Friday

The Dog Rambler E-diary

top 04
November 2011
Walk

An eventual climb over some Northern Pentland Hills

Length

6.5 miles

Dogs on walk

Cyrano, Dylan, Finlay, Gustave, Otis, Tim

Our journey today set out from Swanston at the foot of The Pentland Hills. An old steading and farm, now offices and a livery yard is surrounded by a golf course. Clean cut swathes of grass taming the wilderness pouring down from the hills. A modern new clubhouse sitting at the top of the road, imposing white and glass. To its left our gravel car park and a slight path through trees to a different world. On the other side of the trees as if transported in time the old thatched cottages of the tiny village of Swanston surround a sloping village green. Our track cutting across it and through a gate into the wilder landscape of the hills. A gentle start by the dogs, all boys today. Scattered around me but all walking as we trundled up the path to another gate and the even wilder landscape. A narrow path between spiky gorse bushes, opening into small pockets of grass and giving access to a stream tripping down the slope. The hills towered up to the sky, craning my neck as I followed their contours into the grey featureless sky. But despite its blanket of low cloud blocking out the great sunshine of yesterday it was still warm and humid. I felt it and I think the dogs did too. Still keeping their pace down and not yet ready to exert

themselves. We did not climb the hills yet. Instead we weaved around a little used path above the golf course with grand vistas across Edinburgh. It was not the view that the dogs were interested in but the scent of Highland Cows from higher up the slopes, in a clearing in more gorse bushes. We dropped lower where Cyrano and Finlay ploughed deep into yawning rut marks in some orange, sticky, muddy earth. Remarkably they were not too dirty and a stream a little further on cleaned the worst off them. Up on the higher slopes a farmer was working his two collies, bringing some sheep down the hillside toward his truck near the stream. We adjusted our route so as not to get in the way. I do not think six dogs trying to climb would have helped the farmer and his dogs. Even though Dylan and Tim looked willing to give a hand. Even as we went a different route they held back to watch eventually powering up the path to rejoin us. This little bit of excitement was the impetus to get them going and at last they chased across the bleached autumn grass. I do not know who was the sheepdog and who the sheep until Cyrano joined them. Quite clear who he was. Otis could have been the sheep with his long sweep of whitish hair, but he was off sniffing elsewhere. Then Gustave who was closer to me today than yesterday decided that Dylan was his new best friend and left me to nuzzle about him, planting a few kisses on his nose. Finlay led us higher until we had no option but to climb the hills. We seemed to have been climbing since the start of the walk and there was still plenty more height to go. First it was onto the top of Capelaw Hill where once again Dylan and Tim were caught up in a chase. Its broad sweeping sides an ideal race track for them. Then it was along and up to Allermuir Hill, the highest in this ridge. On the way we passed two groups of girls, who had probably started out as one group. The dogs kept to heel until we reached them and amidst the giggling and a few dramatic screams the dogs ran around their feet. The second group were clustered around a wall and we got by them with more ease as they were along from the gate we were making for.

Having puffed our way over Allermuir Hill we strode along the ridge toward Caerketton Hill. Stopping briefly to talk to two other walkers was all that was needed for Finlay to sneak off to another filthy hill top puddle and lie down and wallow. He was filthy and Otis was not far off his colour without even going into the puddle. Having covered the ridge we dropped back down toward Swanston finding a couple of small streams to clean up Finlay and Otis once I had persuaded Cyrano to make room for them to fit in. Gustave was back art my feet and not going anywhere I was not going. A small look of relief crossed his face as the car came back into view. Nick

Photo slideshow from the walk

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