afinehorse

Furry Friends - and Foes

2010-07-08T12:13:00.000-07:00

One of the (many) things I particularly enjoy about off-road riding is spotting wildlife. Often animals are less fearful of a person on a horse than a person walking, and you can get quite close without disturbing them.

On our recent trip I had hoped very much to spot some beaver which are kept locally - although I knew it was unlikely, as they have pretty nocturnal habits and are most easily seen in the late evening. Riding past their home, then, there was sadly no sign of them, but many indications of their industry, like these downed trees with beavery teethmarks!

Some of the trees were positively huge - I'm not sure how long it would have taken them to knaw their way through some of the larger specimens.

Partner Bill has in the past done some veterinary work on this colony (they are prone to a certain kind of fluke I believe). He was called out to post-mortem one which had been found dead. 'Bloody fluke, I suppose' he grumbled as he set off - but no. In this case, the beaver had been knocked on the head by a tree which fell on it after it had bitten its way through the trunk. Very sad, but perhaps that particular animal was better out of the beaver gene pool - it sounded like a prime candidate for the Darwin Awards.

The ponies took no notice of the beaver colony: not so when we later passed a wild boar enclosure on the same estate. Lots of sniffing and snorting from them as they caught a whiff of pig! Unfortunately the undergrowth was so dense we didn't actually see any - although we have many times before - the little stripey babies are enchanting, Daddy a bit less so.

Most people who keep horses are ever on the alert for mice and rats around the feedhouse area. Since our property is bounded on three sides by running water, rats (yuk) have always been in evidence around here - although much less so recently, which I have put down to the efforts of our ratophile terriers, Oddjob and Mabel.

Although all our grain, feed etc is kept safely in an old chest freezer in our feedhouse, every so often you hear a scurrying when opening the feedhouse door, with some rat or mouse chancing their luck. My strategy is always to send the terriers in first, and let them deal with it, which they do extremely efficiently and quickly.

Hearing a tell-tale patter one morning, I sent the 'girls' in. Suddenly all hell broke loose, with yelping, yapping, and crashing going on. That didn't sound like a rat or mouse! Terrified that they might have cornered a cat which had sneaked in overnight, I rushed in to call off the dogs - to find them in the process of despatching a young male mink.

Mink are a huge problem in the rivers in this area, as in many others in the UK. They are not native - they are from North America and were brought over and bred for the fur trade. Many subsequently escaped (or were set free by well-meaning animal rights protesters).

Whilst I'm happy that the fur farms no longer function, the ones which have escaped (and bred) have murdered everything within sight of British rivers - fish, birds, voles and many other species.

Many landowners and farmers are attempting to control the population via mink rafts on rivers, which have a clay bottom where you can track mink visits - they are then trapped and humanely destroyed. We, too, are part of this scheme - needless to say, our mink rafts have never seen so much as a pawprint. Obviously this young fellow preferred the easy pickings around the feedhouse - perhaps it was him who was responsible for the recent lack of rodents around the place?

The terriers survived their experience without so much as a scratch - a miracle really, as mink are extremely aggressive when cornered and have very sharp teeth. The dogs' only complaint is that there isn't a mink in there every morning when they rush in excitedly, ready for a thrilling battle.

Riding the Angus Glens

2010-07-07T08:10:00.000-07:00

Yeoman & I took a break from all that book typing a few weeks ago to head up the Angus Glens. For us, this is our 'backyard'. Now, we are almost certainly biased, but for sheer off-road riding pleasure, this area is hard to beat. It boasts a wide selection of routes, from low-level grassy tracks to much higher and more intrepid riding, suitable for the experienced horse and rider.

Here we have just crossed a trackless section in the Caenlochan National Nature Reserve (very fitting for Yeoman of Caenlochan). Yes, that is snow! Luckily most of it had disappeared in a piece of land famous for its bogs, or I wouldn't be typing this.

On this three-day excursion, we headed from home up Glenisla, then over the tops into Glen Doll and Glen Clova, then home via Glen Prosen, the prettiest of them all. We were accompanied by Vyv Wood-Gee on her Fell pony Micky, using it as a training ride for this summer's expedition from Skye to Smithfield in London, in the footsteps of the drovers. (They set off at the end of June).

With the exception of the section pictured, the ride offered some straightforward riding, with nothing too demanding - just perfect for a not-too-fit combination like us at the start of the season! It offered a perfect break from being hunched over the computer (for me) and non-stop eating (Yeoman and - er - me as well actually.) Stress, y'know.

Take a Bow!

2010-07-07T07:45:00.000-07:00

Yes, you...for sticking with this blog which hasn't been updated for a while. The reason is I've been giving birth... no, not to one of those pink squally baby things, but to a new book, Discover Off-Road Riding, written in conjunction with my good friend Shonagh Steven BHSII.

The book, which has taken about ten times longer to produce than we originally thought, as is quite normal in the publishing world, aims to answer all those questions people have when they start heading off: where to ride, what to take, training your horse or pony, navigating, camping with your horse - and what to do if things go wrong. In fact, it's the book I wished I'd had when I started stravaiging the countryside on horseback, all those many years ago.

It was launched by the British Horse Society at the Royal Highland Show (many thanks to them) and has been selling very well ever since, hooray! Just as pleasing is the feedback we have been getting which suggests people really like it. There just isn't any other way of getting all that information in one place at the moment.

It's going to be available in lots of horsy places very soon, but if you really can't wait (and indeed, why should you?) you can purchase it securely online here. Alternatively, I hold some copies here and you can send a cheque for £16.99 + £2.50 p & p (payable to K Godfrey please) for rapid despatch to:

Inverquiech, By Alyth, Blairgowrie, Perthshire PH11 8JR.

OK, that's quite enough of the selling - let's move on to...

Horses Welcome

2009-11-20T04:03:00.000-08:00

I've been working my way through what my granny used to call 'bread and butter letters' , thanking all those who helped us, put us up, and supported us in so many ways on our trip.

It's a courtesy (although if I was as courteous as all that I would have done it before now - if YOU haven't received yours yet - it's a-coming!)

It's been a joy, actually, as I have relived all those wonderful memories of the great people we met. There are over 300 to write, so it's taking me a while. What was astonishing was that in all those miles, we didn't meet a single person who was less than friendly and hospitable.

Why was that? Most riders have tales of grumpy landowners or gratuitous rudeness, but there was no sign of any of that.

I don't have a definitive answer...but I do have some ideas about it. Firstly, where possible, I did contact people in advance. I've blogged about this before - in spite of the Land Reform Act, I do still believe that is a reasonable courtesy where horses are involved, unless the tracks are actively promoted for riding. My experience has been that, on the whole, landowners prefer to have some notice, especially if there's a gate to be unlocked!

Having said that, I didn't always do it - either because I simply couldn't find out who to speak to

or because I had to change my plans at the last minute and go a different route - usually as a result of flooding. So I did sometimes meet landowners unexpectedly but didn't have any problems, perhaps because I made an effort to be polite, including getting off my horse to explain the situation to them. (I remember reading in a newspaper article about how, during the lead up to the hunting ban, huntsmen were advised not to speak to the tv reporters etc when they were sitting on their horses - the difference in height automatically made it look as though they were looking down their noses in a superior kind of way. I think there may be a grain of truth in that, especially when speaking to the non-horsy).

Every rider's dream is probably to be able to ride along any tracks without having to ask permission - and in some places that is quite possible. For riders planning some sort of cross-country route, as I did, I don't currently believe that it is. I would also add that, for me, a huge part of the pleasure of the trip was in interacting with local people, learning about the area (and in many cases, scoring somewhere to camp or a bed for the night as a huge bonus.) In addition, it's this interaction which (hopefully) improves communication and understanding between riders and land managers.

Quite a few people have asked for my precise routes. That, to me, is a slightly difficult one - I think there is a difference between me - or anyone - riding a route (with the landowner's blessing) and then suggesting it's ok for anyone to do it - I simply don't feel I have that authority. There is an additional practical problem, in that I crossed some areas where a more novice horse could easily get into difficulties, and I wouldn't want that on my conscience either.

However, I am keen to share what I have learned with other riders! Other long distance riders were very generous to me with information. Perhaps a possible practical solution is to get together to create some sort of database to easily access who to speak to regarding access: a lot of this information is traceable on the internet, and BHS and Council Access officers and the like can be helpful, but it doesn't half take a lot of digging around: it took me a year to prepare for a three month trip. I would be very keen to hear what you think about it, and I expect this topic will resurface!

Going back to why I had so few problems, I also suspect that, because I was travelling alone, people felt more inclined to talk to me, which might not have happened had there been a group of us.

I might get some snark for this one, but I also suspect that native ponies are less threatening to the non-horsy than gleaming bay hunters - they're sort of a cross between a horse and a dog! Most people wanted to cuddle them. Really, they should have been prostrating themselves in awe and wonder - Doogs.

Today's picture is a quick watercolour sketch - I did quite a few of these on the trip, but due to the weather conditions, mostly there was a lot of 'water' and not so much in the way of 'colour'! I don't believe the boys thought that this particular tint was quite manly enough, either. And you've made me look fat - Doogs.

Herd Dynamics

2009-11-19T11:42:00.000-08:00

In the winter months, we run our horses and ponies in the stubble fields surrounding the house.

There are many advantages to this arrangement: using the stubble fields (where there is plenty of rough grazing) rests our grass fields - good for the pasture and minimises parasite problems.

As the stubble fields are nice and close to the stables, it's also easy to get youngsters in for some handling, or geriatrics in for a few hours' respite from the rain which has been pelting down recently. This is especially valuable during these short hours of daylight.

We've been getting the foals in regularly for some handling - as they didn't get much over the summer while I was away. This helps to prepare them for weaning, which we'll do around Christmas, and also is preparing them for (shhhh!) being microchipped next week, as the law now requires.

We haven't as yet started supplementary feeding (bar a little bite of hay if something's in) as they absolutely haven't needed it: one or two mares are actually waddling! Tsk. Seriously, it's our only opportunity to get some weight off the Highlands before they face the spring grass again. The mild weather however, means that the grass in the stubbles is still actually growing - as I type this, the thermometer outside is registering 12 degrees (grass starts to grow at 6). I wonder if we'll end up like New Zealand, with year-round grass growth?

Another advantage - or perhaps not- of having them all near the house is that I can watch them from my office window. (I'm supposed to be writing, but hey...)

It is fascinating to watch closely the herd dynamics - who pals up with whom as a grazing buddy, who prefers to graze on their own on the fringe of the group. The foals and yearlings are getting bolder and more cheeky towards the older horses, until they overstep the boundaries and are sent scuttling by an exasperated adult.

It is a very settled herd, where each individual seems to know their place. I never witness kicking or biting (bar the foals, in play). The most aggression is the odd bit of face-pulling.

I know how lucky we are to be able to keep our animals in a semi-natural way, with plenty of space for all. I recently refused to sell a 2 yo to a buyer who wanted to keep him in a yard with no winter turnout at all. I know many horses are kept like that from necessity, but it's far from ideal, especially for a growing, boisterous youngster - probably for any horse, come to that.

We have bought in thoroughbreds out of training in the past who didn't know how to graze having been kept in stables all their life: they would just mooch around by the gate, not eating (food only comes in a bucket or haynet obviously) staring wistfully at their box door. It wasn't long before they got the hang of it and started to get cheeky about being caught though!

You Talking to Me???

2009-11-16T03:50:00.000-08:00

Over the weekend Yeoman was invited to take part in an animal communication and training workshop, at a local yard.

Now, I don't know what you think about animal communicators: it's not something I have any experience of, and I really didn't know what to expect. I must say I had visions of some poor communicator squinting at Yeoman and saying 'I'm sorry, I'm not picking this up clearly...he seems to be claiming he's just been ridden for a thousand miles...!'

There were about ten equine 'guinea pigs' there, who were 'communicated with' - if that's the right terminology - by two tutors and their students in two groups.

I must say I found the day very interesting: undoubtedly they could pick up on lots of verifiable truths about each horse, including old injuries (of which there was no visible sign) and according to the owners, were also very accurate in reading the horse's personalities. They picked up on one horse's extreme grief (his old stablemate had just been put down a few days ago) and other things which they couldn't possibly have known.

Yeoman showed every sign of thoroughly enjoying the experience. Both groups 'read' him in very similar terms. According to them he has a huge spirit and has been a horse many times before - he has always worked very very hard. One communicator said that he has an infinite capacity for work - as I've blogged about before, that is certainly true - he is tireless.

Interestingly, they pointed out that he has until recently always been in the shadow of another horse, which I would also accept, since he's often been compared to Doogs (and not always favourably, I regret to say). She said that he would be a fantastic RDA horse as he has a strong desire to help - not a career I would necessarily have put number one on his list of possible jobs!

However, it did set me thinking: because he was difficult to start under saddle, I have always thought of him as a bit of a delinquent. When I really thought hard about it, though, it must be at least two years since he ever put a foot wrong - perhaps it's time I updated my view of him!

He had no physical issues at all, unlike most of the other horses, who seemed to have very long lists! According to the communicators, he is very politely spoken (so I should hope).

He is apparently also becoming much more confident in himself. One slightly spooky thing was when he got home and was turned out, he did something which he has NEVER done before, which was to (politely) round up all the mares in the field. Doogs just stood and watched - there was no altercation of any kind.

So - a bit of fun? Or perhaps a glimpse into something a bit uncanny? Jury's out, but still a most interesting day.

Ladybird Update

2009-11-14T07:15:00.000-08:00

Followers of this blog from the start will remember how game little Ladybird stepped into the breach for the first three weeks of the trip, after Yeoman went on his self-harming jag.

She was an absolute star, taking everything calmly in her stride (in spite of literally being dragged out of the nettles with only a few days' notice.)

You might also remember that she was initially 'dumped' on us by her owner and we had to go through all the tedious legal channels to gain ownership of her so that we could decide what was going to happen to her in the long term.

Since her expedition down to the borders on the trip, she has been away being professionally schooled and is now ready to go on to a new owner, provided we can find the home she deserves. If she were a little bigger (she's 13.3) or I, alas, were a little smaller (!) I wouldn't part with her - but she needs to go somewhere where she can be used and enjoyed to the full.

She's 5, and currently has all the basics in place: walk, trot, canter and is happily hacking out on her own and with others and will go first or last. She hasn't started jumping yet, but is comfortably coping with all sorts of varied terrain out on hacks. She is of course also trained to carry packs! She has the most lovely willing nature, but due to her youth is not really suitable for a novice: ideally we are looking for a long-term home with a small adult or a confident older child who has support from a horsy family. She has lovely straight movement and excellent conformation and would show.

Her one drawback is that she sometimes cribs, probably as a result of how she was kept in an earlier life. She has been improving, especially as she has now got other things to think about, but she would be better in a home where she has full turnout. She gets on well with other horses.

She is easy to catch, box and shoe, and has the potential to be a cracking all-round pony - so if you are looking for one (or know someone who is) and would like further details, you can contact me, Kate Godfrey, 0n 01828 632463 or email me at inverquiech@aol.com.

Don't Fence Me In

2009-11-12T06:48:00.000-08:00

Ok - good gear, bad gear!

Before I left, you may have read on the website www.afinehorse.co.uk that I was trialling a corral kit from Electric Fencing Direct. Obviously, keeping the boys contained overnight was a major priority - not just in the wilds, but also when we camped near to roads or other hazards.

I would like to say (with absolutely no pressure from the manufacturers I should point out!) that this was a cracking piece of kit, which survived being put up every night (and sometimes at lunchtimes too) in wet and windy conditions and only weighed 2.5 kg. It took less than 5 mins to put up.

The posts fold down (a bit like tent poles) so the whole caboodle makes a neat little package for carrying. You use bungee cords to stabilise the posts, and they never fell down. I carried 200m of 10mm tape: normally I prefer the 20mm variety for visibility, but when travelling the 10mm tape packed down smaller and lighter. Sometimes I would use an existing fence for one side of the corral, to give them more grazing room - or if I was in a secure field anyway, I would use the corral to surround my campsite and fence the ponies out, to stop them eating my tea or trying to climb in my sleeping bag.

The whole thing is powered by a little 'Shrike' unit which, though powered with torch batteries which are easily available when you're travelling, still has a hearty sting. Doogs and Yeoman are very respectful of electric fencing, which meant I only actually switched it on when I was going to sleep to conserve power - but the batteries lasted for the whole trip anyway.

I couldn't have done the trip the way I did without this corral - it meant that we were completely free to stop wherever there was suitable grazing, and I never had to worry about them not being there in the morning or getting tangled in rubbish fences and pulling shoes off in the night.

Definitely good kit: more details from www.electricfencing.co.uk

Tail End - and a Ticking Off!

2009-11-05T06:57:00.000-08:00

Firstly, apologies to those many many people who have been in touch to give me a hard time for leaving those poor ponies stuck on Mount Keen for so long!

Yes, we're safely home - but the combination of three months in the pure mountain air, followed by a shopping trip to Dundee, resulted in a dreadful bout of flu for me - obviously my system was no longer able to cope with twenty-first century urban bugs.

I'm feeling better now (thank you) although still a bit feeble. I rode the boys out today for the first time in company with my friend Felicity - the ponies set off as though they were intending to do the whole thousand mile route backwards - so obviously still feeling pretty fit!

There's still a lot of 'finishing off' to do on the blog, and I will get there I promise.

One of the most common questions has been ' so how much total weight DID you lose/gain'? You will remember that there was a splendid scoff for two riding on this, at the Kinloch House Hotel Blairgowrie.

The answer is we lost a total of 39 kgs - nothing at all really, given that the ponies had NO additional feeding on the trip. For those who really want to know, it broke down thus: Doogs lost 30 kg; Yeoman lost 8 kg; and I lost...well, you do the maths. All I can say is, I must have been in fantastic shape before I left. Nothing to do with the splendid round Scotland hospitality, then...

The boys were delighted to get home. Somewhat to my surprise, I haven't had any trouble catching them since we got back either! Doogs was immediately surrounded by his gingernut thoroughbred harem, where he has remained ever since. I swear I've caught him saying , "and you'll never guess what we did next..." as the mares flutter their eyelashes and look impressed.

Yeoman - well I think it's fair to say that he left home a boy and came back a man - such a change in a horse, from a somewhat dippy delinquent, to a senior and responsible member of our little equine community.

Now we're back in cyberspace, check into the blog now and again to find out about the gear we wouldn't be without (and what went in the bin); what I'll do differently next time (and what that 'next time' is going to be - very exciting!) and equally exciting (to me anyway), the full-length unexpurgated book version of the trip which is due for publication in the spring. The profits from the book will go to World Horse Welfare International Training. There are also lots of great photos to catch up on which I'll post as I go - sending pictures to the blog en route was a little challenging at times.

Hope all you grief-givers are a little happier now!

We Bag a Munro

2009-10-16T02:43:00.000-07:00

The track up Mount Keen from the north starts innocuously enough: a well-graded surface with excellent cross-drains, and today, the Angus glens were looking so fine that I wondered why we had gone anywhere else. Now she tells us - Doogs.

The boys were fittingly 'keen' - there is no doubt that they knew exactly where we were, as they stomped cheerfully up the inviting track.

As you have no doubt come to expect from these adventures, it was too much to hope that this would continue -and guess what? As we climbed higher and higher, the track got steeper and much rougher - in fact, it was easier in places to make our way up the side than to pick through the ankle-turning boulders.

The weather was also starting to deteriorate somewhat: although not actually raining it started to become quite clammy as we puffed our way up into the cloud which covered the top of the mountain.

In one way it was a benefit as it kept us cool (you certainly wouldn't want to linger though), although how sad to lose those stunning views towards Lochnagar and the Cairngorms.

One of the most isolated of the Munros (its nearest neighbour is 17 km away), it is generally considered one of the easiest. We still found it tough enough (it would be less so for walkers than with horses - the rocky terrain as you near the top was a mite challenging in places) as there is a relentless climb to its conical summit.

The cloud began to thin as we neared the summit, allowing Doogs to pose manfully as he stopped for a breather, claiming altitude sickness.

The higher we climbed, the more dramatic it became. The view became like a Chinese painting, as tops of surrounding peaks shone above the cloud around us.

The path, which is easy to see and follow, splits near the summit, giving you the option of following the old Mounth drovers' road, or climbing to the summit. As this was to be our last major 'up' on this trip, there was no contest - the summit it had to be! Other free-range riders I know claim that once you've been 'high', nothing else quite matches up, however pretty it may be - and I tend to agree.

As we huffed to the top, we disturbed a couple of large groups of ptarmigan - just magical, and well worth our panting effort. Oh, really? - Doogs.

Just as we reached the summit, the last of the cloud cleared and suddenly we could see for miles and miles, including many of the places we had been on this journey. I sat down beside the ponies and together we gazed and gazed at this wonderful land spread out before us.

I haven't yet quite found the words to describe this moment (no doubt you will - Doogs). It truly did seem to be the summit of all we had achieved together. I sat on in the now-warm sunshine and thought about the places we had seen, and the people we had met, as well as all the challenges we had faced and overcome. For an ordinary, middle-aged (and hardly athletic) woman, this was the best of times. I looked at the boys and almost burst with pride (not forgetting the brave little Ladybird too). How blessed I felt to have had this opportunity - and how lucky to have shared it with them.

You're not going to leave us here, are you, while you drivel on? We want to go home! - Doogs

Ah, yes, boys - home it is...now how do we get off this mountain...?

Peaks and troughs

2009-10-07T04:05:00.000-07:00

To get from Deeside to the Angus glens, the horse traveller has a marvellous range of options, poularly known as the Mounth tracks: old drovers' (and smugglers') routes through the hills. This is familiar territory to us, but none the less lovely for that. On the whole the tracks are straightforward and well-marked: awkward in parts, there are fewer bog issues than in the wetter west.

Note that's 'fewer' and not 'none' - this can still be testing terrain, and people have died up here especially in the winter months - it is still an area which requires respect. Fabulous riding, but check out your route first! Some of the tracks are steep or very stoney in parts, and burn crossings can be impossible in wet weather.

No concerns about the weather today - glorious early autumn at its very best - in fact, quite warm. Having decided to head south via Glen Tanar we headed out of Aboyne across the bridge at Birsemore, and along the reasonably quiet B976 to the Bridge o' Ess.

One of the great advantages of riding slowly through the countryside is you see some remarkable things which you could easily miss in a car. Dawdling along in the sunshine, we passed these charming troughs:

The inscriptions read: "HONEST WATER: NEVER LEFT MAN IN THE MIRE" and "Drink weary traveller in the land, And on the journey fare, As sent by God's all-giving hand, And stored by human care."

At the dramatic Bridge o' Ess we turned south into Glen Tanar. This is a stunningly beautiful and well-maintained estate with a great network of tracks for riding. As there's a trekking centre on the estate, it's polite to let them know you're coming if you want to explore, just so's you don't end up in the middle of a group of novice riders...

Although we had decided to head for Glen Esk, there were still options.

Given the glorious weather, I decided to go home over Mount Keen - Scotland's most easterly Munro at 3081 feet - it's name means 'Gentle hill'.

(The ponies instantly renamed it Mount NotveryKeen - which doesn't.)

Oh for heaven's sake, boys, people cycle over it! - well, push their bikes, anyway.

Undoubtedly Doogs and Yeoman were starting to get tired - a couple of days' rest had put them in the mood for more. Rest, that, is.

No hurry now, though - let's take it steady and enjoy every last moment. And that's what we did - ambled through the delicious Glen Tanar forest with plenty of stops:

Once we exited the forest though, Doogs showed every sign of knowing exactly where he was and really decided to get a tramp on. The white dot in the distance is him - marching for home!

Our slow progress earlier though meant that it was not a good idea to tackle Mount Keen today. By this stage in the year, it is starting to get dark earlier, and the last thing I wanted was to be navigating over even the 'gentle hill' in the dark.

So, time to find somewhere to camp. This is where my lightweight corral has been invaluable on this trip. It has meant that we are free to travel at our own pace and spared having to hurry on in the dark - something I dislike doing, even though I know that the boys have far better night vision than I do.

Looking at the map, I could see a couple of old homesteads marked just up ahead. In the hills they are often abandoned, but years of use means that there is usually some decent grazing and sometimes shelter from trees or old buildings. Rather better pickings than the moor around us anyway!

We arrived at the house at Etnach: it wasn't abandoned, in fact it looked as if it had had some work on it recently, perhaps as a holiday house. No-one about, but lashings of good grazing round the back on the hill. I was just about to set up camp when the stalker arrived.

'Would it be possible for us to camp here overnight?'

'No problem,' said the lovely man, 'but you'd be more comfortable in the bothy' - which he then proceeded to unlock for me, explaining that it always used to be open but they had had a lot of problems with vandalism, so sadly, they have had to lock it.

This was so typical of the kindness which we have experienced on our journey, and a chat soon established that we knew plenty of people in common. A very comfortable night, marred only by the ponies' attempts to come inside too.

Thought we were supposed to be a team? Anyway, we've just spotted that bloomin' mountain....

Belwade farm

2009-10-06T00:03:00.000-07:00

Those who have followed this adventure will know that whatever happens, we have never been stuck. Excuse ME? I have - Doogs.

Ah, well, yes - but apart from that little incident, whenever we have needed help, it has arrived. Standing looking at the locked gate (complete with threatening sign), the phone rang. It was Eileen, centre manager at World Horse Welfare, wondering where we were.

When I explained we were jammed between a rock and a hard place (or a locked gate and the ultra-busy A93), she jumped in the car with a couple of staff and came to meet me, shepherding us along the main road and through the back street of Aboyne until we were in the woods backing on to the centre, where we followed tracks to Belwade Farm, arriving just as it was getting dark.

With a little help from our friends (again) we'd made it - and in time for some media coverage the next day. I am very grateful to Caroline, the head groom from Belwade, for taking some excellent photos of us. As I look through my own collection of pictures from the trip, it does look rather as if the ponies did the entire thing on their own, as naturally I'm not in any of them! (Probably would have got on better - Doogs)

We posed for the press:

and met some of the inhabitants of Belwade. This is Spud, who is being prepared for rehoming. This is one ot the features of Belwade (and indeed, World Horse Welfare generally) which makes me such a great supporter - that the horses in their care need to find a job in life. Naturally, not all will be eventually be suitable for riding - although many are, and go on to find secure and loving loan homes, where they are inspected regularly by a team of Field Officers. I have met several loan horses in the last thousand miles - all thriving in their new homes.

Foals and youngstock which come in are handled and eventually broken to ride - they too, go on to lead useful lives. There are some very high quality horses and ponies there, looking for good homes. Sad that, through no fault of their own, they have ended up at Belwade - but they are the lucky ones.

The premises are very impressive. Naturally they have good buildings and well-managed grazing, as you would expect - but the thing that struck me most was how very settled and happy the inhabitants are. I might have guessed that horses which had been through sometimes traumatic experiences would have been far less settled, but it is a testament to their management by the staff.

I saw some of the 30-odd animals which had come in recently in a shocking welfare case which you may have read about in the papers and which are doing well. Belwade is well worth a visit if you are in the area: they are open to the public on Wednesdays, weekends and bank holidays 2- 4 pm or by appointment. Admission is free and there's lots to see!

Belwade is such a relaxed and healing environment that we stayed an extra day (they were quite lucky that it didn't turn into a week...) Could it be that I was putting off going home? Not exactly - part of me was longing to get home - but another part just wants to keep riding on and on. Our excellent adventure was coming to an end. However, as we clopped sadly out of beautiful Belwade we were not to know that the highest of highs was yet to come...

Things My Mother Taught Me

2009-09-30T13:46:00.000-07:00

A few years ago, I cared for my mother and my aunt at home, both of whom had Alzheimer's. For anyone who has been in this situation, well YOU KNOW. If you haven't, it is one of the hardest things I've ever done (as well as one of the most worthwhile).

Indirectly, they are responsible for me doing this trip, at least partially. During those years, there was little time for horses, and I watched them growing fat and sleek in the field. Each day I would hang out the washing from incontinent old ladies. From my washing line, I can see the foothills of the Grampian mountains, and I vowed that one day I would again ride those hills, (and every other one I could find). So here we are.

I have thought about the 'grannies' frequently on this journey. They would, I think, have been quietly proud, although in best east coast farming tradition wouldn't have said so of course! Although neither of them were particularly 'horsey', they were of the generation which knew about keeping going even when things got difficult, about appreciating the small things in life, and about doing what you said you were going to do - all lessons which have come in useful over the last while...

Now we had to get to Aboyne, and the World Horse Welfare Centre at Belwade. Those who have patiently stuck with this blog - an amazing number of you - will guess that following the road would be a bit tame - how much more interesting to cross the Hill of Coull, don't you think?

And it was interesting: delightful woodland tracks with expansive views over the howe (pictured) - helped of course by stunning weather. Leaving the forest, we picked up a track through waist-high bracken which I thought would lead us in the right direction to Belwade.

Sneaky track - although it started out in the right direction, it soon began to curve round too far west - at this rate we would land plump in the middle of Aboyne - not what we wanted. However, we might as well follow it and see where it came out.

After dismantling a gate (we 'mantled' it back together again of course), picking our way through the bracken, along the side of a golf course and round the loch, we found ourselves in a compound - our progress blocked by a locked gate. Yeoman's expression clearly expresses just what he thinks of my navigation.

Water ski-ing? She's even madder than we thought...

Ha, but the crack team were not to be defeated - not having come all this way! The country club lawn next door offered an escape route (sorry, we did tiptoe) and we were on our way to Belwade - now only a couple of miles away.

Spirits high, we scooted on, only to meet - another locked gate blocking the track. Would we make Belwade in time (or indeed, ever?)

The Beginning of the End

2009-09-28T05:46:00.000-07:00

In defence of the gloomy Cabrach, at least it was a lovely day. So when we saw a tempting hill track over Clayhooter Hill - well, just worth a little look! And it WAS lovely - with expansive views over the Correen hills. Yet another area to explore further at a later date!

Oh, great. - Doogs.

Mind you, it was a little rough in parts (probably due to the unseasonable rainfall we have all been

'enjoying').

Still fairly easy going, though. There's always the slight fear when you're stravaiging that you're going to come across a locked gate or some other insurmountable obstacle, or get shouted or shot at - but it doesn't happen very often. The track eventually came out at a rather smart house - Clova - so we tiptoed down the front drive, trying not to leave prints or droppings anywhere. Well, you might have been trying - Doogs.

We knew we were starting to get closer to 'oor ain country' as, for the first time on the trip, we saw fields of barley - and as they were being combined we could smell that oh so familiar scent. Such mixed feelings about getting close to our journey's end - especially as the weather was now absolutely gorgeous. We meandered down a quiet back road, fetching up for the night at the charmingly-named Honeybarrel Farm, where Kenny kindly allowed the boys and me to have a corner of a silage field.

As night fell, I lay in my sleeping bag and watched the ponies. Each night, after they'd finished eating, they would come and stand as close to my tent as possible. To me, it showed what a close team we had become during our adventure together.

Actually, we were just wondering if you had any more of that muesli stuff.

Abrada - cabrach!

2009-09-28T04:34:00.000-07:00

From Dufftown, I decided to follow the Cabrach hill road, with an intended diversion down Glen Fiddich. We had left ourselves quite a lot to do in order to get to the World Horse Welfare Centre at Aboyne in time for media stuff which had been organised: in addition GMTV were wanting to film us on the move and needed to be able to find us hopefully!

Although a tarmac road (not our favourite), the Cabrach is very quiet - we only saw about half a dozen vehicles. There are some charming haughs beside the Fiddich but the rest of it is pretty bleak: partly because of the windswept location, but also due to the number of derelict small farms and houses. In fact, much of it smelled of quiet abandonment. I met a PhD student from Aberdeen conducting a heather study: 'Where are all the people?" he asked.

Certainly there were a few keepers driving about, but not many other signs of life. In my imagination there seemed a sadness over the area somehow, too many years of trying to make a living on this unforgiving ground. A historical record which I looked at suggested a good year was when only the bottom half of the barley ears got destroyed by frost...

There is however, rather surprisingly, a pub! Adherents of the Kate Godfrey School of Wilderness Trekking will have learned by now not to ever pass a pub (or toilet), so we duly stopped for refreshment at The Grouse Inn. The boys were given carrots (but I really wanted a pint of bitter - Doogs).

Suitably fortified, we had got a bit bored of the road and started to look for other options. Luckily we stayed on the tarmac long enough to see these extraordinary signs:

Slightly sinister and added to my uncomfortable feeling, especially the Bank Farm one. I did try to find out a little more about them, and who had put them up - the general concensus was that it was during the fifties, by a fervent religious farmer - but if anyone knows any more, I would be very interested... the houses now appear abandoned.

2009-09-24T01:07:00.000-07:00

Our media frenzy meant it was lunchtime before we set out from Archiestown. First challenge was to recross the Spey (preferably avoiding the busy A95.) We wiggled down through the woods to cross via the old 'Telford' Bridge opposite Craigellachie (pictured) , attracting cheery waves from fishermen in the Spey. I thought they were cheery waves anyway - Yeoman thought they were waving lunge whips so we clattered across it in fine style!

You can then go along a narrow walkway beside the Spey (eek) under the road bridge (very noisy!) and sneak across the playpark in Craigellachie, which brings you out onto the Speyside Way. Phew, made it. But what's this? A warning notice from Moray Council, stating that due to landslides the path is now suitable 'for walkers only' (underlined and in capitals). Oops.

No immediately apparent alternatives, so we - I - decided to give it a go anyway. My enjoyment of the pretty path was slightly overshadowed by worrying about the landslide bit (which naturally enough was at the Dufftown end, a couple of miles further down. Old railways can sometimes be very difficult to get off (they were naturally not designed with crossing places) and I could see from the map that this section was steep on both sides. The worst that could happen was that we would have to retrace our steps but infinitely preferably not to have to!

A chat with a passing cyclist about the fearsome obstacle (well he wasn't walking, was he - Doogs) allayed my anxieties slightly. What he actually said was, 'if you've ridden nearly a thousand miles you'll know exactly what to do.' Thanks, mate. Visions of belaying Doogs over the edge on a leadrope?

Eventually we came to further warning signs. Somewhat unbelievably (but much to my relief) the track doesn't really get much narrower than what you can see in the photo. Admittedly, you wouldn't want to fall over the edge (wasn't planning on it - Doogs), but it does seem extreme health and safety paranoia on behalf of the Council. I suppose they are frightened of getting sued, but really!

We followed the Speyside Way which ends - on a railway platform in Dufftown. A surprise for Yeoman - and the railway guys - who kindly gave us directions for getting safely through Dufftown. This must be one of the few areas where every direction given pertains to a distillery "you'll pass a distillery on your left -when you get to the next distillery, turn right..." Yup, we can do that!

More Speyside Way

2009-09-21T23:54:00.000-07:00

When I was planning this trip, in my imagination I saw a succession of sunny days (with a light breeze to keep the insects away, naturally). As we all now know, that was not the reality. Just why did I feel it necessary to lug sun protection round Scotland?

However, notwithstanding the appalling weather of the previous days, suddenly the sun had come out and it was just as I had imagined it. Still a lot of water about though, so we took the decision to cross the Spey by a tried and tested method. This meant a few miles along a quiet and rather lovely B road before rejoining the Speyside Way (again an old railway here) at Delnapot. The countryside here is lovely beside the Spey - the only detraction being the extreme proliferation of 'Strictly Private' and 'Keep Out' signs along this stretch - are they totally necessary, one wonders, particularly at what are clearly the entrance to private houses?

Riding along old railways can be a mixed bag: long and straight (of course), they can sometimes be rather dull, especially if you go through many cuttings with no view. Sometimes the going underfoot can be flinty too. This is a good section though, with nice footing, and excellent views of the Spey. Just one minor obstacle - this suspension bridge (too narrow for Doogs with his packs on) which, though well-constructed and perfectly safe, it doesn't half get a fair wiggle on when you're half way across! I landed lucky with a passing walker, who, having seen me unload, picked up ALL Doogs' packs (not quite in one hand, but you get the idea) and manhandled them across the bridge for us. Show off - and where was he when I was labouring over those mountain passes, eh? - Doogs.

The other lovely thing about this stretch is passing all the distilleries - the boys simply loved these! I assume it was the smell of the malting barley and not the thought of a large dram. Doogs insisted on posing next to this one at Knockando.

We left the Way, somewhat reluctantly at Carron, to locate friends of friends who lived nearby - somewhere! I got directions in the village from a woman - we were somewhat humphed to find there was about another four miles to go following her complicated directions - not what you want to hear at the end of a longish day.

How wonderful then, to find, on asking again, that my first informant was clearly some sort of escaped lunatic, and our destination was in fact only a mile or so - oh joy! That mile was one of the quickest we've ever done, notwithstanding that we were tired and it was all uphill, as passing a stud of ADHD galloping Shetlands didn't half get the boys fired up.

The Scotts at Archiestown were kindness itself and made us so welcome. The boys were given extra time in a hayfield too, while I did a couple of interviews with the BBC and Horse and Hound. We were all mightily reluctant to leave...by this stage of the journey, packing up routines were beginning to slow down altogether. Today though, we were to turn our last 'corner' and start heading south - towards home.

You ARE Joking!!!

2009-09-18T00:59:00.000-07:00

A couple of reasons why we continued to head east, rather than explore Moray which had been the original intention....the photos do not capture the roaring noise of all that water after freak rainfall. Normally I love extremes of weather, but this was getting to be far from funny. Bill suggests we're now paying for all those cheap aeroplane flights, packaging and driving cars about - maybe so. But I walk everywhere - Doogs.

No, we didn't attempt to cross these: the ponies will cope with deep water - they are good swimmers - but the force of the current here made it far too dangerous, in my opinion. (And mine.)

Good Gates, Bad Gates (and Oh Bloody Hell Gates)

2009-09-17T08:34:00.000-07:00

I'm really very sorry about many things in life. One I'm particularly sorry about is not keeping a tally of the number of gates we opened (or in some cases dismantled completely) on the trip - I'm sure we're into the thousands! Some regions seemed to have a gate a minute.

Here are some examples: the well-hung, self closing variety which is easy to open on horseback. Unfortunately I usually have to get off for them too, not because the ponies aren't good at gates - they are - but sadly the self-closing mechanism doesn't take account of a packhorse and tends to quickly swing shut on Doogs' nose. And not just my nose, says Doogs in a high-pitched way.

Generally they are just wide enough to get a (careful) loaded packhorse through. Those utterly stupid 'chain gates' (pictured) are not - in fact it is pretty dangerous to try to get an untacked horse through. The centre posts are fixed at the bottom while the top swings apart: they need to be tied open at the top, in which case you can just get a slim horse or pony through, but a pretty good way to have an accident, I'd say! A really dopey design, common on parts of the Speyside Way, which I hope is no longer being put in. Quite apart from horses, even getting a large dog or rucksack through would be a pain.

The third option is a gate (or preferably several old ones lashed together with barbed wire) that hasn't been opened since the dawn of time and which appears to have grown organically from the earth - at least it seems that way when you try to move it. This is the time when I am so grateful to have ponies with built-in parking brakes (aka teeth) who will happily wait while I wrestle with the wretched thing.

There is a fourth option - the locked gate - which riders dread. I met surprisingly few of these ( although lots of 'locked' gates which if you search around, you can find a key, usually on a nail on a nearby post, or you may find that the chain has an open link at the back, the lock being for show). Sometimes you can find a way around, by going across a field or two. I know the locked gates are not there to stop me (well, rarely) - more to stop trail bikes, or 4x4s loaded with poachers, but a nuisance all the same. I only came across two VERY locked gates, both on publicly-funded tracks and both of which had been locked by - horse owners. "We don't like horses going past, as it upsets our own animals in the field," was the excuse on both occasions. I expect it does, if they never get the chance to get used to it!

Crossing the Haughs of Cromdale was a bit of a gate-a-thon. The Haughs of Cromdale (scene of a battle in 1690 which marked the effective end of the Jacobite uprising) meant a detour off the Speyside Way for us, due to a severe rash of 'bad' gates. The Way also runs between two sets of barbed wire here, in places about 4' apart. Yuk, no thanks. I can appreciate the sense in keeping walkers to a clearly marked track across farmland, to help people find the track or stop them disturbing stock but barbed wire? Welcome to the countryside (or Auschwitz).

So we had to take to the hills - shouldn't be a problem, but I had a rendezvous with Robin Pape, friend and farrier. Luckily (for once) there was mobile reception, so I was able to contact him to say that, although I was nominally only half an hour or so away, I had had to divert up hills, through pastures, through burns and round woods - and still couldn't see a clear way down to him. Eventually I had to retreat and follow a track down to where I had been a couple of hours earlier, bugger it. (The main difficulty was avoiding the very busy A95 nearby - and of course, all that barbed wire.)

Anyway, finally we met up at the new rendezvous: Robin came waving wine and lots of carby goodies - yum. After a good yarning (no surprise to those who know and love Robin) he prepared to leave. 'Where will you stay tonight then?'

'Oh I'll get somewhere to camp'.

'What about asking at that house there?'

'That house there' would not have been my first choice. I flatter myself that after years of camping I can pick likely-looking houses to approach, and this just didn't tick the boxes: electric gates, a lovely garden with specimen shrubs, and in the conservatory, I could just see some folks gathered for what looked like drinks and nibbles. Still, not many to choose from in this neck of the woods, so perhaps worth a try. We couldn't go up the drive (electric gates don't seem to recognise horses) so I stood on the road and waved at them until the guests came piling out.

'Blah blah blah Kate Godfrey..blah blah thousand mile ride...blah blah looking for grazing overnight.

'Oh no problem - why don't you tether them on the lawn overnight?' said the charming hostess, Carol. (Shows you can't judge by appearances).

'Er, thank you' (glancing the immaculate grounds and having an instant mental picture of how Somme-like it would look after two 600kg horses had been on it overnight). 'I'm not sure that's totally suitable - I would hate you to remember us for ever for all the wrong reasons...perhaps you know the farmer who has the fields opposite?'

'That's James. I will go and ring him up at once.'

And so, thanks to Carol's intervention, the distant James provided us with a barn (with water and light!) which was fenced all around, with plenty for the boys to munch on. Luxury, after tenting it in the rain.

But...the evening wasn't over - just as I was settling in for the night, there was a knock at the door (!) The delightful David and Jackie, guests at the drinks party, were heading home, and 'couldn't bear to think of me all alone there with the rats'. So, at their insistence, a bed and breakfast at their house, and a chance to admire their handsome pointers (David flies falcons over them for grouse.)

What lovely people ... and it just goes to show - yet again - how little I know (about anything, really...) They absolutely didn't have to do that, yet this was the kind of hospitality I met over and over. I suspect that what helped me was a) the horses (people being more likely to approach you than if I was, say, on a bicycle) and b) travelling alone.

For whatever reason, I'm grateful.

In Praise of Velcro

2009-09-15T00:27:00.001-07:00

Most distance riders I know like Velcro: easily adjusted, easy to do up with numb fingers (!), generally holds firm but in a real emergency will give way (you hope).

I, too, am a fan - indeed have lots of it on my kit and person: pannier closures, saddlebag straps, hi viz waistcoat, glove fastenings, saddle pad fasteners etc etc. It's good stuff.

The only down side to this miracle material is that it's not in the least choosy as to what other piece of Velcro it will mate with. So, if you're not careful, within moments you can find yourself trussed up in bondage like a Christmas turkey, attached to all sorts of things in the manner of that Twister game so popular in the seventies. Still, it's a step up from baler twine.

Leaving Grantown to ride east along the Speyside way through the forest is very pretty. For us it was marred only by our eyes being assaulted by an impossibly bright light from the sky - what could it be? Aliens landing? No- for the first time in over a month, the sun had come out!!

We were heading east to catch up with Mark Stephen from Radio Scotland's 'Out of Doors' for an interview ( on iplayer for the next few days, if anyone's interested). First up though, a more important rendezvous...

We Get Company

2009-09-10T23:04:00.000-07:00

After a couple of days' rest to be on the safe side for Doogs, we were ready to move on. Well, sort of- with absolutely no let up in the weather, it was getting harder to feel enthusiastic. My intended route east was blocked by rivers in spate with little likelihood of them going down enough to cross safely any time soon.

Enter my friend Vyv, an indomitable Long Rider who doesn't consider a little drop of rain (or even a month's rainfall in one day which we were to experience) to be any kind of barrier to having a great time.

Together with Vyv and her Fell pony Micky, we rode together into Speyside and through Rothiemurchus and Abernethy estates and on to Grantown on Spey. And we DID have a great time, just the boost the boys and I were needing!

Despite the weather (rivers bursting banks all over Moray and Speyside) this is a fantastic area to ride in. An excellent network of tracks through attractive forestry (much of it Scots pine, so much lovelier than Sitka), hill tracks and the disused railway track of the Speyside Way, we rode through together as far as Grantown. We can vouch for the excellent drying room at Glenmore Lodge!

Vyv isn't ultra-keen on camping (& certainly not in the rain) so we had a few nights' b & b in various (excellent) establishments. Hmmm, could get used to that...

This is a fine area for riding, with good grazing possibilities for horses (though I'm not sure the boys fully appreciated being put up next to the slaughterhouse in Grantown.) I DARED Vyv to ask directions to the slaughterhouse from the first passerby we met as we rode into town, just to enjoy the stunned reaction.

High point (in more ways than one) had to be the Ryvoan Pass (pictured) but the whole area is delightful. I especially enjoyed meeting a couple on Nethy Bridge whom I'd first met when I was riding through the Bowmont Valley in the Cheviots a couple of months ago - they couldn't believe I was still plodding (or should that be wading) on.

It's certainly somewhere I intend to come back to explore some more. At this rate, I'm going to need more than one measly lifetime (and so are Doogs and Yeoman).

Vyv came along at precisely the right time - although I do enjoy riding alone, it's also great to have company sometimes. And as Granny always said, an ounce of help is worth a cartload of sympathy- and Vyv is nothing if not experienced and practical, (as well as entertaining).

After parting company, the boys and I headed east along the Speyside Way. I HAD intended riding northwards and along the Moray coast, but the flood devestation experienced in that area over the last day or two suggested that might be heading for trouble.

So instead, a reroute and we were off to the land of distilleries, excellent!!

A Good Scare (2)

2009-09-09T00:41:00.001-07:00

Apologies for long radio silence on blog: contrary to popular opinion, we haven't all been washed out to sea by recent floods OR given up and gone home!

However, as will hopefully become clear, we HAVE had some adventures...

Now where was I? Ah yes, crossing the Black Mount estate...

The stalker's track on this side is not quite as fine as the one in Glenkinglas: bit of a Friday afternoon job in places actually. However, it's serviceable, and infinitely preferable to the surrounding bog.

When I'm riding on tracks I don't generally lead Doogs: he just follows on behind loose. As usual, he was just moseying along behind us, having the occasional munch.

We came to a somewhat dodgy looking bridge. While Yeoman and I were hesitating, looking for a better place to ford downstream, Fatty-I-Know-Best-Doogs barged past us and over the bridge. Well, half over, before it collapsed under his weight with a sickening crash. Good way for a pony to break a leg, and to make matters worse he was now firmly jammed.

I knew the nearest help was at Clashgour, four miles (and three large fords) away. The only tool I had was for removing horses' shoes, plus I found an old fencepost to use as a lever. It took me almost two hours to free him: luckily he stood like an angel. DIDN'T HAVE MUCH CHOICE, DID I? I WAS STUCK! DOOGS

Unbelievably, he didn't have a broken leg- indeed, barely a scratch.

Once I'd got him out (and he was grazing , two hours without food being a bit traumatic for old Doogs), I turned my attention to what was left of the bridge. Oops, it did look somewhat- er - wrecked. I thought at least I might tidy up the sleepers, ready for repair. When I tried to move them I couldn't even lift them: it must have been adrenalin which gave me the ability to get them off Doogs, like mothers who can lift cars off children.

We made our way down to Clashgour: the rivers were high to wade but in retrospect I think all that cold bathing would have been good for Doogs, minimizing swelling. OH YEAH? DOOGS.

With some trepidation I knocked at the door of the keeper's house, to admit and apologise for our wanton destruction of estate property.

The door opened. 'Bloody Hell, it's Kate!' came a voice- which turned out to belong to Calum, who'd had stalking ponies from us years ago, when he worked in Wester Ross.

A small world, and one in which errant vandalism was rewarded by supper and a bed for the night, as well as excellent grazing for the boys. Calum also said that, once he'd repaired it, he would put up a sign: 'Doogs' Bridge'- perhaps it will end up on a future edition of the OS map, along with other local landmarks like Victoria Bridge and Bridge of Orchy!

Now that WOULD be a fitting tribute to a brave (and very lucky) pony.

A Good Scare is Worth a Fistful of Advice (1)

2009-08-30T08:10:00.001-07:00

Bill told me this once, and I believe this saying comes from the world of National Hunt racing, where you have to learn quickly to survive!

I am always open to advice (I hope). NOT FROM ME, YOU'RE NOT - DOOGS. Stalkers are invaluable for this: not only do they know their ground intimately, they are up to date with the latest weather and river conditions.

I do have to factor in that they are usually braver, tougher and-alas- often younger than me; so "you'll get through there no bother" may not mean exactly what it says!

The other difficulty is that all too often potential problems come well into the day, so you've already covered 20 miles or so before you discover that the river is, in fact, impassable. This is one of the reasons I like a packhorse, so if the need arises I can camp and hope water levels drop significantly overnight, as they will often do (provided it's stopped raining, of course.)

Having spoken to the stalker at Glen Kinglass, then, and been told that one of the rivers was 'very difficult' at the moment, and having heard the weather forecast predicting the tail end of Hurricane Whatever, is was with some mild trepidation that I set out eastwards from Taynuilt.

I took the decision to go anyway, because the difficult river was close to Glenkinglass Lodge: if it really proved to be impassable, I thought I could probably get permission to camp near the lodge, where there would possibly be a bite of grazing for the boys. Even with a corral, grazing can be sparse in this area, with areas close to the track offering only soggy impenetrable bog.

However, one hurdle at a time. First up was negotiating a couple of miles of the A85 to access Inverawe and Glenkinglass beyond. The amount of water coming down the Awe made fording it an impossibility, so we had to find a bridge, meaning sharing a main road with timber lorries, buses, White van men and motorcycles - never a good start to the day!

However, no problems today with a vehicle escort from Frank and Helen, and we trotted down to the junction and crossed the Awe.

The track then wound on through woodland as far as Glen Noe, where it takes to the shore of Glen Etive, in places clinging to the hillside high above. This is very beautiful, with dramatic views up moody Loch Etive. I had considered riding all the way up the loch: on particular I was keen to see the remains of an old church ( no houses around) which I had been told used to be for the spiritual benefit of the itinerant woodcutters and charcoal burners who used to work on the shores. Well, I like stuff like that.

However, yesterday's advice was that Glen Kinglass would be more sheltered and straightforward, than riding up Etive, given the predicted weather.

So we 'hung a right' at Ardmaddy Bay to follow the river Kinglass. The foot of the glen is very sheltered and beautiful, with mixed woodland above a woodland floor of glorious moss, lichens and ferns.

Today the Kinglass was roaring - hard to believe I have forded it, almost dry shod, on a previous ride! Not today, you wouldn't.. From the bay at Ardmaddy to the lodge is about 8 miles, all on a good landrover track. We wandered up, not seeing a soul today, although I expect we were spotted by others: climbers on the ridges (this is a popular 'Munro' area) or stalkers out looking for stags.

From the point of view of estates, we cause little disruption by sticking to tracks and established paths: this doesn't interfere with stalking- and in any case, where possible, I speak to them first...although we were to cause some disruption later on in the day - but I'm getting ahead of myself...

After the lodge, the landrover track ends, to be replaced with a beautifully-constructed stalker's path, partly using natural rock outcrops and partly careful cobbling with river stones.

We went up as far as 'tricky river' to have a look. Mentally I had been prepared to be stopped here, but as it turned out, it was fine: plenty of water, yes, but as an established ford we didn't have to scramble about among boulders, which can be hard on the ponies. So, onward...

You used to have to ford the Kinglass a mile or two further on, but there is now a solid bridge, luckily! Unfortunately it now crosses into boggy ground which the boys had to carefully negotiate before we picked up the path again to Loch Dochard. This area wins the prize for the midgiest place in Scotland, definitely! (NOT THAT YOU'RE ONE TO COMPLAIN OR ANYTHING: DOOGS) a flat area of boggy ground beside a river, coupled with still, claggy conditions and low cloud- yecch. Normally keeping moving is enough to deter them, but not here, not today!

Anyway, we weren't disposed to linger: the boys had done really well today and it was only another few short miles to the safety of Clashgour. What could possibly go wrong?

Loch Awe

2009-08-28T12:09:00.000-07:00

We rode on from Bill and Alfie's up the side of Loch Awe, mainly following forest tracks along the shore. The level of the loch was very high: halfway up the alder trees which fringe it.

There is a feeling now of autumn creeping on: the bracken is starting to turn gold; the rowan berries are ripening; lots of brambles now (yum) - it seems like only a few days since we were munching on wild strawberries!

On telephone wires the swallows gathered briefly and were gone, showing no inclination to linger longer and who could blame them?

More wood ant nests along Loch Awe: I do hope for their sake the water levels don't get any higher, although water can be discharged from the barrages into the river if necessary.

Taynuilt is where we were now headed, through Glen Nant. There is a hill track via Loch Nant but by now the weather was atrocious: pouring rain and high winds so we stuck to the relative shelter of the woods.

I wanted to get in touch with my hosts Frank and Helen in Taynuilt to let them know about the hill track (they were planning to unlock a gate for me).

My mobile didn't work ( as an aside to anyone travelling in the west who is, like me, on 02 which is rubbish over here) - get yourself a cheap mobile on Vodaphone or Orange. I wished I'd had one as the service is much better. Yes, yes, I know all about 'never rely on a mobile phone.'

Instead you can rely on phone boxes (marked on OS maps). Hahaha. The one marked at Inverinan could only be accessed by crossing a deep ditch and scrambling up a bank. I tied the ponies to the village notice board while I discovered a) the box didn't take coins; b) it refused to read my credit card; c) it wanted to charge £3.90 for a reverse charge call to Taynuilt, about 12 miles away. C'mon BT, not exactly a service to be proud of, is it?

As I was encouraging the boys back down the steep bank and over the ditch (Badminton, here we come) a kind soul came past and offered me the use of her mother's phone across the road - problem solved. She even held the ponies for me.

We followed the River Nant down to Taynuilt, riding beside the boiling torrents all the way. Luckily we didn't have to cross it, but admired the swirling powerful waterfalls from a safe distance. A bit of a surprise to come across - a ballet school! Ballet West is a thriving dance training centre supported by Billy Connolly, I was told, although picturing him in a tutu made Doogs feel quite ill.

Then a pants-peeing dart across the main road (yikes) and the relative safety of a minor road to the village of Brochroy. Our timing was slightly out, ducking under the railway bridge just as a train was going over it: the sudden acceleration of the ponies down the road at least meant we didn't suffer from plodding lastmileitis, about which I have written before. Doogs and Yeoman were turned out in a silage field (mown!!) courtesy of the local farmer, while the next day ('rest' day) was spent trying to separate - and dry out - mouldy soaking items in my packs. I've never excelled at housekeeping and pack-keeping seems to be the same. I'm with American comedienne Joan Rivers: "Housework? Doncha just hate it? Make the beds , do the dishes, and six months later you've just gotta start over..."

2009-08-28T09:10:00.000-07:00

'Then catch the moments as they fly
And use them as you ought, man
Believe me, happiness is shy
And comes not aye when sought, man.'

Robert Burns

I am a keen reader, and it was a challenge to select just one book, Desert Island Discs style, to carry round with me.

Eventually I settled on the rather appropriately-named 'Wherever You Go, There You Are' by Jon Rabat-Zinn.

It's a thoughful little book about mindfulness and meditation, which stresses the value of living 'now', rather than projecting forward into the future or wallowing about in the past, which (like most people) I am rather prone to do.

It also has nice short chapters (!), perfect for tent-reading by torchlight.

The reason I mention this is one of the recent reporters who caught up with us said, 'your trip sounds quite contemplative'. And yes, it is: mile after mile on tracks with nothing much to do EXCEPT contemplate. Sometimes I practice my navigation: at the moment I am practising
contours, visualizing what a hill or other feature depicted on the map will look like when I get there and seeing if I'm right. But often I have the luxury of just 'being'.

I know I'm fortunate in currently not having the daily clamours of most people: late for work, get the kids' tea, find time for Tescos, renew the car insurance, blah de blah...

Idyllic really, as long as you don't confuse ' idyllic' with 'easy'. What I notice is a changed attitude to time. I don't wear a watch; I rarely feel hurried; and increasingly I DO 'catch the moments as they fly.'

Many things I notice: the subtle changes as the year wears on; the dart of an electric-blue dragonfly across our path; which direction the wind is coming from; a nest of wood ants beside the track (did you know the queens remove their wings after a brief mating whirl? Like a
pretty bride removing her party dress and putting on an apron and rubber gloves, I always think); the huge array of fungi which are starting to appear...

Well, you get the idea- nothing earth-shattering or uncommon and yet very satisfactory. We're pretty content, most of the time, and each day has its own quiet rhythm. Occasionally I catch a snippet of news on a tv somewhere - it all seems to come from a fairly far-off and not very relevant place!

Of more interest is the sun setting over Dunadd near Kilmichael Glassary (pictured), the original crowning place of ancient Dalriadan kings. Or watching (from above) an efficient sheep-gather in
Kilmichael Glen. Or being invited into a kids' party in Kilchrenan Village Hall for a cup of tea, just when it wasn't possible to get any wetter. Or meeting the lovely Heather, aged about 13, who stood with us in the rain and told of her longing for a Highland pony...

Although I do try to be reasonably organised (don't like running out of coffee- or food!), I don't attempt to manage every detail...I often don't know where we will spend the night, and on the whole don't worry about that as it always seems to work out somehow.

Which was the case at Loch Awe, where, just about lousing time we got the offer of an excellent field from the quietly efficient and interesting Bill (and Alfie the cat). Yet better, I was also able to sleep in the porch of the house Bill is renovating, rather than pitching my tent. Lying snug and warm, listening to the rain battering off the roof and windows: is that not happiness?

Weather or Not...

2009-08-25T09:36:00.000-07:00

OK, I KNOW I wasn't going to mention the subject, but it's hard to avoid, as it affects just about everything we do.

The principal benefit of heavy rain is that it drowns the midges, so it's not all bad. Yesterday saw 58 mm (not that I'm becoming obsessed or anything) the last time that happened was January 11th!

The THOUGHT of getting going in the rain is generally worse than the reality (just). It's good for mental discipline: packing up a wet tent, getting rained on all day, and then unpeeling it, still sopping, is not the most fun I have ever had without laughing.

Occasionally a little voice fantasizes about going home: after all, we've been a VERY long way, it would be so nice to get home, it's not fair on the ponies, blah de blah...

And then - something happens, or I meet someone special, or see something extraordinary, and I'm reminded of why I'm doing this, and know that if I'd wimped out because of a 'wee droppie rain' I'd have missed that.

In all fairness, the ponies don't seem to particularly mind - they eat and sleep just the same. At least they're clean! So we squelch on, gently rotting. I do have a foot problem developing - I think it's trench foot, as experienced by soldiers in WW1 on the Somme with permanently wet feet.

There have had to be route changes, as I've mentioned already: rivers are dramatically swollen here on the west.

So it was by rainy chance that I ended up at Brenfield, home of Argyll Trail Riding. A great place, full of enthusiastic trail riders (staff and clients) and excellent riding all around.

A big box for the boys with yummy haylage, and a bed in the bunkhouse for me, sharing with competitors taking part in the National Championships of Le Trec, which happened to be on. Sounds like a great sport - I'm definitely keen to have a go! (WELL I'M NOT - Doogs).

From the welcome haven of Brenfield we rode on a track over the hill to Ardrishaig, where we rode along the Crinan Canal. Well, the towpath anyway.

This was a new experience for us - and simply gorgeous. The boys enjoyed it too (NO BLOODY HILLS FOR ONCE - Doogs) although uncharacteristically both whipped round and ran for it when a BOAT appeared! By the time we got to Cairnbaan though, they were both getting thoroughly nautical and demanding yellow wellies.

At Cairnbaan Locks a small problem: only a tiny gateway to squeeze through, far too narrow for the laden Doogs(& probably the unladen Doogs, too...)

There was a wider gateway though, with a cast iron gate padlocked to a stone gatepost. I asked the lock-keeper if he had a key? "erm, not sure", he said, fumbling with a giant keyring with about 50 keys on it.

None of them fitted (by this time the boys had dozed off.) The lock-keeper called over a mate, who repeated the procedure with HIS giant bunch of keys (by which time I had dozed off too.)

Just then, an ancient mariner came hobbling down the street. "Hey Hughie," shouts the lock-keeper, " do you know where there's a key for this gate?"

With a sigh, the old salt tottered over to the gate and lifted the chain OVER the stone gatepost, swinging it open wide. He hirpled off without a word while the rest of us just looked at one another... and burst out laughing, waking Doogs and Yeoman up. We were off again!

Knapdale Knotes

2009-08-23T11:35:00.000-07:00

Tarbert is overlooked by a Robert the Bruce ruined castle, (he didn't half get about round here) which gives fine views over the harbour and town. I hope it's not TOO cruel to say that Tarbert is possibly slightly better viewed from that sort of distance?

It has one of the highest rainfall averages in the UK (Missing it Already: DOOGS).

One result of this is a HUGE area of native 'rain forest' - an SSSI which boasts over 600 species of plants, animals and invertebrates.
Much in the way of moss, ferns and lichens, as you would expect, in thousands of acres of ancient woodland. Even in the rain it is stunningly lovely.

We stayed with the hospitable Duncans in Knapdale (the next 'lump' round from Kintyre). While the boys had a day's rest I was shown round part of the estate, including the deer farm.

The size and quality of the stags was impressive: well over 20 stone (in the wild they're more usually about 13.) After Ileene's cooking I was heading the same way - time to move on perhaps!

We rode on round the Knapdale peninsula: even the usual soaking couldn't detract from how utterly delightful this corner of Argyll is: lots more woodland, opening on to well-tended grassy farms - stock rearing mainly.

We holed up with David, the local animal welfare officer. He didn't impound Doogs and Yeoman- in fact he thought they were in great order! He told me of the problems faced by farmers this year: with silage rotting on the ground unbaled they are having to buy it in for the winter. Added to already high prices this year is the cost of delivery to this remote corner, which raises prices by about a third.

It's hard, although not entirely bad news with lamb trade fairly brisk right now. Here as elsewhere a problem is few young people coming forward to farm, most preferring a more lucrative career in computers or some such.

We didn't manage any hill riding in Knapdale: one look at the swollen rivers (see pic) showed the stupidity of THAT idea! So we just dottled round the (charming) coast road - very little traffic and gave us the chance to watch dozens of seals - much to Yeoman's utter astonishment who thought the rocks had come alive! Poor Yeoman!

I promise not to go on any more about the weather (that WILL make a nice change- Doogs) but with yet another thorough soaking today and an inch of rain forecast for tomorrow please note I am now signing myself - Kate Moss.

The Viking Isle - Kintyre

2009-08-21T04:28:00.000-07:00

The longest promontory in Britain, immortalized by Paul MacCartney, Kintyre (Gaelic: ceann tire - land's end) is only by geological chance not an island.

A1.5 km isthmus is all that joins it to the mainland: it was in fact claimed as an island by the Norwegian king Magnus Barelegs, by dint of an agreement allowing the Norseman to claim all parts of the Hebrides which could be navigated by boat.

Old Barelegs sat in his boat while his warriors hauled it over the narrow neck of land. As a consequence, many of Kintyre's place names are Norse in origin, including Claonaig where the ferry landed us (just).

There is a long distance path (the Kintyre Way) but due to the high blanket bog much of it is not suitable for horses (as several riders have discovered).

I rode from east to west via Loch Lussa, which despite the appalling weather conditions (surprise) is a lovely ride, taking in Saddell Glen.

Saddell is reputed to be the final resting place of heroic Somerled, who freed Kintyre from Norse domination on the twelfth century.

I rode across the 'spine' of Kintyre, passing close to its highest point (with ubiquitous windfarms). These are lovely forest tracks, well graded and not too steep although you climb quite high . I know this is for the benefit of the timber lorries, but we appreciate it too!

The going underfoot - which can be so variable on forest tracks depending on how recently they were constructed- is good, with a huge sandy strip down the middle for much of the way. On a good day I'm sure there would be some stunning views too!

We exited on the west side at Bellochantuy. Sadly not possible to ride along the beach, so we rode south along an A road which was pretty scarey...although the traffic wasn't too heavy, it was extremely fast.

A reporter from the Campeltown Courier caught up with me, pretty cross just after a 'nearie' with a tourist caravan so heaven knows what they'll print- lots of asterisks, I bet.

But we made it to the Lalargarve Highland pony stud - wonderful location to see the mares and foals high up with the sea as the backdrop. Some of the ponies are in their 30s, testament to Sue's care...although I suspect her goat kids Butch Casserole and the Sunday Lunch kid may not enjoy the same longevity somehow...

Doogs and Yeoman just look better and better - I on the other hand feel, look (and probably smell) more & more like Gollum from Lord of the Rings. Will it ever stop raining, one wonders? Sharp eyed readers will notice the photo was taken with me standing INSIDE this old barn
looking out - it's bloody wet out there!

Island Hopping

2009-08-20T10:57:00.000-07:00

As well as being reunited with Yeoman, who appeared to have thoroughly enjoyed a day or two off, we also met up with Bill and trailer, come to shift us on to Arran (Caledonian Macbrayne won't travel animals loose on the ferry).

The ponies were billeted with the hospitable Macqueens in Brodick, in a fine grass park with glorious views of Goat Fell.

For a treat, Bill and I had booked into a local B&B. We were slightly nonplussed by the reaction when we asked for directions from a local, who went slightly pale and gasped, "you're not staying there, are you?"

Well, (almost) anything has to be better than a tent in the rain, but we were in turn slightly surprised to be met in reception by a plump hen.

Mein host was only slightly less odd, in Highland dress and an is it/isn't it wig. It seemed we had stumbled into a parallel Arran universe, especially when he addressed us in a broad Yorkshire accent. I really thought I might be getting overtired...

However, the place was comfortable and clean, seemingly almost entirely dependent on the services of a rather overworked Australian ex-zookeeper who did everything .

We had a rest day on the island, visiting the rather excellent Heritage Museum, where I hoped to find out more about Donald McKelvie. As well as being the breeder of the 'Arran' strains of potatoes (Comet, Victory, Pilot, etc), he was also a renowned breeder of Highland ponies, and indeed exported stallions to Palestine to breed mules. (As an aside, I was told recently the British Army were using Highland ponies during the Bosnian war - can anyone verify that?)

The forecast was dismal for the next day - and so it proved to be, with the tippiest of tipping rain and high winds . Although the boys were well rested after some good Macqueen grazing, it was not a day for riding to Lochranza -on safety grounds. There are no through tracks on Arran, so I was restricted to sharing the road with cyclists, pedestrians, lorries and tour buses: bad enough on a fine day with good visibility.

As it was, trailering the ponies the dozen miles to Lochranza to catch the small ferry to Kintyre we were forced off the road onto a ditch by an aggressive tour bus - luckily only minor damage: a rear light housing (the trailer) and a fuse (Bill's).

Boy, but it can rain and it was a sodden party which drew up at the Lochranza ferry terminal to read the notice: Sailings Suspended Due To Weather Conditions. Oh no - stormbound on Arran!

Well, there are worse places to shelter than the Lochranza Hotel. The barman fielded my worries about grazing for the horses, should we have to wait until the next day. "Oh just park them up anywhere: the farms round here are all managed from the mainland and it takes at
least three days for the police to move tinks on anyway". That's all right then!

After a few hours the wind died down some and the ferry was going to try the crossing- no guarantee of being able to unload at the exposed Claonaig though. (I was to learn later that there hadbern a tragic accident at that slipway a couple of years back, when two elderly ladies died trying to disembark in stormy conditions - lucky I didn't know it at the time.)

The ponies didn't seem to particularly mind swaying about on deck but I was relieved when the short 30 minute crossing was over though.

We had arranged to put the ponies up next to the local games pitch overnight. We'd intended to camp, but given the weather conditions were offered the option of sleeping in the pavilion instead - yes please! The games haugh is sited next to a Forestry Commission car park. Through the lashing rain I was amused to read its name: 'Port na Storm'. I was very tempted to graffiti the word 'Any' at the beginning of that!

One Man Down...

2009-08-17T01:14:00.001-07:00

Unfortunately the heavy rain in the night resulted in a muddy field for the boys which in turn resulted in a lost shoe for Yeoman. His shoes were already holding on merely through force of habit - a farrier booked for a couple of days' time, but what to do now? Rather amazingly, there is a farrier who lives nearby in the forest (!) but attempts to contact her came to nought, so Yeoman was trailered back to Straiton by the amazing Colin and I rode Doogs instead.

Today's route took us through Galloway Forest Park. The overnight rain meant that the colours and scents were really intense as we rode through the forest, past Lochs Bradan and Riecawr to Loch Doon. Doogs was most intrigued by a charming kids'adventure playground on the shores of Loch Riecawr! We were following a route called, appropriately enough, Forest Drive - good footing for the ponies and lovely riding.

Loch Doon (or Loch Doom as the predictive text on my phone insisted) is very scenic, but suffers from two things: good road access and a proximity to some ex-mining areas, now with lots of social deprivation. These twin factors have resulted in a major littering problem, as the yoofs hold frequent lager parties down by the shore.

The problem is being addressed by the Dalmellington partnership created by local people and agencies, which has at least stopped the frequent burning-out of caravans etc. I was shocked by the amount of litter (abandoned tents and bedding, lager tins etc) but was told by the farmers that this is a 100% improvement on years gone by. What a pity, since it is a stunningly scenic area. Don't know quite what the answer is - education I suppose (or hanging). The 'banks and braes o' bonnie Doon' are rather challenged right now. Camping overnight, we could hear a party going on nearby (but we weren't invited).

We stopped to look at the 13th century Loch Doon Castle on the shore: (a ruin) - interesting architecturally as it is 11 sided; rubble built at the bottom, then dressed stone, then rubble. It was moved to its present position, stone by stone, from its original site when the loch was dammed in the 30s - amazing! Hard to imagine that happening today.

This was the first time on the trip we had come into proximity with an industrial area, and the next day we were to ride close to coal handling yards and an open cast mine. First, though, we visited Craigengillan estate, originally built for the Macadam family (as in tarmacadam) - now privately owned with much recent restoration, conservation and path work being done.

The stable block is a beautiful example of its type, now housing a local riding school and livery yard. Really good to see it having such a useful life these days.

Then over a lovely hill track and road to Straiton (and Yeoman). Here we had arranged to meet John Scott MSP who is also a local farmer, and who is a major supporter of World Horse Welfare. We had had some trouble over the previous week contacting one another to arrange a meeting place, due to lack of phone signal etc. Over coffee, I discovered I had practically ridden over his ground (when I crossed Beneraird)...if only we'd known....

Thoroughly enjoyed this section and huge thanks are due to Carol, Colin and the girls, who were great company and much help - thanks to you all.

Next challenge...over the sea to Arran!

The Map is not the Territory

2009-08-16T03:33:00.000-07:00

Numbers are becoming meaningless. How many miles have we covered today? Covered altogether? These are the questions asked by many folks we meet.

I don't know the answers- I'm relying on the GPS Traakit people to ultimately tell me, or I can of course retrace my steps on the maps and calculate it out.

Of much more interest is the state of the map when I've finished crossing that bit of territory. Depending on how creased, dirty, wet (pulped in the case of dear old Wigtownshire) I have an instant visual aide-memoire of the fun (or otherwise) we had there.

Yes, I have a fine map case (disintegrating though, due to my unathletic mounting and dismounting especially as the day wears on). But the nature of maps is such that you can guarantee in any day that it needs to be taken out, refolded, or worse- move onto another map altogether- all on the back of a moving horse and often in the rain. The current record is four maps in one day. No, we don't move at the speed of light, just happened to be lurking around the corners!

I haven't really experimented with electronic mapping so am not qualified to offer an opinion (DOESN'T USUALLY STOP YOU -DOOGS) but I would definitely miss my dog-eared, torn, damp and stained record of where we've been. Plus it's a handy place to jot down telephone
numbers, people's names and other memos to self...

It is a fundamental rule of horse travel, as in life, that 20% of your route will cause you 80% of your problems - and so it proved for Carol & I.

Being diligent sorts, Carol and husband Colin had checked out many of the routes we were to ride. Pressure of time meant they had to delegate one short section, a 'footpath' through Carrick Forest.

'it's fine' came back the report, 'we went through on the quad'. This has been added to the Long riders' Lexicon, along with gems like 'it's a bit soft' or 'a wee bittie steep'...! Quads of course move over the surface of the ground on broad tyres: ponies don't!

Doogs was running loose behind us when we came to this section, following us on April and Yeoman. We set off carefully down this section. Doogs was reluctant to follow, pacing first left, then right, but refusing to set foot on the 'path'.

He's such a wily old codger that when I saw what he was up to I immediately jumped off Yeoman, seconds before he sunk up to his belly in a bog. It took two or three goes for him to get himself out (and he's a strong horse).

Time for a rethink then, and an about-turn...due to recent forestry extraction there were a number of new tracks not marked on the map, but which ran out or abruptly changed direction, as they do.

At last we hit upon a track which led us down into the Stinchar Valley (through a field of donkeys - a complete surprise to all parties!) and we followed the river up to the charming village of Barr, which unlike most of the villages I have ridden through on this trip still has a shop, an excellent pub (we took over their car park) and a functioning phone box.

We also acquired a pilot through Changue Forest, young Daniel, who insisted on showing us the way on his bike in return for a couple of hunks of cake...had more cake been forthcoming I think we'd have him yet.

We don't half land lucky with our hosts: tonight we made it to Pinvalley and the charming Ann. As the skies were beginning to threaten she offered us the use of her trailer to sleep in (which is
housed in a large barn, along with her smart horses.)

We had reason to be more than usually grateful as we listened to the rain hammering on the roof that night. The only disturbance was the snoring of Lovely Horse no 3- I'd definitely be sewing corks onto HIS pyjamas...

2009-08-14T03:38:00.000-07:00

I can't say I had the best night's sleep ever at Lagafater: the year must be moving on as it's the first night I've been cold in the tent. I was also slightly concerned that the ponies might break out of their corral and simply disappear into the wild reaches around us!

So it was around 5 am when I rose to a scene of surreal beauty...the golden sunrise lighting up the deerbent grass all around to create shimmering acres stretching to the horizon. Quite stunning (and not an ant in sight). It was one of those times when the universe seems to be holding its breath.

I let the ponies out of their prison to graze where I could keep an eye on them, while I gloried in the magic of the sunrise.

Still, you know what granny said: "too bright too soon" and by the time my friend Felicity arrived at eight, it was already starting to drizzle. Felicity had arranged to ride with me to Pinwherry with her husband James acting as packhorse for the day (er, with his vehicle, lest you have visions of us whipping him, fully-laden, over the hill.)

The track leads up from Lagafater Lodge over Beneraird Hill to drop down into the Stinchar Valley. We had hoped for some great views (I'm told you can see the Isle of Man, as well as Arran and the Kintyre peninsula) but today it was not to be: a steady drizzle and although there was reasonable visibility, it was all rather hazy. The track is clearlt defined, though boggy in places; the surrounding land rather bleak peatland.

It took us about three hours to pick our way into the Stinchar Valley : not only were we in another county, we could have been in a different land altogether.

Neatly tended houses and farms, glorious mixed hedgerows and sleek-looking cattle. We rode along the banks of the Stinchar (beautiful river)for some miles, thoroughly enjoying the day.

As we approached Pinwherry towards the end of the afternoon and dismounted for a gate, a figure appeared running towards us...who should it be but Saint Annie, who had just 'popped over' to meet us with beet pulp for the horses and coffee for us. Thank you yet again, Annie (think I'll have a record made of that.)

Thus sustained, we made our way up the final leg from Pinwherry to Bellamore Farm, where I had arranged to camp for the night. This is such a pretty minor road, following the burn, with yet more luxuriant hedgerows.

There is a feature of riding long distances called lastmileitis: where the time taken to cover the last mile seems to take as long as the previous twenty...So it was this afternoon, when Bellamore seemed as remote as Brigadoon.

Finally though, we were there - just in time to meet James, too. We pulled into the yard to be greeted by a pack of dogs of every description barking furiously - big 'uns, little ' uns, middle uns all clamouring at our arrival. Some of the dogs were running loose, although there was no-one about, so I waded through the mob to the farmhouse door and knocked on it, setting up yet more barking from inside the house.

Eventually the farmer came to the door. Looking surprised to see me, he yelled over the barking, "I didn't realise there was anyone there" (!) Presumably the canine cacophony is quite normal, then...

He then used a phrase I have come to dread: "I've put you in one of the hill parks - it's only another couple of miles up the road..."

Back in the saddle then with a very dirty look from the ponies (by now it was raining heavily) and up the hill for the night. He warned me about the Bellamore midges: all I can say is - he wasn't joking. I'm not proud to tell you I cowered in my (relatively) midge -free tent, listening to the ponies pacing and stamping outside. I'm always painfully aware that I chose to be here - they didn't - but very little I could do, other than plaster them with every midge repellent I had and put on their face masks.

Early morning and the tent flap was black with midges: I put on my best deterrent gear and led the ponies up a boggy track to the top of the hill, about a kilometre away, where they benefited from a few hours' grazing in a relatively breezy spot. In hindsight I should have put them there the night before, but the march fence could have been ten miles away for ought I knew! Sorry, boys...

By the time I brought them back down to the campsite to tack up, the sky had brightened and there was a breeze, so definitely better. We were almost ready when vet-friend Carol came trotting up the track to meet me on her Highland mare April - ready for the next stage of our adventure...

Journey to the Middle of - erm- Nowhere

2009-08-14T03:10:00.000-07:00

Annie decided to accompany me to my next campsite, riding Doogs - so her husband John agreed to transport the packs. Bless him, he also opened some of the gates for us - a job I feel you have to be born to in Wigtownshire!

The weather had relented and we had a smashing day's riding through mixed forest, back roads and over a glorious old hill track to just below Lagafater Lodge, close to Beneraird Hill, which I was to carry on over the next day. The track winds over this moor, presumably avoiding cow-swallowing bogs - one of those evening where you can see your destination (but it takes a very long time to get there).

This was our campsite outlook (pretty much the same in all directions - hooray for a fine evening with little wind or you may never have got to read this blog post.)Here we were greeted with the most extraordinary swarms of flying red ants (non-biting, thankfully) which rapidly covered me and the ponies. The farmer Norman told us they only appear for about one week in the year (how lucky were we?) and come out of the road (where presumably they lurk for the other fifty-one weeks).

Here we had to bid farewell to dear Annie and John (who had been so very kind) - not before she'd produced beet pulp for the ponies and sandwiches for me. Annie - it will be a very long time before we forget how very well looked after we were in Wigtownshire. But ever onwards - tomorrow Ayrshire beckons...

Wet Wet Wet!

2009-08-14T02:16:00.000-07:00

"Welcome to Wigtownshire", said the smiling postie I met on the hill road from Bargrennan, "famous for two things, rain and midges." Erm, thanks.

It didn't take me long to see what he meant: I have never been so wet. The soft Wigtownshire rain makes a nonsense of the old saw 'Once you're wet, you can't get any wetter.' OH YES YOU CAN! The rain came in on pulsating grey sheets from the Atlantic, thoroughly defeating my waterproof (haha) jacket and trousers, boots, panniers - everything.

By the time we were coming to the busy main road near Kirkcowan, I swear we were starting to rot gently. Smiley postie had warned out to 'watch out for the boat on the main road' (eh?) but it was so wet I wouldn't have been surprised to see a flotilla of yachts tacking up the road. (Turned out he meant the road gets very busy when the Stranraer ferry unloads, but still...)

Luckily for us we had the safest of safe houses waiting: Annie Walker - galloping granny, endurance rider and eternal mother hen (as well as the most creative user of baler twine I have met thus far!)

Within half an hour, both the ponies and I were stripped of our wet things and steaming gently towards comfortably dry (and eating). Thank heavens we weren't supposed to be camping that night.

I shouldn't have been so surprised: one glance at the map of the Machars gives the game away immediately - all those fells, moors and mosses and the large number of lochs does hint at high precipitation!

As always in damp country, track finding (and following) is best not left to chance and local knowledge is essential for information about marked tracks which run into blind bogs - lots of that! Local tales of drowned cattle and missing tractors abound (eek).

Much of the area is forested, so the forestry tracks are generally a better, safer option. The area is also criss-crossed with little-used tarmacked side roads (often with grass growing up the middle.) Much of the forestry actually makes for pleasant riding: the trees are often well back from the road and attractively fringed with birch and wildflowers, so you don't get that feeling of being a rat in a maze which can happen in heavily forested areas.

The region is rich in history: one of the earliest known inhabited areas and Whithorn itself is considered the cradle of Christianity on mainland Scotland. Here today, as in other areas I have visited, local talk is of falling stock numbers, disappearing dairy herds, and the unworkability of the proposed electronic tagging scheme for sheep. I saw many abandoned and derelict farmhouses and cottages, the indigenous population replaced with several vast caravan and holiday parks...is this to be the final crop for Wigtownshire?

PS Smiley postie - should you ever read this - your summary of Wigtownshire needs to include the guinea-a-minute most novel cattlegrid gates yet encountered: either you untie the piece of baler twine and the whole edifice collapses around you with a splintering crash - or it gets the prize for the most creative use of building materials for any gate - anywhere!

Yet another quick update!

2009-08-12T04:15:00.000-07:00

Due to the difficulties in getting mobile phone signals (although we did momentarily log on to Manx Telecom Mobile - how international is that?) you'll have to wait just a little longer to read of our many adventures in Wigtownshire and Ayrshire - hopefully in the next day or two.

But just to let interested parties know we're heading onto Arran today, having been successfully re-shod this morning - many thanks to Jim Ferrie and Co. One of Yeoman's feet didn't need a hammer - it needed a magic wand after losing a shoe and a bit of foot (but luckily the farrier had one .)

Back soon - but ponies (and me!) all well.

Pause for Thought

2009-08-06T06:29:00.000-07:00

As we approach the halfway stage, and inspired to consider matters by the visit to Samye Ling, I thought it was a good moment to give a general update!

The ponies are in great form, well muscled, sound and (apparently) enjoying themselves...I am very proud of the way they will happily settle anywhere and cope with each day's challenges so calmly.

Staying at the welcoming Brigton Farm at Bargrennan with the delightful Fiona and Ian McCall, I had the opportunity to go over every inch of them. The ponies, I mean - not the McCalls!!! Feet in good order (although Yeoman will need shoeing in the next few days (arranged - thanks to Carol, we're meeting up with Jim Ferrie, the farrier we last met at Balfron. I'm sure he thinks we're stalking him - but wow, he doesn't half cover some territory). The shoes are holding tight although clenches are now up and the shoes are paper thin...but still a tribute to Jim Balfour's shoeing all those weeks ago!

Much to my surprise (and pleasure) the boys have NO injuries, scrapes or rubs - and our tick defences seem to be holding out so far. The ponies have had no additional feeding but I have paid attention to allowing them good grazing during the day (no chance of me forgetting, even if I wanted to, eh boys?) They have definitely lost some weight but nothing to worry about and they are full of going - they covered 17 miles yesterday, much of it trotting as it was so damn wet and are in good fettle after a night's rest. Both are now very settled in the daily routine, and -for once- they are allowed to eat however much they like!

The gear is holding well together so far: the saddles still fit well (Barefoot and Ideal) and Trailmax panniers are simply excellent and have withstood rough treatment and the odd gatepost assault. Only minor problem is a burst girth keeper but duct tape is a wonderful invention.

For myself, I feel fit and well and definitely toned! Mentally I feel relaxed and still enjoying it all. So far, no blisters on feet or bottom! The hardest things have been coping with poor weather at times (and by the looks of things, we'd better be prepared for more for the next couple of days) and fatigue at times (long days and not always sufficient sleep).

The best things have definitely been the people we've met (and the many generous donations for World Horse Welfare) and the sights we've seen. My relationship with Doogs and Yeoman has just got better and better - we are operating very much as a team - although Doogs is certain he always knows best at key navigation points and has been known to march off without consultation or even looking at the map.

Over the next few days we will reach our last southerly point and then take the momentous step of changing direction and heading North! (well - westish - northish -westish. Looking forward to paddling in the sea!

Thanks for all the messages and emails folks - I really value them all so much and try to respond to everyone...signal permitting - which it isn't very much, at the moment - very unstable here but hopefully will be better soon. We have been interviewed by some local papers and are hopefully to be interviewed by the BBC, (once they find us!) so all good publicity for World Horse Welfare.

Samye Ling Monastery

2009-08-06T04:08:00.000-07:00

YEOMAN: Why are all these men wearing those funny robes?
DOOGS: Because they're Buddhists.
YEOMAN: But I thought Kate said we were going to see some nudists!
DOOGS: Bit midgey for that in Eskdalemuir.

The local builder told us we couldn't possibly miss the Samye ling Monastery. Quite right: the prayer flags, huge white stupa and statue of the Buddha certainly catch the eye in this remote Scottish glen.

It's a feast for all the senses: from the bright colours and patterns to the sounds of Tibetan chanting, crashing cymbals and horns coming from the temple, to the scents of the incredible vegetable gardens and the odd waft of incense.

You are free to wander round as you will - there are notices here and there explaining the significance of the buildings and icons: the butterlamp house, with its hundreds of little lamps which are ceremonially lit; the prayer wheels; the 'clootie' tree with many rags, ribbons and prayers tied to it - as they disintegrate in the weather the prayers on the cloth are released into the atmosphere. (To my knowledge, this is one custome shared by Buddhists and Celts - I have seen a Celtic version near Fortrose).

Bill and I attended prayers in the temple - as it was in Tibetan it was impossible to follow the chanting, the drums and cymbals and those glorious horns, but hugely satisfying. (I have always enjoyed religious services in a language other than my own - it gives a different perspective somehow.)

The community at Samye ling is a thriving one, with many followers, students and people on retreat as well as the monks themselves. It is also clearly a popular place to visit.

I was very impressed: by the industry and the sense of peaceful wellbeing. The monks themselves appeared very happy and friendly.

There were charming touches: the abandoned Brasso tin on its side in the butter lamp house where I imagined some novice monk had scotted off, late for meditation practice; the spade abandoned in the potato patch, watched over by a statue of the Buddha; the handwritten notices; all of it contributing to a grounded charm which demonstrated this was a working, living community dealing with practical daily matters, as well as aspiring to universal compassion. 'Keep sweeping' as the great Buddhist mantra has it.

We stayed at Fingland nearby with Jo Rose, who has lived in the area all of her life. We stayed in very comfortable self-catering accommodation for the night, sharing with a charming Danish customs and excise officer who visits the area regularly for the stalking.

I was asking him about his job: "There are only two certain things in life," he told me in his lugubrious Danish accent, "death and taxes". After a moment's thought, he added, "I prefer the taxes."

Dere Street Plus

2009-08-05T07:23:00.000-07:00

I knew we wouldn't be able to ride all the way along Dere Street (part of it is now under the A68, for example) but thought we would try to follow it as far as Newtown St Boswells. Mostly this part goes through woodland, a change from yesterday's open moor.

James (last night's historian) had told me that the Romans cleared away trees well back from the road: not only for building purposes, but because trees could so easily hide marauding ancient Britons!

These days, though, Dere Street passes through lovely mixed woodland - much beech and oak. In places it has been very badly damaged by 4x4s and trail bikes, leaving extremely deep ruts and these were challenging for the ponies, especially combined with the clay soil which today was slippery after a night's heavy rain. Still, I was able to identify lots of different original layers of construction. I know it's a little bit sad.

We picked our way along it to Monteviot House in Teviotdale, -well almost, we could see it across a very deep and fast-flowing Teviot! The little swingy pedestrian suspension bridge was of little help to us - time to play today's 'angel card'.

As usual, up it popped - today in the guise of Marie who came jogging along on her handsome elderly thoroughbred. I showed her the alternative route I'd been plotting on the map. 'Oh no,' she said, 'you'll get lost'. I forbore from pointing out we'd managed to get this far!

'I know,' she added after some thought, 'we'll go and see Andrew Crow. He'll know, cos he's a racehorse trainer.'

I didn't quite follow that logic, but sho 'nuff, Andrew gave me precise directions to get where I wanted to go. (He turned out to be an old jump racing acquaintance of Bill's, too). I was relieved when he said the Teviot was probably 'a bit high to ford' (my sentiments exactly - Doogs). So he rattled off directions including a potato field, the back of some cottages, a track and a drainage ditch (and a bridge, hooray). Just before I left he added " your dapple grey'll need shod soon..." - turns out he's a farrier as well (if only I'd known!)

That's how we ended up picking our way through the policies of Monteviot House (still on the remains of Dere Street, too.) I'm fairly certain they don't actively encourage horses there (and we're truly very sorry about the plank in the little bridge,too) but we were egged on by Annie, owner of a garden centre we visited, lured in by their 'cafe' sign (very hot thirsty day, y'know).

We lurked around in her car park and drank ginger beer with me telling her customers that we were the weekly bulk manure delivery for the garden centre - I think some of them them may have believed us! A good whip round on behalf of World Horse Welfare too.

Much to my disappointment after these adventures, we were foiled by a couple of ladder stiles from getting all the way to Newtown St Boswells on Dere Street. But this was a memorable section of the trip - and one of the garden centre customers told me it was now August! Who knew?

Dere St

2009-08-05T06:38:00.000-07:00

What a wrench to leave the Bowmont Valley. I had tried to persuade Angela to adopt me, but she wasn't having any of it...so off we went (slowly, with lots of looking back). We followed a hill track from Belford to Hownam (pron: Hoonum). A beautiful day: warm, but with enough breeze to keep the flies away. Sorry to go on about the weather - but it has assumed a major importance to me!

The track climbs slowly to about 1000' - high enough to get some stunning views (and pick up a load of missed calls on the phone - we were 'communicado' again.)

It was definitely not a hurrying day and we meandered on gently, thoroughly enjoying the day and stopping to graze for a while at Horseshoe Wood and soak up some sunshine.

Then down to Hownam...a pretty village, where the Post Office marked on the map is long gone, to be replaced by posters fighting to save the Post Office in neighbouring Morebattle a few miles away...can this really be progress? We stopped to chat to an extremely elderly lady on the main street (well, the only street) who had lived in the village all her life - I expect the loss of the Post Office was only one of the many changes she has seen. Her old eyes did light up when she was describing Hownam during the war with soldiers billeted nearby, but with respect I don't intend to reveal any more about that.

Leaving Hownam we again climbed steeply up - now we were on the Roman road Dere Street, built c.AD74. Unsurprisingly it's very straight! It crosses rough moorland here, again climbing to about 1000'. According to Rob and James who I met later, it was built by 1000 Roman soldiers over a 2-year period - an astonishing feat.

We camped for the night at Upper Samieston Farm in the valley (I had been tempted to camp high but feared the weather would turn- which it did). The farmer provided Doogs and Yeoman with a Grade A ++ field - their classification - which luckily for me was right next to the cottage inhabited by potter Clair and her family: husband Rob, and children Molly and Jessie. They provided me with a delicious supper, all produce from their own garden - a lucky find for me and the ponies! It's always interesting approaching strange farms on spec - we might be welcomed with open arms - or shot. We had a great evening - also with Clair's sister and brother in law who were staying - definitely a lucky guess, that one. Molly was delighted by the ponies who had unexpectedly come to live 'next door' and helped me with all my chores - thanks, Molly. In return she rode Yeoman up the track for a little way the next morning as we set off - actually I'm sure she would cheerfully have ridden the rest of the thousand miles with us, too. Best ask Mummy first, though...

We Go Abroad! (Well, England)

2009-08-05T06:06:00.000-07:00

The track we followed to Harbottle leads up through Calroust to join 'The Street' - an old Roman way through the Cheviots. It starts of gently, following the burn, and climbs steadily up.

There has been a lot of recent investment in this estate: new fences and tracks and a fishing lake (as well as the ubiquitous pheasants).

Doogs thought he might get an easy time of it with no packs (we'd arranged to stay overnight with Jan Hall at Well House Farm near Harbottle) but tough, I rode him and led Yeoman instead.

At the top of the track, before you go on to open moor, stands a once-derelict house, now being renovated as a shooting bothy. The views back down the Calroust Valley are breathtaking - had we really climbed so high? But lots more to come!

From the bothy comes a stiffish climb past a large cairn up to join The Street, shorly before it intersects with the Pennine Way. For almost the first time since I left I saw a walker - no wait, it's a runner! (Running the Pennine Way? What fresh human madness is this? - DOOGS)

Not just one, either, but another, and another and another...as they drew nearer (by now coming from all directions - we could see that they were soldiers in full combat gear. For one horrible moment we thought we'd strayed onto the MOD Otterburn Range, famous for its live ammunition (eek) - but no, this was an exercise.

The soldiers kept appearing from all airts and pairts: Shonagh's poor young Dougall thought that the War of the Worlds was upon us. As an ex-stalking pony, he knows what guns are for!

Third world war notwithstanding, it is stunningly spacious up there - despite the odd heavy shower, the views were breathtaking in every direction. The track on the whole is easy underfoot, though very rutted in places, and navigation is easy. Well, we just followed the sound of the bombs...

They brought us out in the Coquet valley, right at the boundary of the Otterburn firing range. The bombs had now been joined by machine gun fire and helicopters, although the ponies by now were much more interested in lunch. I got a faint nervous feeling of what it must be like to live in occupied territory with enemy soldiers (even though the ones we met were mighty cheerful, if rather tired and soggy) and gallantly held gates open for us.

We joined the quiet road down the Coquet Valley (lots of flood damage here too) until we came to a ford which we crossed and followed a steep bridleway above the site of a medieval village - exactly where you would expect a medieval village to be, in the meander of a river - very beautiful. Will post a picture when technology allows! This track brought us out near Alwinton, then it was another bridleway to Harbottle, past a church and some old limekilns along a river valley - and crossing the border!! We'd promised ourselves a pint in the pub at Alwinton, but very sadly, it was closed.

A wonderful welcome from Jan at the supremely comfortable Well House farm: she laughed when we told her of our military manouevres, recounting one day when she had gone out to feed the calves and met two (lost) tanks grinding up the farm road...that doesn't personally inspire me with confidence, don't know about you. (Thanks Jan and Jimmy for all your hospitality!)

Cheviots

2009-08-04T23:03:00.000-07:00

Time to give the apparently now-sound Yeoman a bit of a test – nothing too taxing, a 13 mile, low-level circular ride from Cliftoncote around a neighbouring property with the slightly unappealing name of Sourhope.

One of the reasons you need a decent map in the Cheviots is because nothing is pronounced as it looks: requests for directions to 'Sour Hope' would be met with blank looks...it is of course pronounced 'Sooroop'. There are many 'hopes' (or 'oops') round here (meaning hills ): Shorthope, Auchope, Naehope... Ok, that last one's a makey-up, just to see if you're awake.

But the names round here are fascinating - from whence comes Gloomy Cleugh, Murder Cleugh, Barbarous Stell and Foul Step - not to mention the Hanging Stone? A hard country, this!

The three musketeers (and their riders) set off to have a look round Sourhope, which used to be an experimental farm for the Macaulay Institute, but is now tenanted.

The size of the steadings, remains of a mill, and the number of houses, suggests a past importance. Here, too, we saw much recent flood damage. We picked our way up a path by the Sourhope Burn (which flows into the Bowmont Water).

Well, there was a sort of path, but recent events meant the burn had overspilled, braided, formed pools and little oxbows so lots and lots of fording.

Great water practice for Shonagh's project pony Dougall... A few weeks before I set off they had come over for a training ride and it had taken a good fifteen minutes for him to strop himself over a tiny stream. He's obviously 'manned up' (borrowed terminology from my son Mark) and today he ploshed confidently through it all.

At the top of the burn we paused for lunch at the remote farm of Auchope, cooried right down on a cleft in the hills - a house obviously built to cope with the weather, rather than sited for views!

Here, as elsewhere in the Cheviots, we marvelled at the dykes which rise right up the impossibly steep hillsides - what skilled (and fit) men they must have been.

There was also of course a now-familiar stell - a circular stone sheepfold. The reason they are always round, Bill tells me, is because sheep are driven into them in snowstorms: because they're round, the sheep won't lie down but walk round and round, compacting the snow. If the folds were square, sheep would huddle down on the corners and be suffocated by the drifting snow.

A surprise up here was the large pheasant-rearing operation nearby...I am more used to seeing pheasants gleaning the barley fields back home and these seem harsh conditions for them to survive. But this area is one of the most sought-after shooting areas in Scotland, famous for its high birds. Over the next few days we were to see lots of pheasant activity: blocks of game cover crops on the hillside (looked very odd!) and acres of rearing pens.

We picked our way back to Sourhope along a landrover track past a small weather station ( a Macaulay left-over, perhaps?), past Dod hill ('dod' is fox in these parts and down the Kaim burn. Some frantic silage-making activity as we neared the farm - the wet summer proving a challenge everywhere.

A really interesting ride - and Yeoman was completely sound! Time to make tracks for England, then...

Cliftoncote...

2009-08-02T10:29:00.000-07:00

Gets a whole blog entry to itself. A working hill farm run by the Freeland-Cook family, the emphasis is firmly on the 'working' - they don't often stop! Sheep, cattle, goats and hens, contracting, a digger business, as well as the farm b and b and self-catering cottages. While I was there, Angela was recovering from broken ribs - if that was her at half-throttle, full throttle could be a bit alarming!

The solid farmhouse, parts of which date back to the 1600s, sits in a prominent position with extensive views up and down the Bowmont Valley. Currently those views include the havoc wreaked by the recent severe flooding: fences destroyed, river-borne rubble everywhere on those lovely river haughs and big bale feeders crushed into mangled shapes and tossed aside, as if by the hand of a malevolent giant.

Cliftoncote, sitting high above the river, was spared water through the house and farm buildings- though some neighbours weren't so lucky: with several houses still cut off by the time we arrived in the valley. Heartbreaking, especially as this is the second flood of these proportions within six months. Farmers explained that the river valley is an SSSI, and thus, Scottish Natural Heritage and SEPA are reluctant for them to interfere with the course of the river by building flood protection measures - although it looks as if a compromise may have to be reached before the valley inhabitants are all bankrupted covering their repeated losses.

But nothing can take away from the ancient pull of the land. Everywhere there is evidence of ancient settlement: hill forts, cultivation terraces and old homesteads. The OS map has more antique curly writing than modern Helvetica (or whatever font they use).

I have written elsewhere of the sense of humble excitement and history I get from travelling these ancient tracks: I can so easily imagine early farmers, soldiers, drivers and the like using them before me. In an area like this one, it's not hard to half-close your eyes and feel what it must have been like a couple of thousand years ago. (Except it would I think have been warmer: I understand that's why the cultivation terraces etc were abandoned, as the climate cooled and got wetter - could they really have grown vines here?)

The Cheviot tracks are an intricate maze of cross-crossing byways - in places it's the Spaghetti Junction of its day where half a dozen tracks may intersect. Fabulous to ride on too, many of them springy turf stretching away onto the distance. You do need a good map and compass though...it would be fairly easy to get lost, especially in poor visibility. Your horse needs to be confident crossing water and soft ground, and in some places the tracks are stony. VyvWood-Gee, the trackmeister who has done such sterling work for access all over Scotland, describes the Cheviots as the finest riding in Britain, and from what I have seen (a small sample) I would absolutely agree. But we didn't see one other rider, nor indeed hoofprints or dung suggesting we weren't the first - so it's for riders who like their solitude!

Yeoman's temporary lameness turned out to be a blessing - instead of a quick look before hoofing it over the Cheviots, we were forced to stay nearby for a few days...no hardship that.

I don't think I had really realized how tired I was: well, you don't, when each day is taken up with packing up and moving on. Cliftoncote gave me a chance to let my soul catch up with me and take some rest in a very comfortable home with (very) ample supplies of delicious food...and an excellent pub in the village!

Great facilities for horses too, and those fabulous tracks radiating out in every direction (more about those next time).

It's a good job I don't live any nearer or I'd be down every other weekend- but Cliftoncote, we'll be back...

The Farrier Comes...

2009-07-30T07:13:00.000-07:00

I'm certain that Mick Cross is a first class farrier - he did a lovely job on Doogs, always a bit of a challenge. I'm not sure how good he is at looking at lame horses though, as he didn't get to demonstrate that. No amount of trotting on concrete, turning sharply and everything else we could devise could persuade Yeoman to take as much as one false step. I'm well prepared to believe the very special Cliftoncote is an very healing place - but miracles?

The plan had been to ride the Five Valleys Challenge through the Cheviots with my friend Shonagh, who'd come down to meet us. Yeoman's hiccup however, left us unwilling to commit to what was some serious riding over longish distances, however sound he might seem. So for the first couple of days we just did some shorter rides from Cliftoncote, one of them to look at the immense amount of flood damage from the week before.

The Bowmont valley, in common with other Cheviot valleys, had just about recovered from the devastating floods of last September: roads, bridges and fences had been repaired, the mess had been tidied - when it all happened again. Tremendous flash floods had ripped out the repaired roads, carried away bridges and removed whole fences - in fact, the valley had been cut off a few days before we got there and many roads in the area were still closed. How disheartening (and expensive) for the farmers who try to make their living in what is already testing ground. The mess and destruction was (and is) everywhere.

As Yeoman coped well with a couple of shorter day rides, we decided he was up for something a bit more testing. So we rode to England (!) along the route known as 'the Street', and back to Clifoncote via 'Clennell Street' - some of the finest upland riding I have ever done. More details in the next post - but Yeoman coped brilliantly over some testing ground without the slightest sign of lameness. The wheels are back on our wagon - for now, at any rate!

Always Trust a Fairy Pony

2009-07-30T06:24:00.000-07:00

Wiltonburn outside Hawick is the farmiest of farms - like something out of a children's picture book. From the moment you are met on arrival by twin smiling collies to the geese larking in the puddles, to the kitchen garden bursting with good things, it's just enchanting.

It also has a range of good outbuildings which we had reason to be grateful for as the thunder and lightning cracked overhead in a major storm - our timing isn't always quite so impeccable!

We set off east from the supremely comfortable Wiltonburn towards the Cheviots on a still-wet morning, accompanied for the first few miles by our host Sheila on her lovely big gelding. The farm lies directly on the Hawick Circular Riding Route, but due to rapidly rising river levels we skipped the optional loop with ford...

We parted company with Sheila near Hawick Racecourse and squelched on, picking our way across country lanes and tracks towards Denholm and Jedburgh. A couple of guys out mending hunt fences gave me excellent horse-friendly directions (completely contradicted by an old gravedigger we met subsequently - it happens! - but which proved to be spot on.)

The weather improved, lovely country and my enjoyment of the riding was only slightly marred by Yeoman, who obviously thrilled to be back in the team was in full fruitcake mode and very irritating! Lots of snorting, leaping and cantering sideways (never really quite seen the point of that sort of thing myself - Doogs).

We followed a small part of the very scenic Border Abbeys Way from Denholm to Bedrule through pretty fields and woods. Although the Way is of course a footpath, this section was quite suitable for horses. The huntsmen hadn't been quite sure if the fully-loaded Doogs would squeeze through a couple of narrow gates without the packs being unloaded but he managed - just!

Thankfully, Yeoman was by now beginning to settle down and stop acting like a silly git when what I had been dreading happened - a spook, a bit of a buck and damn it, he was lame again on his injured leg - not crippled, but definitely not sound either.

That was a low point - and so disappointing after all Bill's care at home. I had deliberately planned easy-ish days when he rejoined us, but his antics had clearly put more strain on the leg than it was ready for.

Now what? I was still some fiftenn miles from our next planned stop at Cliftoncote in the Bowmont Valley. Even leading him, he wouldn't manage that. We limped on through the woods when I picked up the tracks of what must have been a fairy pony - the smallest hoofprints I have ever seen!

Well, might as well follow them - at least they might hopefully lead to somewhere which had horses and might be able to help us.

The fairy pony tracks led down towards Bedrule and sure enough, eventually past fields full of high quality youngstock, in great excitement at the sight of us! They might have been used to fairy ponies, but the coming of the trolls was obviously something else. Ah - there's a house...

The entrance to the house was on the first floor, up a flight of steps. I shouted an enquiry to the man i could see in the entrance porch: "are there stables near here please?" Craning my neck to hear his answer I suddenly realised he was -er- starkers - well, it was very early in the morning in a quiet part deep in the country!

He directed me on to Wells Stables along the road a little, and the three of us - tired, dishevelled and a bit despondent (me)- found ourselves washed up in a smart National Hunt yard. I really wasn't too sure what I was going to do next - try and arrange some transport for my limping horse probably.

I hadn't counted on the amazing Mactaggarts (whose yard it was) who seemed completely unfazed by our sudden appearance. The ponies were turned out in the outdoor lungeing ring, much to the interest of the gleaming bay heads looking on from their boxes. A passing groom glanced at the ponies as she went by and without breaking stride said to Mrs Mactaggart: "Well, they might stay three miles but I doubt you'll get them fast enough"!!

The Mactaggarts were dubious about getting local transport, but unbelievably said they'd run us to Cliftoncote! This may have been the most rapid way they could think of to stop us lowering the tone of the neighbourhood, but I think it was because they are truly kind and genuine folks. The fairy tracks which had led us there turned out to belong to a grandaughter's tiny pony...

So the boys (and all of our smelly gear) were loaded into a smart racing lorry and chauffeured to Cliftoncote.

How many saints can a person handle in a day? Angela Freeland- Cook took one look at the raggle-taggle band before her and prescribed a lovely field for the ponies and a bath (naturally!) and a sleep for me. "We'll get the farrier to look at your lame horse in the morning, don't you worry..."

Early mornings...

2009-07-30T06:08:00.000-07:00

...of these, we have seen plenty. Partly it's the camping (especially without - er - the express permission of the landowner, best get moving) but mostly it's because it's truly the most lovely part of the day.

Our routine is simple: on waking, I move the electric fence a little to give the ponies a fresh bite of grass while I'm making a quick brew and striking camp. Breakfast comes later - mid-morning usually.

Especially on a fine morning (and we've had quite a few), the day is so full of promise...If the sun is out, the hedgerows are full of heady scents and glistening cobwebs. Fruit is ripening everywhere, including those delicious wild rasperries (never to be matched by Tescos).

A good time to spot wildlife too, going about their quiet business: we've seen weasels and stoats out hunting, foxes, deer and one morning a badger. In spite of being close to many rivers, we haven't yet seen an otter, but plenty of tracks and spraint.

I often walk for the first hour or so - a good way to unkink a body afetr a night on less-than-forgiving ground! (Aye, there's none of us getting any younger - Doogs)

Near the Jed we saw reed buntings, oystercatchers and a pair of goosander; on the open hill there are plenty of skylarks, wheatears with their dancing flashes of bottom (wheatear is supposedly a corruption of 'white arse') and in the Cheviots, merlins and an eagle.

I rarely see anyone else in the mornings (come to think of it, I rarely see anyone at all, excepting the odd dog-walker near a village or a farmer in the distance). In the mornings, the countryside seems to be just for us, although undoubtedly we will have been spotted!

The early morning pace is gentle, serene, our world newly-washed, sparkling and full of beauty. Now that's worth getting up for!

The Philosopher and the Gingerbread - Peebles to Traquair

2009-07-27T10:24:00.000-07:00

From the comfort of our sheep fank home (er, not) we followed the beautiful grassy Roman road to Lyne, west of Peebles. The line of the drove road we had been following the previous day actually goes pretty well through Peebles (to take advantage of the bridge) but since this was a Monday morning, and it's a busy town, I thought not!

The route I picked out on the map skirting the town to the south and west was on the whole very quiet, apart from a short section on a very busy road... Luckily there was a wide verge, which unluckily an
extremely smart house had incorporated into their garden. Normally I try not to go on mown verges, but as it was that or sharing the road with lorries and buses belting past - hmm, no contest really!

Even so, it was nerve-wracking for us all and it was with relief I turned down a small lane, sweating and grumpy (THAT MAKES A CHANGE - DOOGS).

"You look rather hot," came a voice from the cottage garden at the corner, "would you like a cup of tea?" The voice belonged to the simply delightful Joyce, who by her kindness turned my day around completely, and we spent a quiet hour chatting, while the ponies grazed the verge.

At the risk of sounding fey, I have for some time had a growing sense that someone - or something - is looking after us on our journey. Whenever things start to unravel, a person appears to help - long may it continue! It has left me feeling quietly confident and without
worry, most of the time anyway.

Meeting people like Joyce - so calm and thoughtful- reminds me what this journey is about: not accruing mileage or achieving anything, but simply making the most of the experience and trusting that things will work out as they should.

Joyce and I chatted about philosophy (while I scoffed her delicious gingerbread) - a welcome change from looking at maps! (Every night, as I'm dropping off to sleep, an OS map is dancing before my eyes...)

In the best tradition of 'Millionaire', Joyce phoned a friend, so, well armed with directions through the maze of lanes, we set off again to negotiate Peeblesshire.

The day became really hot: with that and a very early start we were delighted to come across a beautiful spot by a river - time for a graze, a paddle and a snooze to fortify us before negotiating the southern suburbs of the town to rejoin the Drove Road.

There is an information panel at the foot of this section, which points out that the early drovers didn't mind about the steepness of the ground as long as the grazing was good. That, and a passerby in Peebles description of our route as 'a bit of a hike' should have been a bit of a clue perhaps!

The 'gypsy Glen' as it is known locally does in fact start off very steeply...and then gets steeper! (FOR BLOODY MILES - DOOGS). But breathtaking (in all senses of the word) especially on such a beautiful evening. We ended up on what felt like the top of the world , making our way between the parallel drove dykes (as well as guiding the sheep and cattle they served as a means of keeping the flocks separated.)

A newly erected march fence however, meant that we had to go a few miles further than anticipated in order to get off the hill beyond Traquair and double back along a minor road to meet up with Bill for his weekly visit...and this time he'd brought Yeoman! Horses are
amazing: I would swear that Doogs somehow knew Yeoman was going to be there for the last three miles or so by his demeanour. Yeoman meanwhile had apparently been testing out his soundness by charging around the silage field (cut!) we had kindly been loaned by the
Renwicks at Traquair Knowe.

Our unexpected detour meant it was getting late by the time we trudged into Traquair...the Renwicks offering us a bed for the night rather than have us camp - and supper, even at that late hour! Bless you both - your kindness is, well, pretty humbling actually.

One small sadness would be saying goodbye to the extraordinary little Ladybird, who had so gamely and bravely stepped in at the last minute, and who had shown every sign of thoroughly enjoying her trip (once the initial astonishment had worn off!) The same little mare who had balked at crossing a drainage ditch on her first day completed her journey having calmly waded the river Tweed on her last.

But just great to see the goofy, quirky Yeoman again, looking fabulous and ready for adventure...

West Linton to Peebles

2009-07-22T14:53:00.000-07:00

It took a little while until the lump of Mendick Hill was left behind...the same landmark I couldn't wait to get to last night!

It's a common horse travelling experience: you see a loch, say, and think 'nearly there' but it can take two hours or more to actually reach it.

Physically the ride has been fairly tough - I knew it would be - although knowing something intellectually and actually experiencing it are two different things!

At least we can on the whole take our time and savour it. It has pretty much been all at walking pace, with plenty of grazing stops for the ponies. They are looking in fabulous order at the moment, well muscled up. Frequent stops keeps them enjoying it and their guts in
good order...but it does make for some long days.

Today was one of them. We travelled cross country to meet up with the Cross Border Drove Road- a short section of old railway (again), then through a couple of estates where we were kindly offered free range eggs at a cottage (sadly an offer better declined!) and had a chat
with a shepherd as we sheltered from a downpour in his barn.

For the first time we were chased by a huge dog which came belting out of a driveway. No real harm done, except Ladybird shot forward and trod heavily on Doogs' heel. I'm treating the resulting wound with Wonder Dust (I know it sounds like something out of Disney!)

It was recommended to me by Thrums Vet group (they import it from America I believe) and it's excellent stuff. Bill chuckled when he read the 'ingredients' though - almost identical to the mixture he used to grind up in his father's vet surgery in the late fifties....

After riding up a beautiful glen in the late afternoon sunshine and finally joining the drove road which we then followed for a few miles, we set up camp. In a sheep fank- not QUITE up to the standard of last night's Mendick luxury!

Crossing the Rubicon (well,the m8)

2009-07-22T05:03:00.000-07:00

After discussion with the mounted police, I decided to trailer across the m8 for safety reasons (and aesthetic ones). They warned me of the likelihood of missiles being thrown at us in some of the less salubrious areas, as well as the more obvious traffic hazards...north of the motorway has a better network of off-road paths and tracks than the south.

This meant our first sojourn was from Lasswade (great hospitality from Pauline and Chris - thanks for everything including the shower. Practically the first thing all my hosts have said is,"You'll be wanting a shower"...well yes, I'm just sorry it's so obvious!)

The most notable feature of crossing over was - no clegs!! Either they're much more God-fearing people there, or just possibly the weather had cooled down.

It was fun to ride across the Pentlands with some company, for a change (although Ladybird didn't think so - she has become so fiercely attached to Doogs and is VERY possessive. She was in rather a funny mood all day actually- bolshy and a bit of a madam - perhaps the presence of the others, or perhaps wandering the hills has turned her into a misanthropist.)

Lovely riding across the hills - good tracks, well marked with some splendid views - well until nearly the end when we suddenly came across some very unfriendly stiles. Nothing more dispiriting to the rider (or pony) than having to go back UP the hill you've just come DOWN, especially when (naturally) it's by now peeing with rain!

I then rode on alone to West Linton, down an old Roman road (the Romans, as well as Dr Beeching, have contributed lots of riding routes for my pleasure, on this trip ). Bless 'em.

We stayed overnight with well-known Highland pony breeders John and Kate Dykes (Mendick Highland Ponies) in their lovely home. I was so glad to see them for lots of reasons but one of the principal ones was that today was the day I finally discovered that it IS possible to get wetter than wet!! Ponies delighted to be knee-deep in grass (only ankle deep by the morning though).WELL,A GUY'S GOT TO KEEP HIS STRENGTH UP - DOOGS

Time in the morning for one of life's great pleasures, looking round other people's ponies (cracking young gelding for sale if anyone's looking) before bidding farewell to the landmark of Mendick Hill and setting off Peebleswards! As someone said recently, it's amazing how far you can get if you just keep walking...

Gartmore House

2009-07-17T07:44:00.000-07:00

Today I had been invited to visit nearby Gartmore House, former home of RB Cunninghame Graham, horse adventurer (and founder of the Scottish Labour Party and later, the Scottish National Party).

It's a magnificent William Adam pile (with later Balfour additions - he was a pupil of Charles Rennie McIntosh). The house has a chequered history - since being Cunninghame Graham's family home, it has variously been army barracks during WW2, a List D approved school, European headquarters of 'The Way' ( a cult organisation who put locks on every room (oo-er), and now used as a base for Christian faith camps and conferences.

It is still simply splendid inside, despite the obvious difficulties and expense of upkeep. Wonderful panelling, leaded windows and magnificent views, too.

Of interest to me as well as the Cunnighame Graham factor was the connection with the Cayzer family (now of Kinpurnie, near Newtyle - near my home) - in fact there were old photographs of Kinpurnie being built on a bare hillside - very different to the wooded policies of today. Sir James Cayzer is still an occasional visitor to Gartmore.

I would have loved to spend much more time there, but as equestrian explorers we couldn't linger...next stop Balfron and a couple of days' well-earned rest for the ponies.

The map shows a disused railway line running from Gartmore to Balfron Station. Perfect - except it ran out after three miles or so and I can promise you that diverting onto the nearby A811 is not a good substitute and not for the fainthearted - even the traffic-proof Doogs nearly peed his pants as the lorries hurtled past with inches to spare.

Rather than risk being completely flattened, we took our chances across country (and have the bramble scars and nettle stings to prove it! This worked pretty well with only one or two dead ends, and we arrived at Carbeth Home Farm for a rest, and a chance to catch up on laundry (bit overdue) and a few minor repairs. We arrived to find not one but TWO farriers working in the yard...sadly all I could find for them to do was replace one lost nail! Still, you know the old rhyme about 'for want of a nail the shoe was lost...'

On the whole all the kit is holding up well (so far) although bits of duct tape are starting to creep into our ensemble. I've also been pleased to find that I've not been carrying anything which I haven't needed, yet I seem to have got everything - up till now!

The ponies too look well - definitely a bit tired after the longs days they've done recently, but in excellent form, and still sound. The news from home is also good - Yeoman is now sound, though a few more days' rest is recommended - so he will be joining us sometime soon. I have missed him (although on balance I'd say that Ladybird is probably a little easier!)

Treading the Trossachs

2009-07-16T03:29:00.000-07:00

Sadly, having given it away that he was not in fact dead by the twitch of a nostril, Doogs was forced to get up and carry on. Another long day ahead, but things would be easier thereafter with a couple of rest days planned. Meanwhile...onward to Gartmore (south of Aberfoyle).

Bill was going to meet us in the evening to check on the ponies, and as he would be passing Balqhuidder on his way, I took the chance to leave Ladybird's packs there for him to transport on for us. She hadn't shown any signs of fatigue, but since I'm conscious of her lack of preparation, I'm keen to spare her as much as possible. In fact Doogs had carried the packs now and then for a couple of hours while I walked, like the gentleman he is. (Hadn't realised there was any choice - and anyway, they're way lighter than YOU are - Doogs).

Today's route saw us rejoin the cycle track for a mile or so until it runs out at Kingshouse; we then took to the forest tracks as far as Strathyre. Great views of the Braes of Balqhuidder (Rob Roy country). We also saw a couple of foxes - there had been some discussion the evening before about the problem of urban foxes being released into the area (and the consequences for people's poultry).

Once through Strathyre we picked up a track which runs down the west side of Loch Lubnaig. Due to my new-found friends of the night before we had excellent directions and they also arranged for a critical gate to be unlocked - ( we would have been stymied otherwise).

The track goes on for miles through woodland beside the loch - we were all starting to feel a bit wearied when we suddenly came across - a vending machine! In the forest! Which sold Mars bars! (Well it did, hope they've restocked it by the time YOU ride past).

The vending machine was part of a Forest Holidays lodge complex. While we were raiding it, three staff members appeared, apparently more surprised at the sight of the ponies than we were at the sight of their vending machine! "We know who you are - we saw you on the telly," they said. Now I know how Kate Moss must feel (though she's not often caught scoffing mars bars, methinks).

Truly fortified now, we positively zoomed down to Loch Venachar, but you know what these sugar highs are, they never last. By now, we were all dragging our feet slightly, with still about another 10 miles to go. That may not sound a lot to YOU, but...

Another look at the map showed a much more direct route over the hill which would bring us out above the Lake of Menteith. No way of knowing if there might be a locked gate though. After a lot of deliberation (on my part) and eating (on the ponies), I decided to GO FOR IT and take the shorter more direct route, reasoning that as we were in a national park (Loch Lomond and the Trossachs) where access was actively promoted, we ought to be OK. A risk of course, as today I had no packs, no tent , no food, no nuttin'. (I don't recommend this folly!)

Thankfully in this case I turned out to be right (occasionally I have been known to be very, very wrong - yes really) and as we came over the hill we could see the Lake of Menteith and much of Stirlingshire spread out below us in the evening sunshine. We didn't stop to admire it for long as the Trossachs midges were having their annual clan gathering and banquet. We trooped down off the hill, meeting Bill at the bottom (I swear that man is following me.)

We unsaddled the ponies and I set off to lead them to our overnight stop at Easterhill Farm, cross country along the most exquisite track past Flander Moss (an old Roman Road, I surmise - dead straight and we passed a Roman camp.)

No locked gates here either (phew) - the only slight problem being having to navigate through a herd of Ayrshire cows and calves. They followed us, playing 'grandmother's footsteps' as cows will. "It's OK, " I reassured the slighly snorting ponies...then glanced back to see the herd being led by a very fierce-looking bull! Bloomin' heck! We darted out of the first gate I could see, having decided that if he took a run at us the ponies were going to be turned loose as they can run a bloody sight faster than I can. And don't think we'll forget that in a hurry - Doogs.

We arrived at Easterhill Farm, sopping wet as it was by now pelting with rain - and dark to the saintly Roz and Ross (yes, I was a wee bit confused to start with too). Well either we were there or we'd died and gone to heaven: hot bath, hot meal, and lovely cosy stables with deep beds and warm feeds for the troops. Bless you for ever - I have emailed the Pope demanding your immediate canonisation.

Wouldn't want to do too many days like that one...but we all survived, and the next day would be a short and easy one for all - or would it?

Glen Lyon to Balqhuidder

2009-07-16T03:01:00.000-07:00

We got up before the midges (ha! fooled 'em) and set off across the pass to Glen Lochay. No ecstatic drivelling about beautiful views here: the fog was so thick we could only see a few yards. To keep the ponies' spirits up I sang them old show tunes: they were pretty unimpressed but at least it cleared the sheep out of our way.

The fog lifted to make way for - pelting rain. We stopped for breakfast and a brew once we'd crossed the pass which seemed to cheer the troops up rather more than my a capella verion of 'Summertime'. There we met a couple of German hikers who seemed to have great difficulty in understanding what we were doing up there...(probably a language thing.)

The day started to brighten up as we made our way down Glen Lochay which meant only one thing - clegs! So moved on briskly, bumping into a botanist we'd previously met at the Fearnan bunkhouse. The briefest of chats but no lingering - still many miles to cover!

Glen Lochay comes out at Killin. Perfect timing (not) - as we were making our way up the main street to pick up the track on the other side (no alternative), who should we meet marching the other way but the local pipe band, eek. Ponies remarkably unfazed by skirling pipes and swirling kilts , although Doogs did have an involuntary evacuation of his bowels (startle reflex) over someone's posh parked Audi. We're so very sorry - hope it washed off ok.

Getting through Killin with its pipeband, tourist buses and milling crowds (funny, hadn't looked like this in February) was less than an ordeal than it might have been as we chanced to meet Heather, the 'Frilly Ghillie', who cheerfully grabbed a pony and steered us determinedly through the throngs. Thanks Heather! We got through alive (and without vandalising any more posh motors...)

From Killin we followed the path of the old railway (now Cycle Route 7). Wonderful riding with a good surface underfoot - the best part was riding over the viaducts high above Lochearnhead. Progress a bit slow due to the abundance of wild strawberries - pity to let them go to waste, we thought.

I was interested to see how few people were using these tracks - I only saw a handful all day. Perhaps there is some truth in the oft-quoted staistic that 90% of the population never go more than 400m from their

It had been a long long day by the time we finally staggered into Balquhidder Braes Caravan and Camping Park, to a wonderful reception from hosts Alice and Richard and a collection of local riders, come to support us (or possibly gaze in disbelief). A super evening with much talk of horses (of course) and too much to drink (of course). Doogs and Ladybird had a fine paddock in front of the house and were much pampered by Alice (so was I) - a step up from the bogs of the night before, that's for sure! Doogs liked it so much that he pretended to be dead in the morning.

Glen Lyon

2009-07-15T01:47:00.000-07:00

From memory, I think this is Scotland's longest glen - no doubt someone will correct me if that's not the case. (Definitely the longest - Doogs). It is certainly one of the loveliest: we rode up a track which runs south of the River Lyon - exquisite riding (marred only by the unfeasibly large number of gates).

We have it to a fine art now- I lean down from the saddle and unsnib it and Doogs 'breasts' it open with his mighty chest - bad luck if it happens to open towards us though!

The afternoon saw us plodding up the glen in the afternoon heat: the ponies' expressions suggested this was becoming 'trudgery'. The heat and insects started to become oppressive, but we made the most of a breezy paddock at Cashlie hydro power station (no-one about on a Saturday afternoon) for a couple of hours grazing and snoozing.

The ponies were able to have a good drink and rehydrate - their pee had been getting a bit darker and their droppings firmer through the afternoon, although skin pinching thankfully showed no real signs of dehydration. (Apologies if this is too much information - but it is a good way to monitor how the ponies are doing. I'll spare you reports on my pee.)

Along with lots of gates goes a proliferation of cattlegrids - these were no real problem until the last one by the dam - nailed firmly shut, for ever and ever amen! I corralled the ponies and went in search of the shepherd, who wasn't home. Luckily I ran into the lovely Ken, who managed to produce a painter's board (all of 18" wide) which we laid over the cattlegrid and the ponies ballerina'd their way across, bless'em.

I do have to apologise to Ken for the shape of the board after Doogs had crossed it en pointe: slightly bananaed, to say the least.

This all took time...which meant we ended up setting up camp (in a midgey bog, in desperation) about 11pm. Not recommended for peaceful slumbers for any of us - closer to nature, my ****.

Thanks to the lovely lady in the Bridge of Balgie shop, Bev and Julie from Meggernie estate who separately stopped to see if we needed any help; the tourists who gave us donations for World Horse Welfare, and of course, the cheerful Ken, who gave up a large part of his evening to help...in spite of commenting that he'd 'never heard of anything so weird' (as riding around Scotland.) Promise you Ken, there's a lot weirder than that (perfectly normal) activity!

Attack of the Killer Bs

2009-07-10T10:25:00.000-07:00

An early start then, from Fearnan to Kenmore to meet the farrier. Glorious riding through mixed forest - the sequence being familiar to all equine wanderers: excellent track becomes grassy ride becomes footpath becomes overgrown footpath becomes footpath which has run out altogether. Only when you've gone too far to make it seem worthwhile turning back, of course...the map SAYS it continues to Kenmore!

Luckily, as we were going to the farrier, Ladybird wasn't loaded with packs, so we battled on through the woods. She was initially slightly astonished to be turned loose (counting on that piggy-bonding with Doogs having lasted!) but soon got the hand of hopping neatly over downed trees, boggy holes hidden by waist-high bracken - you know, the usual. Luckily it wasn't for too long and we got to Taymouth Trekking Centre in plenty of time for the farrier (who, somewhat unbelievably, comes up from Fife).

He reassured me there was no real harm to Doogs' foot - 'mainly cosmetic', he said, although it does look a bit wrecked. Sorry, Messrs Balfour the Farriers, after all your hard work as well.

Waiting for the farrier I nipped into the schmaltzy deli next door - not the type of place I usually buy my groceries! I did buy a fine looking loaf and the most expensive apples ever (one each) for the troops.

My friend Pam refers to Doogs as 'Robopony' and after his wheel change he was right back to his usual ears pricked marching self and we positively zoomed back to Fearnan (different track, same outcome as above...) The day was by now pretty hot, and after washing the ponies down, turned them out to snooze in the sunshine. Not for long: within 5 minutes they were cantering round like maniacs, dripping blood, trying to escape the attack of the killer clegs.

These were not just any clegs - these were M & S clegs: they came in their hundreds, swarms of 'em, Red Baron drill formations from every direction. I have never seen anything like it. The three of us spent the rest of the afternoon cooried in the corner of a barn between a ping pong table and a ride on lawnmower - but a GREAT relief to be away from those damn clegs. As the ponies dozed off, it was finally time for a very late lunch - I nipped out to retrieve my designer loaf and gold-plated apples...to find the very free-range piggies rummaging about in my saddlebags. Bacon sandwich, anyone?

The Lord Takes Care of Children, Drunkards...and pony explorers!

2009-07-09T11:27:00.000-07:00

Or so it seems... I had been sort of wondering what the third disaster might be, after Yeoman's injury and Ladybird's cut leg. I didn't have to ponder long, since for the first time ever in his life, Doogs pulled a shoe off in a fence last night. Damn horses, they'll do anything rather than go a thousand miles.

I carry hoof boots for these sort of emergencies, but still, I would need to find a farrier before too long (hen's teeth are more common). A bit of phoning around - and yes, there's to be a farrier at Kenmore in the morning! Only problem - we're quite a long way away...still, an opportunity not to be missed - difficult to say when I might locate the next one. We couldn't do it all in one day (well, we could, but the ponies would never, ever speak to me again), so we rode part of the way. We set off through the Murthly estate along what local riders call the 'M1'...a broad, dead straight forestry track which cuts right through the estate. Pleasant riding, especially in today's perfect weather; the one teensy problem being it cuts straight across the busy A9.

Heart in my mouth (ponies had grass in theirs) we waited for what seemed like an age for a gap in the traffic before dashing across - well, brisk ambling anyway. I knew we wouldn't make it all the way to Kenmore: consideration for Doogs's foot and Ladybird's lack of full fitness meant we hitched a lift some of the way! Farriers are not to be kept waiting and I'm so jammy to have found one so quickly...

We've stopped tonight at the remarkable Culdees Eco-bunkhouse at Fearnan - some of you may remember it as the Boreland Trekking Centre in former years. The bunkhouse makes much innovative use of recycled materials: walls of plastic bottles and bracken roofs, and many international visitors, including monks and nuns from Japan who are investigating the possibility of rice -growing on a Perthshire hill farm - watch this space!

Lots of grass for the ponies, although Doogs's worst nightmare - he has to share the field with cows. (Well, it used to be his worst nightmare, then he saw the free-range pigs. ) Sadly I don't seem able to post pictures on this bunkhouse computer (think it runs on lentils actually) but I will, soon!

Tomorrow we plan to ride across Drummond Hill to meet the farrier. Drummond Hill is a long wooded ridge overlooking Loch Tay - it was the place where capercaillie were first reintroduced into Scotland in the 1870s .Would be just excellent if we saw one!

Then hopefully up Glen Lyon (although, frankly I think I might as well tear up that silly bloody itinerary and make it up as I go along).

Ponies both well, if still slightly in piggy-shock. One good thing - the threat of these alien beings has drawn them closer together and they now appear joined at the hip (well, stomach)!

Made it to Murthly...

2009-07-08T11:18:00.000-07:00

...across the hills from the Bridge of Cally side. Beautiful riding through the Snaigow Estate. In the distance I could see the site of the former 'Tin City' near Craigie. In the years pre and post the second world war, the local berry farmers housed their itinerant workers from Scotland's major cities here during the raspberry picking season. Apparently it was regarded as a holiday by many, with a communal kitchen and dance hall (all made out of tin of course!)

Continuing up past Ninewells farm I met an old fellow who kindly explained where the wells were - all nine of them -which took a little while! Stunning tracks through the estate, some a tad overgrown at this time of year, but Doogs just bulldozed through of course, followed by little Ladybird. She has clearly decided that the best place to be is following that great white bum (er Doogs's I mean, thank you) and follow it faithfully she did, even past some rather aggressive cockerels and a very dead cow in a farmyard. The only good cow is a dead cow - Doogs

Unfortunately she drew the line at some rather odd drains in the track and leapt sideways over one, putting the first dent in herself... Bless June, who just happened to be passing (going up to feed the carnivorous cockerels I think). As a thoroughbred owner, June is well practised at dealing with leg wounds (only kidding June) and gave me a hand to wash and put a wee dressing on the leg before I was reported to World Horse welfare! We had a good chat - and many thanks to her for her help.

Like cuts on the leg often do, it was bleeding profusely from what, thankfully, turned out to be something pretty minor. Not much to see tonight anyway.

Stopped outside a dilapidated old farm building en route to let the ponies graze for a while and was rewarded with the silent white rush of a barn owl. Delightful, and more enchanting than the silent rush of a thousand clegs which we experienced in the woods coming down off Caputh Hill - nature is not ALWAYS wonderful.

Ponies in good fettle tonight - only nine hundred and eighty-odd miles to go!

Good to Go

2009-07-07T04:33:00.000-07:00

Well nearly...a few minor niggles to sort (before they come back to haunt me). Finally the load is balanced and packed to my satisfaction, tack adjusted, and ponies fit and ready. A couple of photos for the album - probably the last you'll see of us looking reasonably clean for a while, but hopefully not the last where we look enthusiastic and smiley!

Getting the load right for Ladybird has been a bit of a challenge...to keep the weight down but still keep the panniers in shape I have had to include some padding (bodged up from old Tesco coolbags packed with plastic bags). They have the added benefit of providing some protection between her and the heavier parts of the load also.

Have we got everything? Well, perhaps not - but let's face it, it's not Outer Mongolia, I expect we'll manage.

Many thanks to Karen, who in her calmly efficient way helped us get it all together over the last day or two (well, she is used to looking after a five year old, so dealing with tantrums and hunting for lost items are second nature). Thanks also for all the 'good luck' messages and cards.

At least the weather has improved - no longer blisteringly hot, nor any sign of a repeat of the horrendous thunderstorms of yesterday. I do at least like to start dry. See you on the road!

Getting There...

2009-07-06T13:41:00.000-07:00

We are getting ready to leave...Plan B (or Z I think it is now) is to ride Doogs and use Ladybird, the little Welsh section C, as a pack pony for a few days until the self-harming Yeoman is fully fit to join us. Because Ladybird is smaller than a Highland, today has been spent with a hole punch and duct tape, making everything fit. I also repacked the packs so that she doesn't have to carry too much weight - the total is about 50 lbs which hopefully she will manage without too much difficulty.

I loaded her up today and we went for a test run (or walk): all went fine as she is well accustomed to the pack job. Only problem was she was very cheeky to Doogs - although I expect that a few hills will knock that waste of energy on the head!

Upward and onward, then...well, perhaps a little bit sideways will do, for now.

Too Much Excitement...

2009-07-05T09:17:00.000-07:00

We have spent the last three days at the excellent Scottish Game Fair (in the grounds of Scone Palace) with some Highland ponies. It was most interesting to see the resurgence of interest in using ponies for estate work, even from young keepers and stalkers. Many estates have areas which are inaccessible by vehicle - either for reasons of the terrain or because of conservation issues - where ponies can happily be used for stalking or thinning timber.

The principal difficulty for estates is recruiting people with the skills to handle ponies - and the interest and enthusiasm to care for them properly. Still, it is heartening to know that they still have a place on the hill.

Many interesting people to talk to at the Fair - although as you can see not everybody was so very thrilled! This little guy was part of the 'Name the Foal' competition we have each year for kids: his name has to begin with 'F' (this year's letter) and be suitable for a boy. Some inspired suggestions: Fergus, Fion, Faro, Ferdie, Fiddle, Fang (!) , Flash, Fearnoch, Feshie, and Fingal were some of them. Judging from the picture, 'Fed Up' seems appropriate!

It's a good outing for the foals - so much for them to see and absorb. As we're close to the clay pigeon shooting, I can definitely confirm they aren't gun shy (although we have yet to teach them to retrieve...)

I'm pleased to add that Yeoman continues to improve day by day - he's sound in the field now. I know that's not the same as being sound climbing a hill track, but definitely moving in the right direction.

Yeoman Update

2009-07-03T13:37:00.000-07:00

Thank you, thank you to everyone who's emailed, texted and phoned about Yeoman...and those who've offered an alternative mount! You are all angels.

He is definitely quite a bit better, but for safety's sake, at the moment I don't feel inclined to set off with him on Tuesday. Even if he's completely sound by then, he would benefit from some more rest - after all, he's not exactly being asked to go for a gentle hack in the park. The last thing I want to do is to create a long-term problem, and the second-last thing I want to do is to start off and have to have him trailered home limping!

Although there are alternatives, and I haven't yet fully decided, the most likely scenario is that Doogs and I set off as planned, but with the minimum of gear. As we are on (almost) 'home territory' this is feasible as we have overnight stops planned with friends anyway. Luckily Doogs is a sensible guy who is happy going places on his own. Hopefully by the time we get a little further away, Yeoman will be fully ready for action and can join us.

It's disappointing of course (especially after all that preparation and fittening work!) but hopefully a temporary blip - and a scenario which every single horse owner is familiar with, from the little kid whose pony goes lame before the much-anticipated local show, to top event riders who have to withdraw from Badminton after months or years of preparation.

At least it is temporary and he will be back to full fitness sooner or later - could have been much much worse.

I remember teaching a child to ride some years ago. Her Mum commented one day that ponies were such a good method of teaching kids to deal with responsibility, pain, frustration and disappointment...she then added, "and then, when they've grown out of ponies, they're fully prepared for marriage" (!)

Disaster Strikes...

2009-07-01T15:05:00.000-07:00

Having never taken a lame step in his life, the bold Yeoman picked today to show that he, too, is human...er, equine. Looking in fine fettle at 10 pm yesterday, by 6.30 am this morning he'd managed to pick up an injury which left him unable to put his near hind to the ground - totally non-weight-bearing.

Closer inspection show a contusion - rather as though he's trodden on himself, on the inside rear quarter above the hoof.

Time will tell how serious this injury is - he's more comfortable tonight and at least able to use the leg, although still very lame. After seeing to him (he had to be trailered in from the field to the yard - it was that bad), today has been investigating Plan B, C, D & E...as we are due to leave in six days!

It seems unlikely that he will be fully sound by then, and even if he is, may benefit from some more time off before he (hopefully) joins us a bit later on the ride.

All I can say is - that's horses. The irony is he has been feeling so fit and well recently that there has been a bit of carrying on and whooping it up in the field with his mates - possibly what's caused the injury.

TRAKKiT

2009-06-30T01:24:00.000-07:00

This is one of the screen shots from the Trakkit website, showing a cyber 'Doogs' leaving Alyth Hill and entering the Bamff estate on our recent excursion. I can also call up a map with a line of dots showing where we've been...Clever stuff, eh?

It does depend on getting a good 'fix' from the satellites - so dense woodland, deep glens etc may prove a little problematical for them to 'see' us (better make sure that's where I stop for a pee then!)

More info on what the TRAKKiT can do here.

A Dry Run

2009-06-29T02:49:00.000-07:00

And it was a 'dry run' - well, mostly! Only a total trip of around 16 miles ('quite far enough,' says Doogs) with an overnight camp in the grounds of the beautiful Bamff House.

All went very well for Doogs, Yeoman and the more novice Dougal, with lots of nice little challenges: some fairly steep ups and downs, ditches and soft bits to cross, as well as fighting our way along some overgrown tracks (requires some confidence from the ponies, as they can't really see where they're going.) We also had to barge past some huge rhododendrons on the estate, (due to ineffective navigation on my part.) Plenty of gates, too.

They coped excellently with everything, including coming back via the town for a little 'Alyth rush hour' traffic exposure. They were marginally less enthusiatic about passing a wild boar enclosure though...but went past it obediently enough in the end. They also settled well together overnight in the corral - so a good, confidence-giving outing all round. Fabulous panoramic views from the top of Alyth Hill yesterday...I meant to take some photos on the way back today but naturally by the time we got back there it was thick fog!

Fitness wise they all coped well and were barely warm at journey's end which was pleasing (although the weather was on the cool side).

It was also an opportunity to test out the TRAKKiT GPS system in Doogs' headcollar...the satellites lost us in the dense woodland of the Bamff policies, but otherwise Big Brother was certainly watching!

Thanks...

2009-06-28T00:58:00.000-07:00

...to everyone who has been in touch with messages of support, offers of help and good wishes (not to mention donations to World Horse Welfare). HUGELY appreciated, and we aim to be worthy of your faith in us!

Today is a dry run (hopefully it will be dry anyway!)- we are riding up to camp overnight on the beautiful Bamff Estate, courtesy of Paul and Louise Ramsay. This is an opportunity to test out all the gear and make sure that the packhorse load is working well - and see what we've forgotten probably.

We are to be accompanied on this mini-expedition by friend and instructor Shonagh Steven with her delightful Highland Dougal - they are to be joining us on the 'Cheviots' part of the trip so good practice for them too.

MOT!

2009-06-28T00:18:00.000-07:00

With just over a week to go before what I have come to think of as "blast off" (others may term it as b*gger off if they like), the boys have been getting their MOTs. Splendid new sets of shoes by Jim Balfour (those shoes were 'put on to stay on'!); updating of their vaccinations, teeth check & floating, hopefully we're good to go!

What they loved best, of course, was their pre-ride massage from Catriona Goulding. Catriona is a key member of our little study of what happens to a horse over a long distance. I am pleased to report that she was delighted with the condition of the boys - they have built up a lot of muscle bulk during our training, but very little sign of tightness - in fact, she was surprised at how supple they are. Although he may look as if he's about to bite her bum - in fact he's in ecstasy!

One of the things we discussed was how the ponies' performance has improved in the school - exercises which they may have found hard three months ago have become much easier for them. Surprising when you consider how little school work we have actually done over that period - but what we HAVE done by all our hill work is, of course, built up their strength, balance and agility. It gave me some pause for thought, actually, regarding schooling difficulties - how many problems & resistances do we see which are a direct result of the horse simply not being physically capable of what they're being asked to do?

One of the greatest improvements has been in Yeoman's canter - he has gone from a rushy, slightly tense and unbalanced canter - fairly typical of a young horse - to producing a rhythmical, balanced and supremely comfortable one - a direct result I'm sure of his increased strength behind.

More information about Catriona can be found on her website www.catrionagoulding.com

The Route

2009-06-23T06:49:00.000-07:00

This is our route, more or less! I say 'more or less', because each day there is a minimum mileage to get us from A to B. There is scope in many places to add loops, go a slightly different way to look at something interesting, or just explore.

The minimum mileage is what I think we can manage even if the weather is awful, the ponies are tired or I am sore! The actual mileage may end up being quite a bit more, we'll see.

The reason I arranged it this way was because hopefully I won't slip too far behind schedule and have to make numerous phone calls to rearrange things or reassure people I haven't fallen in a bog... provided none of us are sick or very sore, we should be able to keep up with what is not too punishing a schedule. That's the theory anyway!

The heat is on...

2009-06-23T06:31:00.000-07:00

...in more ways than one. We leave two weeks today, and suddenly there seems to be a great many last-minute details to sort out.

The horses are in fine fettle, and very fit: just awaiting farriers next week to get them freshly shod. I have booked farriers periodically on the ride, hoping that all works out just fine. I do carry Old Mac boots so we shouldn't be hampered if we lose a shoe (or two) between appointments. I am quite capable of removing a shoe in an emergency - nailing them back on, however, is best left to experts.

I am wondering if this hot weather will continue? Some long-range forecasters think so. I can foresee some very early morning starts (4 am or so) to get the bulk of the day's mileage done before the heat really kicks in. Still, a better class of problem than dealing with rain day in and day out, for sure!

Testing, testing

2009-06-10T08:46:00.000-07:00

The purpose of this blog is to allow you, the reader, to follow us on our adventures around Scotland. 'We' are Kate, Doogs and Yeoman ( Doogs and Yeoman are Highland ponies) and we are riding a thousand miles round the hill tracks of Scotland to raise money for World Horse Welfare and the fantastic work they do abroad in developing countries, training owners of working horses in how to care for them.

To read the background to this trip and find out more about us, why not visit my website: www.afinehorse.co.uk ? There you can read all about our preparation, about the horses, and if you wish you can also sponsor us!

Thanks for visiting - please add us to your favourites and join us on our adventures round the wild parts of Scotland. We'd be delighted to have you along (as long as you bring some chocolate).