the dog rambler e-diary 16 & 17 february 2012

8/3/2019 The Dog Rambler e-diary 16 & 17 February 2012

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Walk Steep faced Pentland Hills Length 6 miles

Dogs on walk Darcy, Finlay, Gustave, Lucas, Otis, Ozzy, Tim

A day of taught ever changing skies. Clouds skimming fast across the hills. Planting thegentlest of kisses on them. A delight for cloud spotters as various forms hustled each other

for their place. The sun inevitably losing out. The pace of the clouds a sure sign that in

would blowy once we got into the hills.

We organised ourselves in the car park at Swanston. Walked sensibly through the little

village of whitewashed walled cottages. Bright against the murkiness of the latest clouds.

Then able to stretch our legs once through a gate and into the countryside proper.

Darcy again in no mood to stretch to his legs was very content to tuck himself in behind

me. No matter what encouragement I gave him or how much I petted him he would not

head off. Ozzy and Tim tried a few times to get him to play with the same results. They

soon gave up. He shadowed my every move. If I moved left to dodge a stone he moved left.

If I stepped off the track for a second so did he.

With one down at the back and one down in the shape of Finlay scouring away at the

front I was left with five dogs rummaging about just in front of me. Otis was not for

The Dog Rambler

E-diary

Thursday

16 February 2012



playing but Gustave, Lucas, Ozzy and Tim were. Until we began to climb toward the cloud

up Caerketton Hill. It pushed about us as we got higher, the dogs shimmering in its half

light. Fence posts like ghouls suddenly materializing from the swirls.

As we dropped into the gap between Caerketton Hill and Allermuir Hill we dropped into a

hole in the cloud. Edinburgh twinkled in the sunlight that was lost to us under our cloud

umbrella. The dogs once more raced about as we climbed back up into the cloud. Finlay

disappearing from sight first.

Coming off Allermuir and Gustave was keen to keep the play going and had ready takers

in Lucas, Ozzy and Tim. They broke up and then wheeled around back together. For a brief time Darcy joined them but was soon back at me heels as we dropped to the gate to take

us over the shoulder of Capelaw Hill.

They all joined Darcy as we stepped by some sheep. Glancing at us from twenty yards or

so but not deigning to move. The dogs eager to catch up on their play as the clouds once

more opened revealing a solid blue reservoir and tight green triangles of fir trees. We

swooped off the hill now facing directly toward the swathe of Edinburgh interrupted bythe impertinence of Arthur’s Seat poking out of it like hand pushed through and crinkling

flattened paper.

Darcy began to slip forwards a bit joining Finlay in a rather grubby puddle. Not grubby

enough for Finlay who next lay down in what was really only mud and very little if any

water. Having raced themselves out I soon found there we between five and six dogs almost

constantly behind me. A very unusual feeling. Finlay of course ahead and then either Gustave or Otis making up the other one. I kept looking back and they would just look up

at me. Until we dropped of the hills for the final time and they scooted by, including

Darcy.

On best behaviour we passed a couple with a child not far out of Swanston village and

stayed as a group through the village hardly walking on the green at all. Finally there was

a huddle round the car as I got the key out and like a backward explosion they were allinside, sitting, standing and looking.



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Nick

Photo slideshow from the walk

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Walk Down into Roslin Glen Length 6 miles

Dogs on walk Brooklyn, Chutney, Cyrano, Dylan, Finlay, Tim

A blustery day which we did not notice as we headed glenwards into the deep groves cut

into the earth and heavily protected by trees. Our beginning near Roslin took us first

through the shallow Bilston Glen that gradually gets deeper as it nears the high level, old

railway bridge across it.

The dogs were off at some pace and soon I was on my own. Chutney first to turn back to

make sure I was still around and then Brooklyn popped his head around a tree. The path

The Dog Rambler

E-diary

Friday

17 February 2012

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twisted thorough the narrow trunked young trees and rose and fell across the undulations

of the glen. The water too far below us to reach easily. Although Finlay did thrash his way

down through the sparse undergrowth. Only to be disappointed by the shallowness of the

gentle burn. He would have to wait for the mightier river in Roslin Glen.

We left the glen climbing on a path to expose us to the wind and the wide ranging

farmland. Fields of lush green, really starting to grow in the recent warming weather and

longer days. The dogs were dashing about but no one was really chasing. They were just

enjoying the day. Sticking close together so as not to miss anything one of the others may

see or more likely scent out. The best they could manage was a spaniel and I think it had

spotted them first.

Ahead of us the glen cut deeper as the burn widened and cut hard into the softer ground.

The trees gripped tightly into the steepening bank that tumbled into a dense darkness

below. Here we met the high bridge and crossed this ravine like section of the glen. Taking

us across up in the treetops of the higher trees and looking down on the descending canopy

into the glen.

Now we left Bilston Glen behind and soon found ourselves dropping into Roslin Glen.

Cyrano and Finlay rushing off ahead down the grass covered steps eager to sample the

river. Brooklyn in hot pursuit, just for the fun of it. By now Chutney had found herself a

very comfortable stick, which she carried and then nibbled and carried again. Each time it

was a getting a little smaller. She was in luck as no one was showing any interest in it.

Leaving her to enjoy it without interference.

So far we had stayed fairly clean. That was all about to change. A great crashing tree had

fallen over the path. Its gnarled trunk about four feet high, diagonally slicing the path. As I

readied myself to climb over the dogs headed for the upended roots. They found a way

round. Unfortunately it was churning through the deep, stinking, muddy quagmire of a

hole left by the torn out roots. They were both filthy and smelly.

At the next slope into the river I was armed with sticks. Cyrano and Finlay were alreadythere waiting. Brooklyn and Chutney joined them. Chutney giving up her stick in the hope

of a new one. Somehow no one came back out with one despite the running and splashing.



Dylan and Tim just watched from higher up the bank.

We wound up and done the tortuous paths of the glen fighting through more fallen trees

to reach an open grass area beneath Rosslyn Chapel. Even this did not inspire much of chase. Chutney and Tim ran briefly after each other and Brooklyn began to follow them

but just kept going until he was a dot at the far side of the grass. The others just

meandered about, sniffing here and there. Then we turned and began to head back.

Dylan led the way leaving Chutney to stroll along with another stick. This time under

pressure from Brooklyn and Tim. Finlay too found a good stick but it proved too

cumbersome and he gave up. Cyrano was wading through the new, strong growth, of grassand plants thrusting up through the woodland’s banks.

We all avoided the mud pit of the fallen tree. All except Tim. Everyone came to heel as I

remembered it was near and I was able to usher them over the fallen trunk. A bit of

leaping and scrabbling and they were over. Tim ignored me and headed straight for the

mire. Somehow he managed to cling onto the very top of the bank, hemmed in by the

wire fence, and just scoot over without slipping in.

Thankfully we were all clean. Despite it not appearing too muddy on the way back through

Bilston Glen some rather less than clean dogs clambered into the car.

Nick

Photo slideshow from the walk

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the dog rambler e-diary 16 & 17 february 2012

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