The Living Cairn of Dumfoyne

The first time I ascended Dumfoyne (in between Slack Dhu and Dumgoyne) I never actually went to the top of the hill because there were people there, and their noise. This time as I approached its humble summit, instead of people and their noise, I came across a ram. Yet, this was no ordinary ram. This was a ram who had evidentally been wizened and widened by the elements and its openness to them. It looked at me, boldly, and I looked at it, a little less boldly. I nodded, confirming its mastery of the hill, and went back down. It was a moment - a living moment that endures throughout your whole life - that you will never forget. But you realize this more and more when you come into the hills.... on your own. That you are not alone. That you are only human in contact and conviviality with what is not human: Rocks, birds, trees, plants, air and insect. Emphatically, your greater Self.

A voice comes alive within you when you come into your own blissful solitude. A voice that is kept down by the noise and the intra-species incest of an existentially corrupt and people-coagulated society. The resuscitation of your greater Self can only come with solitude and silence, and a little wind. Only then will you realise that this ram is none other than your self, admittedly, with a little more hair, and a little less clothing. 

Gazing at your self, whilst gazing out of your self, is a strange experience no doubt, but it is the only way we will ever come to realise our own larger family. 

The ram on top of Dumfoyne is part of that family.

 The brain, really, is in the legs!

The skull of Dumgoyne and the highlands beyond (with a little of Loch Lomond visible centre left).

The living cairn on the living mountain. The vagueness of the scene renders everything together, whether it be the light pastel colours, the gently undulating topography, or the blue-grey of the skyscape. It is within this vagueness, or blandness, that one will uncover the cosmos.

 

A fox hole ( I think) with fresh bones outside. I found a couple of sheep skulls on the hillside too, one which was perfectly preserved in the earth, and which now resides in my living room as a reminder of the finite nature of even our bones.

 The Ravens of Dumfoyne from the south face of Dumgoyne.

Cessnock to Croy via Cadder, Twechar & Bar Hill Fort

I had almost forgotten how beautiful and serene this stretch of canal towpath is. In fact, when I wrote my Travels Around Glasgow (a collection of short essays on some of these cycle trips), this was the first excursion on the list. Back then, I called the canal towpath the TOE (the towpath of emptiness) referring to its deadly quiet character (we passed only a few cyclists and walkers on this ten mile stretch from Gilsochill) and its capacity to send you into a mesmeric state (it's that constant rhythm and flatness). For the past few years however I have largely ignored this part of Glasgow concentrating more on the southern half, but today was a real resuscitation especially seen as you have that second engine (the wind) with you all the way (hence the train back from Croy!).

The route itself could not be simpler. From my gaff in Cessnock I simply cut across the Clyde and through Kelvingrove Park joining the Kelvin Walkway past the Botanic Gardens and through Kirklee Arboretum. At Wyndford high rise flats I cut up to  and cross Maryhill Road into Lochburn Road and then onto the canal from there.

This particular stretch has no shortage of interesting locales en route. First off, there's the wonderful Possil Marsh with its myriad lifeforms bustling away, then, there's the idyllic Cadder churchyard and church, a lovely little corner if ever there was one. See if you can find the 'mortsafe' (where they locked up the dead the night before burial) in the churchyard grounds.

Further along, we come into Kirkintilloch and through it, and the views begin to open up over the Kelvin Valley and to the fells to the north.

Speed is the great disease of the modern age. Slowing down to a natural pace of moving is a necessary prerequisite to an opening up of Mind, and to a living that is more in tune with the Earth than with the corrupt corporation that seeks to close your Mind and divest you of it.

Approaching Twechar, you can see on the right the gentle rise of Barr Hill (155m).

The panorama from Barr Hill is astounding, especially over the Kelvin Valley and the strath of Blane. Looking back over the ground you have just covered is quite an experience. One almost feels as if one knows what it's like to be a bird!

Man in a landscape. The Kelvin and Blane valleys, with the Campsie Fells to the north.




























Friday afternoon. Not a soul to be seen. Where is everybody!?

Recently, I noted the seven perches around Glasgow, naming the Tak Ma Doon (on the horizon) as one of the north-eastern ones. But, I have to confess that Barr Hill is a far better perch. Not only is it slightly closer to the city and thus proffers a better angle of view, but it is absolutely people-empty. No cars, no people, no dogs. Bliss!

The train station of Croy is a mere fifteen mins. from here. Just follow the path down the other side, and you will see signs for the station. 12 minutes on the train and we're back in Queen Street. 

As if nothing had ever happened.

And yet...

Drumfrochar to Langbank via Gryfe Reservoir, Bridge of Weir & Barscube Hill

Th other morning upon exiting my tenement I held my finger to the air and decided against cycling down to the coast (into the wind), choosing instead to train it to Drumfrochar and cycle back (with the wind as a second engine and ally).

You can never underestimate the alliance of wind and wing. Cyclists are half-bird after all. And as every bird will tell you, it just ain't no fun flying against the wind. Flying with it, on the other hand...

And so, from Drumfrochar it was, up the Old Largs Road to the Gryfe Reservoirs and some beautiful desolation, on the back-way to Langbank...






















The greatest train station exit in the world!! (Drumfrochar)

The dirt track past the Gryfe Reservoirs and Corlic Hill (on left out of picture)...

No bicycles??? Really???? I honestly worry when cyclists are made out to be the problem, when there are cars all around us, dogs that shit everywhere, and people glaekitly staring into their stupid little 'phones'... Next time I pass this inexcusable sign I shall, in the spirit of Voltaire, pin a letter of protest upon it, telling these cycle-haters why they should be celebrating and welcoming cyclists and not banishing them.

 Take the road on the right (Gallahill Road) towards Barscube Hill.

Looking east from Barscube Hill...

Caught! Barscube Hill is notorious for accommodating passing rain showers coming in from the sea. Wonderful!

Looking north !!! The views north, west, and east are something else. At 195m, and in terms of panorama and quietness, Barscube Hill has to be amongst the top three hills  in the greater Glasgow strath. I am reminded here of Thoreau who whilst writing of the joys of such goliaths as Mounts Katahdin, Washington and other New England peaks, maintained that the greatest mountain he had ever ascended was the one just east of Concorde where he lived. I might say the same thing. And in the spirit of another hill-walking junky, Ralph Storer, you can keep your Alps and your Pyrenees, just 'give me the timeless sweep of a land that can encompass boggy moor, clinging heather, problematical rivers and ancient pathways. Those who complain about British terrain, like those who complain about British weather, suffer from a lack of imagination.'

The route down to Langbank could not be easier from here. It is down to the left and through the golf course just past the white buildings in the picture. There is a rough path all the way down.

Barscube Meditation

Encompassing the Strath: The Seven Perches

My trusty OS map at the entrance/exit to my flat, and the seven perches marked with an X. From left (clockwise): Barscube Hill, Kilpatrick Braes, Blairskaith Muir, Tak Ma Doon, Dechmont Hill, Duncarnock Mount, & Walls Hillfort.

Barscube Hill (195m), looking north.






















Barscube Hill, looking east.

 Kilpatrick Braes (Contemplation Rock)...

 Blairskaith Muir, looking south.




 Dechmont Hill.

 Duncarnock Mount.

Dunlop to West Kilbride via Dalry & Hunterston Castle

It's amazing how quickly you can depart the city confines, and get into the shires around Glasgow. On a Sunday, from Pollokshaws West train station, there is the Killie Express which gets to Barrhead in 6 minutes and Dunlop in Ayrshire 16 minutes later. Before I know it, I am enveloped by the bucolic sounds of nature, with not a single car in sight. 

The route here is one that I have done before ending up in Fairlie. This time instead of getting the train back from Fairlie, I turn south towards Hunterston and head for West Kilbride.

 The wonderful Dusk Water...

Approaching Dalry. We're headed straight through up into the hills behind and to the left. 

Once you get out of the brainwashed city you can see people without stabilisers: no pets, no tech, just feet and brain.

 The high street in Dalry.

 The library is on the right (next to the betting shop).

The beautiful desolation of the Old Fairlie moor road which will take us from Dalry down to the coast.

Las Islas Encantadas: Great Cumbrae, Little Cumbrae, Bute & Arran. (You can just see Millport on Great Cumbrae at centre right).

 The diminutive Hunterston Castle.

 Coming in to West Kilbride...

 The main street in West Kilbride. I love the way the spires of the churches frame the hills.

The Train station.

Between Frying Pan & Fire: Into the Fells of Freedom on the 12:01 to Croy

Saturday morning, I'm cycling into the town... preparing to go for a swim and then over to a friend's for coffee and metaphysics. As I reach Buchanan Street I feel physically sick at the sight of so many dolled up people carrying massive designer shopping bags. It's a lovely day, it's actually the first of April, but this shopping malarchey ain't no joke. How do people do it I wonder? How can they do it?!

I am so disgusted at the throng of mannequins, I pass on my plans for the day and head for Queen Street station and the 12.01 to Edinburgh via Croy. I manage to catch it with a few seconds to spare. Four pounds seventy return. 12 minutes journey time.

By 12.30 I am at the foot of the fells at the bottom of the Tak Ma Doon drove road that sneaks up and over the hills into Stirlingshire. I can breathe! My brain and body is alive! Not half an hour ago I felt like dying. It's amazing what some pastoral countryside can do for the spirit, a few moderate hills, a little physical exertion, and all that fresh air and space!! Just cycling up through the wooded lower slopes, not another person or car in sight, I can hear birdsong, I can feel the cool breeze behind me, and I am surrounded by trees and plants and soil. I can also, and herein lies the rub, hear my Self.

I find myself comparing this to the cityscape I just cycled through and how utterly different these two scapes are. On the one hand you have a quiet breathable world of myriad life-forms where you can hear yourself think; on the other, you have a noisy, polluted world whose bio-diversity is actually zero diversity, and where thinking is not something you actually do, but which is done for you. In other words, on the one hand, you have a world in all its vitality and variety, and on the other you have a coagulated and incestuous (per)version of this. 

One of these scapes is alive. The other is dead.

I cannot stress this enough.

There is human-ness here in the hills, not so in the city, for the human who has bricked over the soil has also bricked over his Self.

The other important point is that one of these scapes, through your elemental and existential exposure, scrapes away the drivel that you have been coated with, whilst the other serves to coat you with more of the same.

Always remember that 'Identity is what you take off and not what you put on'...

Only when you get rid of all this nonsense, all this ego-driven narcissism, will you begin to appreciate the idea of nakedness, (not as nudity but as being yourself ). Going into the hills helps with this 'taking off' - the space, the air, your own locomotive force.... the genius of solitude that reveals that you are anything but alone.

In the city, you are hi-jacked by excitement and stimulation, by bright lights and music, primal triggers that have been corrupted by profiteers hell-bent on relieving you of the contents of your wallet. One is preyed upon constantly in the city, and yet the prey appears to enjoy this. Your nature in other words is perverted in the city. In the hills it is highlighted and revealed.

This is why the city can continue being what it is. Because as soon as people enter it, they are blindsided by the distractions, and infected with the contagion of crass unnatural commerce. The organism cannot hear itself. And if the organism cannot hear itself what chance has it of hearing others? The organism is besieged and bludgeoned in the city. In the hills it is resurrected and resuscitated.

There's really no excuse now for people. Even if you don't have a bicycle. You have your feet and your lungs, and your brain.

Go now!

Body forth into your Self.... via the fells.