LOCAL WINTER HILLS

Last Saturday I went along to a surprise birthday bash for a good friend of mine, Lindsay, to celebrate his 60th. There was a slight hiccup with the banners, as no one had noticed they actually said, Happy 65th Birthday! Maybe that was the surprise. It was a fun night, with a great local ceilidh band duo, and great food, courtesy of Lindsay's daughter Caitlin. It was held in a handy venue for me, just a 10 minute walk from my house, and almost as short a walk for Lindsay and his partner Gwen. Though they are, like me, keen on walks of a longer nature in the great outdoors.

Pauline was away that weekend in glorious sunshine, and crisp white snow, up in Glen Tilt, at Blair Atholl, and her photos were impressive. So impressive in fact, that I felt a tad envious of her good fortune on being away in the mountains on such a fabulous winters day. Due to work commitment I had missed all the great weather that weekend, and the forecast for the early part of the week was less inviting.

However, when I awoke early on Monday, it was to glorious blue skies, and the temperature was still below freezing. Keen to have some outdoorsey fix and quench that envy, and to have a break from the edit suite, I pulled on my walking boots and cozy duvet jacket, and headed for our local hills, the Pentlands, just a short half hour drive from my front door.

More often than not, the way in to the Pentlands is from the city side, but on this occasion I was able to start from the south side of the Pentlands, at a small, old pub called The Flottersone Inn, and thus enjoy the whole walk in winter sunshine. It was bitterly cold, but thankfully there was not a breath of wind.

Within just 30 minutes I was on the southern ridge line on top of the first small summit of Turnhouse Hill. Winter brings clear skies and so the views can be forever. On this day I could see all the way to the peaks of Ben Vorlich and Stuc a' Chroin.

From Turhouse Hill it was a leisurely walk across Carnethy Hill and onto Scald Law, the highest in the Pentlands, though still only 579m.

I was happily snapping photos as I went along, when the camera suddenly packed up. I assumed it was the cold and so tucked it away in an inside jacket pocket until I was off the ridge line, and down onto the road that runs alongside the two reservoirs Loganlea and Glencorse, which would take me back to Flotterstone.

I stopped a while watching pairs of Cormorants fishing, when I thought I heard a familiar sound in the sky above me. As I turned my head upwards, five swans flew over in formation, and I was fairly sure they were Whooper swans, though they didn't call out again.

It may not have been the wild, highland mountain, winter adventure that Pauline had enjoyed, but there was something rather satisfying being out there on a Monday morning, on a glorious day, when everyone else was holed up in their offices, maybe looking longingly at the Pentland Hills, wishing they were out there instead.