Outdoor Odysseys

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.

2024: A year of Celtic trails and French summits

There once was a time when every year would get a retrospective review at the end, or not long afterwards. That has slipped for various reasons. However, this piece reinstates that for this year. Whatever happens in coming years cannot be known; we only know the present, and our recollections of the past are prone to the ravages of time, though some have better memories than others.

Highland Rambles to Start a Year

For me, this year began in Aviemore after the preceding disruption of storm Gerrit. New Year’s Day was spent hiking around Rothiemurchus, with many wishing Happy New Year to each other. Lochan Mor, Loch an Eilein, Loch Gamhna and Loch Morlich all featured as landmarks on an amble on a crisp sunny winter’s day. The volume of traffic along the road between Aviemore and Glen More was more akin to a motorway than a thoroughfare in a protected part of Scotland. With no public transport in operation, private transport possibly was the only realistic option for getting around.

The next day saw a return to Inverness for a hike from there to the shores of Loch Ness at Lochend. The paths by the River Ness and the Caledonian Canal were pleasant, though sunshine was scarce. The same could not be said for walking along the side of the A82, yet seeds were sown for future rambles that use Inverness as a base. Walking back from Drumnadrochit to Inverness along part of the Great Glen Way is among these, as is a circuit through the hills near Achnashellach train station in Scotland’s more remote northwest. South Loch Ness Trail is another option that appeals. If other things had not intruded, these ideas may have been used sometime this year. For now, they remain in my catalogue of ideas for the future.

February’s Fresh Start In Cork

The rest of January was occupied with many handover sessions in advance of a work contract coming to an end. This was a process that took its toll on me, setting some of the scene for the start of February. Nevertheless, property hunting took me to Cork for around two weeks. That was complemented by strolls along the disjointed sections of the Cork Harbour Greenway along with some pottering around Crosshaven, Fota and Cobh. A day trip to Killarney saw me reprise part of a route taken during the first full day of my stay there in August 2022; the initial idea was to head to Glengarriff, but the bus ticket machine would not sell me a day return ticket and I took that as a sign that it might be best left for another time. The deviation around by Torc Waterfall made for a late return to Killarney bus station; it was as well that later services operate on a Sunday, or my incaution might have left me marooned. There was a circuit of Muckross Lake too, which might have made the day a little too long in hindsight.

March in Aberystwyth: Coastal Walks and Windy Summits

In March, there was a return visit to Aberystwyth to follow up on a stay there the preceding September. A good weather window was what prompted me, and I got in some coastal walking on the first full day there. The main stretch was part of the Wales Coast Path that returned me to Aberystwyth from Borth after some pottering around Aberystwyth. Pumlumon Fawr got an ascent on a bracing day with a cold gusty wind reducing the time spent on the said summit. It might have been better not to have gone up there at all, but for my stubbornness. Lower level hiking was less affected by the wind and I wandered about by Bwlch Nant-yr-Arian before continuing to Ponterwyd. The tale of my day made a bus driver laugh when I said it was the wind that was the greatest challenge.

April Escapades: From Stirling to the Tops and Lochs of Central Scotland

Eastertide house decluttering and a run of uninspiring weather meant that it was the end of April when I next got out and about. This time, I based myself in Stirling. The preceding November saw me making an impromptu incursion into the Ochil Hills by following a track while wearing trail shoes. That act eliminated those eminences from my attention, so it was the need to experience a hike around Ben Ledi with more sunshine that became the main motivation. Before that, I enjoyed a delightful stroll around Stirling in the pleasant evening sunshine, even if it wearied me a bit for the main ascent.

The route to Ben Ledi went along that of the Rob Roy Way from Callander before deviating onto a forestry track that carried me around Boschastle Hill. That saved some steep ascent at the beginning, only for more height gain to try my legs on the way up to the summit. With sunlit views like I never saw them before, there were ample excuses for rest breaks to ease the burden. Once over the summit, I descended below Bealach nan Crop into Stank Glen from where I reached the shore of Loch Lubnaig, where I loitered a while before dropping into a Forest Holidays shop for some refreshments. The way back to Callander from there was swifter than I had expected, allowing me to use an earlier bus for the return to Stirling.

The next day saw me back in Callander for what became a hike to Aberfoyle along the southern shore of Loch Venachar before a diversion to Brig o’ Turk prompted by curiosity and Loch Achray. Concerns about making the last bus of the day and the growing heat persuaded me not to visit Loch Katrine, so I hotfooted the rest of the way on forestry tracks, only to find that my fears were unfounded. The initial plan had been to do a circuit of Loch Venachar until distances and the heat caused a change of mind. Very weary legs were rested in Aberfoyle before that bus appeared, and the stop also allowed a chance to imbibe some refreshments.

May: Revisiting the Trails around Aviemore, Rothiemurchus and Kingussie

The start of May was graced with a repeat visit to Aviemore. The main motivation might have been an out and back hike to Loch Eanaich after high water halted the errand the previous December. That was just as well since there still was a stream crossing without a bridge that got me wet feet and boots. This was the sort of thing that perhaps was best left for the last day of a stay instead of the first. Nevertheless, I got where I fancied going. Ronald Turnbull has published a route leading this way to Carn Ban Mor and other nearby hills. It does not look like a day hike to me unless you make use of a mountain bike. Backpacking might be the better approach after some strength training to cope with your load. The next day saw me reprise a hike from Kingussie to Aviemore with variations to the route. This included closer proximity to Glen Feshie and a more direct if muddier route from Moor of Feshie to Loch Gamhna. Otherwise, it was good to redo this with longer hours of daylight.

June: West Highland Retrospectives and French Forays

The West Highland Way got some repeat attention at the start of June during a stay in Fort William. First up was the section between Fort William and Kinlochleven after a deviation around by Cow Hill near the start. Though used by many more people on the day, it was great to revisit a trail that I had not walked for more than twenty years, even if it took a toll on me because of a rush to catch a bus at a reasonable hour. That was not how things worked out for me between Glen Coe and Bridge of Orchy. Though wintry showers peppered the day, there were periods of bright sunshine that may up for these and a shorter route with better public transport connections made for a more relaxing hike. All was settled gain, even if the numbers heading north made me wonder about overtourism. My recollection of passing the same way around twenty years before was that things were much quieter back then.

This also was a year with two trips to France. A passport bungle meant that I could use a booked ferry trip, so I rearranged it for later. The stay in Paris still went ahead in May. Rennes and Versailles were the object of side trips during a getaway that featured mixed weather and extensive urban walking. The summer solstice was when I used the ferry booking between Portsmouth and Saint-Malo, where there was the only episode of mixed weather. Otherwise, there was no shortage of sunshine in Paris or Versailles, even if restrictions were becoming more intrusive ahead of the Olympic and Paralympic Games. Grenoble became my main base, allowing plenty of hiking to happen. The routes took me to Mont Rachais, the Desert de Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Charvet, Sassenage, Mont-Saint-Martin and along the River Isère. While tongue-tied by my grasp of French at times, much was to be enjoyed, too. All was accomplished by surface travel, which was even better in these days of climate crisis. That may set up some excursions in times to come.

A Southern Irish Summer: Traversing Hilltops, Coastlines and Peninsulas

Somewhat like 2010, 2024 feels like a year of two halves after I acquired a new Irish base in Cork city. Thus, July and August saw a lot of Irish traipsing in between attending to other matters that have been in the offing for a while. Killarney saw two back to back day trips, the second saw me reach the summit of Mangerton after being stymied by going around by Knockreer and Ross Castle on the first day. A full day was spent traversing the Ballyhoura Mountains from Ballyhea to Seefin and back. The three Atlantic peninsulas of West Cork, Mizen, Beara and Sheep’s Head, all got visits. The first involved hiking from Schull to Ballydehob and the last allowed me to go from Kilcrohane to Ahakista via the top of Seefin (the name pops up in a few places on this evidence). Glengarriff’s Nature Trails were a lure to the Beara Peninsula early in August, only to be followed with possibly the soggiest and wettest hike in my life along the Beara Way from Adrigole to Glengarriff. Other summertime forays took me to Cashel and Cahir, as well as the Knockmealdown Mountain foothills on a saunter from Cappoquin to Lismore.

A Subsequent Lull

The summer wanderings were followed by a lull in August. Fatigue and other distractions like testing out Generative AI curtailed things in the autumn before the weather fell into a rut uncongenial to hill wandering. There still was a loop around Great Island in Cork Harbour as well as more local forays to known spots until thing perked up more recently with visits to Blarney, Ballincollig and Kinsale.

Ideas for an Open Book

2025 remains an open book at this stage, though there are some ideas that are readily to hand. One is a sojourn in Inverness, while a transatlantic escapade cannot be ruled out either. Given recent political developments, Canada looks more likely than its southern neighbour. The need to use Virgin points may encourage me to go to Canada yet. Toronto could be a base for what surrounds it, and Galway could act in a similar fashion in Ireland. Business matters need added attention, so I do not have a free hand in all of this. Only time will tell what happens next.

Sampling Cork’s Allure: Old Haunts, Forts and Harbours on a Single Day’s Journey

The day around Clogheen was the main hillwalking trip of my time based in Cork. The Whiddy island excursion was mild in comparison and set the scene for what happened on my last full day around Cork. The idea was to spend the morning around Kinsale, the middle of the day around Cork itself and to close things off with a flying visit to Cobh. While everywhere got visited, the timings were thrown out by how long I was in the Kinsale area. But for how I felt about at the time, the Cobh visit might have been expendable, since I saw less there than I might have expected.

The main lure for my visiting Kinsale was its pair of military forts. The distance between them may have made the main contribution to my spending longer than I had intended. James’s Fort, the older and less complete of the two, would be very at hand if there was a bridge across Kinsale’s harbour. However, that is not the case, and is probably best for its photogenicity and accessibility for pleasure craft, so a longer walk around was in order.

Thankfully, there is a footway by the side of R600 as far as the crossing over the Bandon River, the Archdeacon Duggan Bridge. Beyond that, I left the main road for a lane leading to Castlepark. Along the way, I noticed how many were parked or parking, and got to realise that a beach was drawing in the summer heat. Beyond Castlepark, I was on the approach to James’s Fort, where I ambled about for a while. The buildings are not as extensive as the earthworks that surround them, yet access is free of charge and there was plenty to view across the waterway. Charles Fort was but one of the lures for any pair of eyes.

On the way back, I chose a higher level lane that granted more views. Since this brought me out on the R600 to the south of Ringrone Castle, there was a price to pay: road walking without a footway on a thoroughfare that was busier than I might have liked. The footway on the bridge was not reached a moment too soon. For the sake of variety, I varied my route in Kinsale, a bustling place, though one wonders how so many people occupy themselves around a harbour. It helps that this is somewhere with a culinary reputation.

My refreshment needs were far simpler, and I was soon going again. This time, I was headed for Charles Fort, the better maintained of the pair. That comes with a cost: not sites cared for by the OPW attract entry fees like this one. A tariff means a time commitment that I was not will to make. Even so, I was drawn along the coast first to Middle Cove and then Lower Cove. Lack of awareness of the Preghane Loop stalled by coastal wandering there, so I turned back inland while curious about a path I glimpsed in the long vegetation.

Awareness of the heat may have been blunted by sea breezes, but I really noticed it as I wound my way back to Kinsale along various lanes until I was on the R600 yet again. Signs of cereal harvesting were everywhere to be seen, and tractors and trailers were passing the way too. Since traffic was not oppressing me as much as the return from James’s Fort, I simply took getting back to Kinsale one step at a time until I was at the stop waiting for the next bus to Cork.

Once back in the city, I noticed the heat even more; there was not a puff of a breeze as I plied my way from City Hall to St. Fin Barre’s Cathedral and University College Cork, the latter being a former alma mater of mine. But for the effects of the heat and consciousness of time, I could have circled around by the Lough to complete a traipse along old turf from my undergraduate days. That had to wait until February of this year, not that it mattered so much at the time.

My next port of call was Kent Station, where I boarded a train for Cobh. This is a train line that has conveyed me numerous times this year as part of different escapades. Fota Wildlife Park, House and Arboretum were among the lures more than Cobh, a place that is more compact than I had thought, though it featured on a primary school tour itinerary many years ago. Since The cathedral is the main landmark, that got a call during what became a flying visit at the tail end of a summer day. That affected the light for photography, and it may make more sense as a morning location anyway. There is a walk along quays used by cruise lines that has its appeal, and I took in a circuit of the island, called Great Island, a few months ago, mainly tarmac traipsing.

If anything, my wandering near Cork on that final full day of my presence in the area acted as a prelude to further explorations that happened this year. The same might be said for the day trip to Bantry and Whiddy Island. As for Clogheen and the Knockmealdown Mountains, the follow up there is more tenuous: a trip to Clonmel with an incursion into the Comeragh Mountains during May 2023, a walk from Cappoquin to Lismore via Mount Melleray Abbey in August of this year and an excursion taking in both Cashel and Cahir after that. In summary, my touring while based in Cork city set me up for what happened this year.

That lay in a future unforeseeable in 2022. Changes were coming to my Irish affairs, and I could foresee how they would proceed back then. As I write these words, I am hauling myself out of torpor to see new sides to other places near Cork, like Blarney and Ballincollig. Climbing out of a lull is ongoing as the year-end gets ever nearer. All this beyond view as I left Cork more than two years ago. If there was any irritation, it might have been the leaving of a hat with a melting drawstring in the hotel room after me. A new acquisition sorted that omission to leave a sense of satisfaction of what else was surveyed. There could be no cause for complaint.

Journeys Through Time and Terrain: A Clogheen and Knockmealdown Exploration

During his later years, my father took an interest in the story of Fr. Nicholas Sheehy, a Roman Catholic priest who was martyred in Clonmel. Though he came from West Limerick, he ministered in south Tipperary and became parish priest at Clogheen. It was in the nearby Shanrahan graveyard where his remains were laid to rest following his execution.

That may explain in part how my second day from Cork took me to Clogheen. Another reason is that the Knockmealdown Mountains are similarly near at hand, thus making both motivations work in tandem. Thus, I made for the local church on my arrival in Clogheen where I surveyed a monument that was constructed in front of it.

That was not all, for I set off for the graveyard where the remains were interred. For part of the way, I was following segments of the Blackwater Way and the Clogheen Loop, only to leave them for my quest. A footway continued all the way by the side of a quiet regional road and no further than the graveyard itself; there is little doubt regarding the reason for such an urban feature in the midst of a portion of Irish countryside.

Once there, I lingered a while and made some photos when the sunshine was blocked by any clouds. As well as the historical aspect, there is a scenic side to the location too, reminding me of the other lure that drew me this way. My historical respects made, I followed a quiet byroad to the trail that I left behind me earlier. Some ascent lay ahead of me.

As I gained height, the views expanded all around me. To the north lay the expanse of the Galtee Mountains, whose shapely whalebacks captured my attention. These hulks may lie on the northern side of the valley, beset by heat haze, yet that took nothing from the way they looked, even if that haze challenged photography. The added height, compared to where I was located, could not be discounted, as I trod by more anonymous looking hummocks.

A boreen carried me a long way into the Knockmealdown range, with only a solitary tractor passing that way. All was deserted, not that I was complaining as I left the tarmac for a track leading towards Knockclugga, my only summit of the day. Though Knockshanahulion was not so far away, I decided against going that way in favour of following the trail downhill. Consciousness of time and the heat of the day might have something to do with this, yet it leaves open the prospect of a return sometime.

What lay before me also might have something to do with my decision-making. Knockmealdown, the highest hill in the range, lay before me and looked more shapely than the eminence that I had been traipsing. Views opened up in front of me and around me as I continued my trek, some of them leading south towards County Waterford. The trail shadowed forestry as it continued east, with a few ups and downs to exercise the limbs. In time, the growing heat of the day would catch me a little.

In time, I would reach the side of the R668, the road from Clogheen to Lismore that passes a noted viewpoint called The Vee. Though this was a spot favoured by my parents, I decided against following the road around that way in favour of the more peaceful trail in the direction of Bay Lough. As I did so, I marvelled at the direct trail up the steep western slope of Sugarloaf Hill. The audacity and heedlessness of the thing only gets stopped down when you realise that there is an inflection offering respite part of the way up. Otherwise, the sanity of the routing would need questioning.

After Bay Lough, the trail entered mercifully wooded shade at the expense of any views. Later on, I did see if I could glimpse The Vee by a moderate deviation, only to conclude that this was fruitless. The forestry cover put paid to that, and I wanted to catch the last bus of the day back to Cork. As ever, one needed to avoid getting marooned.

Trails were abundant and should have a use if a return came to pass. Names like the Avondhu Way and the Blackwater Way suggested proximity to the county of Cork, while the East Munster Way is more inclusive in its title; some of my rambling that day took me into the county of Waterford. My way back to Clogheen returned me to the R668 and brought me across the River Duag. Handily, I had a wait for the bus to come, and it may have been delayed.

When I boarded, I was told to use the lower saloon of a double-deck vehicle, a disappointment given the scenery through which it was going. Later on, a dishevelled character came downstairs with signs of having hit his head off something. That may have been the reason for the instruction. The same person was to find that he had embarked on a return trip from Cork instead of reaching his intended destination, which caused a difficulty for the driver. This was not a discussion in which I was involving myself, and I slipped away quietly; there was someone else to back up that driver.

None of this intruded greatly on what had been a superb day out. A later conversation with fellow residents at my hotel expressed surprise at what I did in the heat, especially when the location is quite a way inland. The increase in heat was nothing like the record-breaking temperatures that beset many in the UK only weeks earlier, yet the warming trend continued for the rest of that week.