The three lochs. WHY?

During, I think 2009 or 2010 I was lucky to have taken one weeks annual leave from my job with the NHS. 


Since moving to Wigtownshire I had become friends with a group of gentleman, all of whom were older than me, they, like me, enjoy the hills and the freedom that it allows a person, to wander, camp drink? and generally simply be enveloped in natures wonder.




Weeks before the week off I had visited a trail that sits above Glen Trool, the walk begins beside Bruce's stone high above Loch Trool and with no little effort leads one up past three Lochs, Loch Valley, Loch Neldricken and Loch Enoch, I believe that Loch Enoch is the highest Loch, not Lochan, in the country.




To be so close to Newton Stewart, about 15 Miles, and encircled by Dumfries and Galloway and Ayrshire is brilliant. The Lochs are Located from the Solway Firth in the south to the boundaries of East and South Ayrshire.  A virtual wilderness, not Alaska of course, but in Scotland we value the opportunity to roam free. The Galloway Hills affords this privilege, you can walk for days without seeing another soul.




So given a weekend pass by my very understanding wife I set off while she, on a promise of visiting the Cinema in Newton Stewart the next day, Saturday, took care of our three, then, young children.




I was off on this mini adventure on my own, taking a full back-pack, tent, sleeping back, cooking utensils, beer, water, clothing spare shoes etc.  It is safe to say that my pack was probably far too heavy, but hey ho we need what we need.




So leaving our home two miles out side of Whithorn I drove the 30-40 miles to the car park beside Bruce's stone.  It was Friday, the spring was almost summer, the temperature was in the teens and I was thrilled to be getting away from the drudgery of life for what was planned to be three days.




My walk was planned and mapped out, I knew, ROUGHLY, where I was going, first day I'd climb up to Loch Enoch, Pitch for the night, the next day I'd head for a Bothy further north, and on the third day I would come back down via The Merrick, the biggest Corbet among lesser hills all over two thousand feet high.




The good thing about Long Distance walking is that it is inevitable that you pack will get lighter as you go, Consumption is a wonderful thing.




I left the car around 10:30 am and just as luck would have it the rain came on, it was for a short time, big old fat rain as Forrest Gump would say.




I had only walked a short distance before I realise how blinking warm and soggy it was, the humidity was high as were the ferns I was now hidden by, as I trudged merrily over a cattle/sheep track towards a small river, when I got to the 'Small' river I discovered that it was now a thundering torrent, moving very quickly and the difficulty in getting over this obstacle was compounded by the very slippy boulders I had to navigate and by the weight of my tortoise house that was already murdering my back, I was not the fittest then.




I took my pack off and strenuously lifted and pushed it on to the top of the largest boulder, the boulder would, hopefully, allow me to make a short jump to the other side. The sweat was pouring from me now and I was regretting this route almost immediately.  Literally one slip or misplaced foot and I would be swimming downstream faster than an Olympian at the Lido.




Thankfully I managed to get on the boulder, which, was very mossy and sodden, slimy and treacherous, my confidence in my ability waned a bit when I realised that the short jump I was proposing to make was actually about seven feet, and, the rushing rumbling water was going as fast as a small car below, a murky and dim cavernous area.




It was then that a thought started to invade my head, 'I don't remember this bit?' I sat down on the rock steadying my resting pack with one hand I began to have an epiphany; I had went the wrong way!


The walk to the Lochs did not require me to traverse any rivers this early in proceeding, I had left the car park and wandered, stupidly over a tall stile that had led me through the ferns to this place in hell.


So laughing a little manically to myself I extricated myself from the boulder and sheepishly retraced my humid steps back towards the car park.




The rain was now steady and the wind was picking up, but in the spirit of what can only be described as insanity, I carried on regardless.




The energy I had already used implored me to rest a while before continuing.


I should have decided there and then to abort the mission, but my foolhardy nature and my keen intention to be alone for a few days won over.  I was up trodding if not quite plodding along.


At last I reached familiar ground and began the laborious trek as the path climbs steeply for a time, the sweat poured as did the rain.


All of this serves to remind us of the need for properly fitting waterproof trousers and caution in how many layers you wear is also a consideration.  I was knackered, over heating, guzzling water, steady trodding, plod, plod, plod.


As the ground beneath my feet grew increasingly peaty and squelchy I continued, stopping after a few steps on the incline to catch my breath, my glasses were misted over almost continuously, visibility though good, should have re-enforced the notion that I should turn back.


But no!  On I went.


Once past the slog to Loch Valley there are three or four small burns I splish splashed over them with ease, or was able to stand on a piece of an exposed rock in the water stepping stones style.


On I went up the side of Loch Neldricken, on to the valley like access to the final destination the far side of Loch Enoch.


As I came down off of the access to Enoch two things struck me, it was very windy, no longer a warm pre summer breeze but a stinging blast that carried needle like rain drops.


My level of exhaustion was becoming increasingly more apparent as at last I came to the north side of the Loch, as I stopped my body began to cool down significantly, the weather by now was atrocious and I, alone and fully exposed with no cover knew that I needed to get my tent up quickly and get a brew on.


The effort to get the tent up was considerable, but at last I managed to create my safe haven.


Soaked through I climbed in, by now I had literally had enough.  To top off my feelings of joy I noticed that the floor of the tent was now a puddle of peaty water.


I made my brew, drank one beer and then stripping off to my undergarments I climbed into my now damp sleeping bag.


What ensued was a very long night, when I had finished pitching my tent it was around 3:30pm, I decided that if the rain stopped and the sun came out I'd get up and move.


This was not in natures plan, it had rained and continued to rain for around thirty hours.


I lay awake for most of the night only fitful paranoid sleep was possible.  At one point in the wee small hours as I lay there, the only human for miles I heard the strangest, freakiest noise I think I have ever heard.


You know that sound a large round stone makes as it is dropped on to firm grass from a few feet, a kind of thump sound? I heard this right outside the tent at what felt like a few short feet away.


After my shock I drifted off for a time, wakening at what I thought was first light, checking my watch it was 7:30am.


The loud sound of heavy wind-pushed rain reverberated off of the tent, so I lay on, waiting...


At about 8:45 I decided that I had better move no more did I fantasise about the sturdy bothy with a wood burner, no longer dreaming of relative comfort under a sturdy roof, I was going home.


Gathering my self I slithered from my sleeping bag wrapping it up immediately I covered it in the thick bin-liner I had brought it in.


Packing my gear after a brew and a sandwich I knew that the time had come, every item of clothing I possessed there was sodden wet, so I removed everything except my socks and my water proof trousers and windproof jacket.  I left the tent with more reluctance than I can ever remember having at any time in my life. 


I collapsed the tent and chucked it in to its bag unceremoniously secured it to the ruck sack along with everything else and headed back down.


It is amazing how much water can fall in 30 hours, the entire vista, the ground the mountain streams above the small burns, now rivers, the land around had tried it's best to cope with the deluge spewed over the banks of the rivers.  Where as just last evening I skipped merrily across it was now apparent that if I placed a foot in there it would be too fast for me to handle and I might be swept away.


The first river of four was moving rapidly, the water heads towards Loch Doon from way up high and gravity implores it to move fairly ferociously when it is so in spate.


It was. in my estimation, absolutely impossible for me to get over such was the ferocity of the current and the depth of the water, I had no choice other than to circumnavigate Loch Enoch a distance of some 3/4 miles, this was a difficult proposition because at points on the bank a steep cliff edge is part of the geography/topography.  Edging slowly and with the weight of my rather full rucksack, I continued on for what seemed like an eternity. 


This is not to be recommended unless you are a Bear Grylls type, trust me on that; This was daunting and nerve wracking, one poor step or skid on the grass would see me fall fifteen feet into the shallow loch edge below, that would have been very painful at best.


This was accomplished despite the tussets of grass that are so prevalent in the Galloway hills, every single step I made was placed differently on flat ground, just about every second step I stumbled and tripped.


Knackered already, I headed down through the access valley, the mist was thick here and I almost lost the path.  But, eventually I clambered down the steep hillside to the next obstacle at Neldricken, again a very fast moving mountain river, I had to scramble vertically finding a crossing relatively easy this time.


The next bit, although a bit of a slog, was Ok, I squelched along the well defined path before rejoining the descent towards Loch Valley.


This is where I actually thought I might be in trouble. Just below the Loch there is a stretch of flat land, the river had burst its banks and the entire area was completely submerged in water.


I had no choice I had to go for it, the hidden ground under the three feet of water, and deeper in part was a tussets ridden nightmare.


I stumbled a tripped once more, but this time I went all the way over, I was laughing loudly and almost with hysteria as I was submerged or partially submerged in water. Back pack on my back trying to weigh me down, stepping for a time, tripping, stepping splash, laughing, recovering, stumbling, splash.


Once out of the 'lake' I still had the river to traverse, this time upstream, splashing and sloshing all the way.


Needless to say I am very thankful that one of my falls did not end too badly, at the very worst it was a potentially you tube classic entitled 'Stupid auld Bastard almost dies'


I trudged on after that, dragging my boot shod feet onward and downward, eventually I reached the road and climbed the far too steep dirt road back to the car.


This was the worst experience of my life of walking and hill climbing and I know that many of you will have experience the utter emotional joy of reaching your vehicle after a strenuous effort and the ecstasy of sitting on the dry, well not now, car seat. Drying myself with paper towels in the car before starting the engine and driving at what felt like 'far too quickly' for home.


Of course Wifeling was out when I got home at around 2pm, she had taken the kids to the cinema, I had no key to get in, our house at the time was a rural lodge house in the bungalow style.  the utility room window was open for the cats to get in and out so that was my only option.


I could not, did not have the energy too climb in, and had to drag myself head first on to the sink unit inside before dripping on to the floor.


Straight to the bathroom I ran a deep roasting bath and climbed in, bliss.


When I came out I dragged my aching muscles to the back of the house retrieving a beer from the fridge I opened the back door.


The sun was splitting the skies, not a cloud in view. not one, it must have been about seventy degrees.


Sitting on a bench by the back door I supped my beer and let out a sigh.


Why oh why oh why, and did that actually just happen or was it a figment of my imagination?


Scotland.  She might try to kill you but she also has a dark sense of humour.















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