Last night, Peter Ross, one of the group who are working to revive the Whithorn Way, stopped by our lodgings (a renovated shed named Nadav’s Hut) to say hello. He was kind enough to take Matthew and Christine to a nearby village (I needed a nap) where they bought some food for breakfast and, more importantly, beer. This morning, we met Peter at Glenluce Abbey, and he walked with us much of the day. No waymarking troubles–Peter led the way and put us on our road when he turned for home–and much explanations of the history of the Way and the politics of reviving it, as well as the nuts and bolts of living in this corner of Scotland. He was a welcome addition to our walk.
We crossed the famous Southern Uplands Way, which Peter helped to create in the early 1970s. It hasn’t taken off, partly because of the difficulty of the route and partly because the Borders are too unpopulated to provide much in the way of services for walkers. Many of the things that make life here easy–cars and trucks, for instance–make walking harder, since they encourage rural depopulation, which makes pedestrians’ lives harder. Eighty years ago there might’ve been more villages where walkers might’ve been able to get food and drink–like Arthur Wainwright wandering around in the Pennines just before the war.
The sun came out briefly in the morning, but it started to drizzle while Peter was touring us through the ruins of Glenluce Abbey, and the rain, ranging from steady showers to a fine mizzle, stayed with us all day. Away went the camera, and on went the rain gear. As lovely as my camera is, its weight and fragility count against it, and I wonder if I need something lighter. We stopped for lunch in Glenluce village–I had a haggis and cheese sandwich, an odd yet tasty combination–and then carried on down the road. Peter showed us a loch with two crannags–artificial islands built by Bronze Age people–before he turned back to Glenluce. The islands were intended for defence, archaeologists think: if raiders appeared, the people could pull away their drawbridges and be safe. Or at least safer.
After Peter left for home, our path led us over the moors and through a forest. I spooked a pair of sheep, who stumbled across a cattle grid and headed for parts unknown. Then an approaching vehicle sent them running back our way. I thought of how my friend Geoff was knocked down by a rogue sheep in Spain. I got out of the way. The sheep ran past–Matthew has a great photo of them–and back over the obstacle that was supposed to keep them on the other side of the fence.
Then we went through the forest. The path became a track covered in knee-high grass, which soaked our boots and trousers. We plashed across the moor to the point where our landlord from the Craighlaw Arms in Kirkowan was to pick us up. We were early and as soon as we stopped walking we got cold. Shivering cold. But Dave arrived quickly and carried us to his hotel where we were offered a dryer for our clothes and a warm place for our soggy boots. Maybe they’ll dry overnight! We also were served an excellent supper accompanied by an IPA. What could be better?
During the last hour of any walk, when my feet hurt and my pack is heavy, I curse myself and ask why I go on these walks. After a shower and dry clothing and eating and drinking, I have my answer. Although I do wonder how I’ll get back up the stairs to our room…..
