 was supposed to be spent in Edinburgh. However, life matters and the fact that I had been in the Isle of Man not so long beforehand stymied things for me then. The weather was not so inviting either, as I found when I went there for a shorter stay. A damp afternoon was spent around Glen Sax near Peebles, while the John Buchan Way occupied me the next day in better weather.

The prospect returned in 2019 after cost-consciousness in 2018 curtailed my travels while on a career break. My arrival was on Holy Thursday and the departure on Easter Tuesday. In between, there was some time for catharsis, particularly the letting go of old hurtful memories from when I lived in the city while at university there.

That was while I pottered about the city, visiting old haunts like Calton Hill, Dean Village, Holyrood Park, Bruntsfield Links, The Meadows and Craigmillar Castle. There was also a crossing to Cramond Island, as well as two visits to Linlithgow. It was not all about rethreading old steps and exorcising old wounds, as healing as that was.

As if to prove that, I spent Holy Saturday around the Pentland Hills. My hill wandering only started once I was in England, so these were not frequented while I lived in Edinburgh. It feels like an oversight now, but computing and science were more attractive to me back then. If I ever thought of scenic delights, my mind ventured towards the Highlands instead.

Even so, I had traipsed parts of these before. There was a short sortie in 2008 that took in Caerketton Hill and Allermuir Hill. More recently, this was reversed on a Boxing Day (also known as St. Stephen’s Day after the early Christian martyr) in brighter weather near the end of last year. In between those, there was a return in 2009 that took in Capelaw Hill, Castlelaw Hill, Glencorse Reservoir, Loganlea Reservoir, Black Hill, Green Cleugh, Threipmuir Reservoir, Harlaw Reservoir, Wester Kinleith, Middle Kinleith, Easter Kinleith, Clubbidean Reservoir and Torduff Reservoir. Looking back on all of these, it appears that I had traipsed a good deal of the place.

That was not how it felt before revisiting these accounts, and 2019 felt no different. That Holy Saturday hike started from Penicuik. Handily, I found a local path that took me away from tarmac tramping for a while. Sadly, these are not marked on maps like their counterparts in the south, a travesty in my opinion. Even GPX tracks are not something that I have encountered yet; someone else can put me right there.

Proceeding along the A702 got me the rest of the way to Flotterstone. While traffic may not have been that heavy, I was happy to swap tarmac for a trail. Continuing straight ahead would have taken me by Glencorse Reservoir, rethreading steps taken in 2009. Wanting something different, I turned off to the left to begin an ascent of Turnhouse Hill. This was to be a day full of ups and downs on going from one hill to another.

Looking through my photos from the day in advance of writing these words, I notice just how hazy and clouded the morning was at the start of the ramble. The photos you find accompanying this piece may tell another story, since the skies cleared as the day wore along. Conditions were not so accommodating for photography at the outset.

After the descent from Turnhouse Hill, there was an ascent to a higher eminence, Carenethy Hill. If not following the map closely, it was all too easy to err regarding the identity of the hill you were frequenting. That really applied to Crooked Rig on the long descent to where the ascent of Scald Law started. Patience has its uses in these circumstances, especially when you have a false summit to fool you.

Scald Law marked the highest that I was above sea level for the whole day. It might have been near there that I took a call from a relative wishing me a Happy Easter and telling me of overseas travels in the Middle East and Asia. When I got to take them in, the views were wide and included Loganlea Reservoir too. The location also was where I had another decision to make: do I go out to the top of South Black Hill? In the event, I did and it at least marked the southeastern if not the southern extremity of my wandering.

Mor tops were to follow, the last pair of the day: East Kip and West Kip. More descending and ascending was in order, yet complaints for surely tiring limbs are lost to the mists of time. Some of these certainly were steep enough for that, with the top of West Kip being rocky enough to cause a momentary pause of thought. All passed without incident to allow gentler gradients to be reached.

The descent from West Kip dropped me onto Red Road, the track that would convey me by Bavelaw Marsh and Threipmuir Reservoir to reach tarmac again for the final approach to Balerno. Before all that, there were enticing views leading the eye back along the chain of hills that had been followed while allowing for the undulations. These were momentarily interrupted by walkers looking for the way to Nine Mile Burn. Once they were pointed in the right direction, I could return to relishing the views and any available quietude, not being disturbed by any sense of intrusion.

The warmth of the day was to be felt and perhaps deflected me from including the top of Black Hill on my perambulations. While this had me torn at the time, looking back on the 2009 hike now absolves me of any regrets. In any case, it might be the only remaining sign of increasing physical fatigue that resides in my memory.

Speaking of Black Hill, I found myself looking back in its direction across Threipmuir Reservoir on a momentary pause. After that, progress towards Balerno was to be continuous. Once there, I partook of some refreshments before catching a bus back into the city centre. Even so, my rambling was not over for the day. The added height of the sun in the sky, because of the time of year, allowed me a spot of photography by the banks of the Water of Leith with Dean Village providing an appealing subject for such efforts. This was a day laden with all sorts of pleasing gifts.

Travel Arrangements

Outbound bus from Edinburgh city centre to Penicuik. Return bus from Balerno to Edinburgh city centre.