On the Side, not the Summit, of Slackdhu

The Strathblane Hills (at least their south faces) have always intrigued me for their sheer wall stature and their crumbly bone-like nature. Indeed, the word fell, some say deriving from the Old Norse fjiall meaning rocky hill, is perfect for the Strathblane Hills of which Slackdhu is the more prominent. Last year I finally got onto the slopes of Slackdhu, having decided not to go up Dumgoyne for the umpteenth time, and try another hill. To be sure, as the cornerstone to the Campsies, Dumgoyne offers uninterrupted views north to the Highlands, but the views from Slackdhu are no less impressive. Its slopes, too, are far more interesting too than those of Dumgoyne, containing as they do a vast erratic field of boulders and rocks that have been dislodged from their matricial hill.

 Slackdhu and its wall of geology.

All too often, height steers one away from the interesting hills, and though I never got to the summit of Slackdhu, I really didn't need to. Summits, I find the older I get, are simply a form of psychic compensation for those who need it; in other words for those whose lives and living are by and large swallowed up by some blood-sucking nine to five 'job'. The summit then becomes, in the spirit of the superlative-laden capitalist mind, some kind of anti-dote to the disease and unease of modern day living. But it needn't be.

I often find that those who are hell-bent summiteers miss all that glory on the way up for their head-down-ness and their too-much-focus. The spontaneous-minded amongst us however will stop on the side of a hill wherever and whenever the moment arises to do so. Their is no real 'target', no real 'objective'. The summit is simply a summit. It is not a goal. Nor is it the end-point of my living.

Those who judge a hill on account of its height show an alarming lack of imagination, suggesting that it is only the all-round view (which more often than not in Scotland is obscured by clouds) that counts, whilst ignoring the more palatable and intimate aspects of a hill. Where the summit is something of a sledgehammer, the slopes of a hill are a more subtle experience, requiring more attention, and more delicacy, from its hill-walkers. But this is entirely in keeping with a society predicated upon superlatives as the best. Yet, as I have alluded to before, in order to become human, one must distinguish between what is merely big, and what is simply great.

From the slopes of Slackdhu, greatness in the form of budding moss and the inimitable Whangie in the background, a hill of attitude and not altitude if ever there was one!

So the next time you're headed along the Campsie Dene trail towards Dumgoyne, stop at Slackdhu and head up its gentle slopes not to its summit, but to its crumbly rock-strewn bottom. There, in amongst those seemingly motionless great erratics, you might just find part of your Self.

On the side, not the summit!  [February 15th, 2016]