Latest Fieldnotes

I make it as far as Middle Broomhill farm before becoming sufficiently concerned with the deteriorating track – and thus my poor car’s nether regions – to seek local advice. As it happens the gentleman who answers my knock is a true Scot, if ever I did encounter one. Looks one, too. A credit to old Alba. In actual fact it is ‘probably’ (he says) possible to drive to Upper Broomhill – depending on your car’s clearance – although I would say the best bet is to park off track, to the left, a little beyond Middle Broomhill and not be so bloody lazy. No, on second thoughts the best bet is to park and have a chat with the local dude.... you might learn something, as I did. Such as the existance of a standing stone at the corner before the previous farm, which I subsequently completely forget about! Anyway, I discuss the hillfort with the chap... ‘nothing much remains’, apparently. A matter of interpretation, perhaps... but, as Harry Hill says, there’s only one way to find out! So, after promising ‘I’ll be back’, in my best Schwazenneger, off I go into the blazing heat of this May morning. Yeah. I know. In Aberdeenshire.

Passing the seemingly deserted Upper Broomhill the track terminates.... Barmekin Hill lies dead ahead and, in retrospect (what else?) the best idea is to head up hill and approach through woodland to the ascend the left hand end of the site. Needless to say the right hand looks the easier to me... however this means negotiating several tough barbed wire fences. Jeez, how I hate the stuff! And when that is done there’s the not insignificant matter of the steep, heather clad slopes of The Barmekin itself. Hey, why the need for stone ramparts when you have virtually impregnable Scottish heather? Nevertheless I persevere and in due course the hidden magnitude of the fortress is revealed. And then some! I concur with Drew and Bill..... five – count ‘em – concentric ramparts still girdle the hillside, the inner two as substantial as you could wish for, with a complex entrance to south.

Bennachie and the wondrous Mither Tap rise upon the northern horizon... and the traveller can’t help wondering if the multitude of defensive lines upon Barmekin Hill represented a touch of ‘bling’ to boot.... ‘hey, those guys may have occupied Bennachie, but just look at our defences!’ Yeah, there is a case for arguing that ‘five’ was simply taking the piss. Whatever, all is now silent. A place to ponder ‘stuff’, to pick out the locations of the wondrous RSCs of Sunhoney and Midmar Kirk far below to the approx south-west.

Eventually I descend and head through the woodland back to Middle Broomhill. I talk with ‘the wife’ this time... she reckons the blistering weather will last into next week... what a contrast to the 100mph gales of this time last year. Yeah, tell me about it.

[visited 26/5/12] Faced with a choice of locations for a picnic with the only criteria for choice being close to Manchester Airport, I picked Alderly Edge. Unfortunately as we were accompanied by an 18month old who walks at a speed slightly faster than a tortoise, the only prehistory I got to see was this stone. I’ll be back on my own I suspect to see the mines.

Sadly like Ravenfeather I’m just not feeling this stone. Superficially it looks like a fallen stone, but look closer and it seems much more like a bit of bedrock. It could be a large diamond shape with a large protusion or its a large protusion from the bedrock...

Access is very easy and wheelchair friendly, just keep right and on the main paths as you come out of the national trust carpark.

Loved this.... an utterly trashed site, yet endowed with such a vibe I doubt if you could squeeze any more atmosphere in with the proverbial crow bar. Yeah, just the one orthostat remains erect from the ring enclosing the green cairn.... presumably funerary in nature. But it is more than enough, to be honest, thanks to the natural aesthetic beauty of its fallen companions, not to mention distant hills. Of the former, none are more exquisite than the recumbent – has ever there been a more ‘recumbent’ recumbent? – and attending flankers.

Again, the fabulous, full on light no doubt has a great positive bearing upon the visit, highlighting colour and texture of stone to great effect. However I’ve a feeling a visit in pouring rain would be far from a washout upon Candle Hill... hey, some sites have simply ‘got it’, others haven’t. Difficult to define, I guess. You just ‘know’ when you arrive there.

As mentioned, despite being collapsed, the recumbent and flankers remain – for me – the focal point of the monument. A light covering of lichen and moss enhance form, Dunnideer and Bennachie taking care of the horizon.... as you would expect. However all is not rosy in Candle Hill’s garden, the view of Tap O’Noth having to be made across a gulley filled with rusting cars and other assorted junk. Yeah, Candle Hill doubles as a dumping ground, much to the shame of the landowner.

Which brings me to the question of access. Who owns Candle Hill? Hmm. Upon arrival I find the metal field gate secured with barbed-wire. Not very nice, it has to be said. I therefore make for the nearest house (Coldhome) and ask permission, only to be informed that the hill is not the property of the occupants.... and they have no idea to whom it does belong. Consequently I assume ‘they’ – whoever ‘they’ are – will not mind. Well, it wouldn’t do to miss out on an audience with Candle Hill, would it?

Luckily there’s a possible collapsed tomb to be seen at the bottom, which restores impetus and purpose to my aching legs. Next to a (medieval?) settlement, the positioning of the tomb, if that’s what it is, is perfect. It stands on a prominent little grassy knoll surrounded and enclosed by the cliffs that separate the Cwm from the Carneddau tops. The stone blocks involved are very large, well, they’re megaliths aren’t they? They are perched on top of each other in a way that doesn’t seem particularly probable as a natural landform but isn’t conclusively man-made either. But the spirit of the Carneddau is upon me and I give it the benefit of the doubt, someone can always “prove” it’s natural if they’d like to do so.

Approaching the cairn from Carnedd Llewelyn, it looks like a nothing of a marker cairn. The cairn itself is very small, even a walker looking for a pile to drop a stone onto might turn their nose up. In fact, my eye is drawn far more to the amazing views, down to Cwm Eigiau and Ffynnon Llyfant far below to the left, Ffynnon Llugwy to the right. Not to mention the Bwlch Eryl Farchog ridge below Pen yr Helgi Du. And Tryfan.

However, as we draw near it becomes clear that the cairn is beautifully positioned on a natural knoll of rock, right above the cliffs that drop away to Cwm Eigiau. If you want a suitably awe-inspiring place to lay a heroic warrior to rest, you couldn’t imagine anywhere much better. Whether this really was the final resting place of a Bronze Age chieftain, or an Arthurian knight, I still couldn’t say. The sky gods certainly have this place in their eye-line whatever.

I leave not knowing any more about its prehistoric authenticity than I did when I came, but I’m glad we came to find out. If you want a high, lonely spot away from the crowds, with breathtaking views, this might do it for you too.

The summit plateau, even more than Foel Grach’s, is a lunar landscape of shattered rock. Although it’s busy, there’s plenty of room to find a patch of solitude away from the cairn and wind shelter. On a day when Snowdon is doubtlessly teeming with hundreds of people, this lofty peak is a much better prospect. The views are simply staggering, from Carnedd Moel Siabod and Moelwyns, across to the Glyderau where Tryfan steals the show from the loftier Glyder Fawr and Glyder Fach. Directly ahead of us Carnedd Dafydd fills the foreground, while the Snowdon massif itself looms beyond. Y Garn and the conical summit of Elidir Fawr complete the vista of 3,000 foot peaks before us. I would defy anyone to come here and not be moved by such a scene. I resist the urge to fall to my knees in wonder (too many pointy rocks for genuflecting).

At a gap in the stream of people at the cairn, we make a break for it and snatch a few pictures before the next visitors arrive for their photo opportunity. Much as I like quiet and unfrequented tops, it’s difficult to complain about other people here, as every one of them has had to make an effort to reach this high spot. No rack and pinion railways up here.

We swing northwest towards the summit. As we come onto the top of the ridge, we get our first view of Carnedd Llewelyn, tantalisingly close and not much higher than we are. At the same time, we are hit by the full force of the wind. Bloody hell. The walk takes on an aspect of farce as the wind tries to tear the sunglasses off my face, while my trusty map-case becomes an evil monster, smashing me about the face and arms each time I try in vain to take a photo. Like two deep-sea divers in lead boots we crawl across the landscape of broken and shattered stone that forms the summit of Foel Grach. Certainly no shortage of cairn material, perhaps the biggest cairn on the planet stood here until the wind tore it down to teach the builders a lesson in humility. I’m certainly learning that lesson right now.

We spend some time taking pictures, with difficulty. When you look at our images, dear reader, try to forget the cloudless blue and apparently idyllic setting and imagine us being buffeted and bruised by a howling gale. The things we do to bring you these bloomin’ pictures.

I joke that at least no-one has turned this cairn into a shelter, not realising that they don’t need to as there’s a proper one just to the north of the summit. Proper as in roof and mortared walls. We take refuge from the winds for a lunch stop, enjoying the feeling and sound of being in the eye of a raging storm but safe and protected from it. Other pilgrims come to interrupt our reverie and so we head back out into it. Heading south we have the wind largely behind, to speed us on our way – don’t relax though, you’ll be over a cliff if you don’t keep planting the feet firmly.

We carry on down the slope to the little river; the intervening ground requiring some bog-hopping. Lucky the weather has been dry, this could be a bit of a problem in wetter conditions. The eastern end of the Pant-y-Griafolen settlement can now be seen under a small stand of trees, from where it stretches away upstream towards Llyn Dulyn. The Afon Melyllyn is easily crossed on plentiful stones, even in spate I don’t think this would cause a well-balanced visitor (that’s us) too much trouble.

Like the nearby Clogwyn-yr-Eryr settlement, this is not well-preserved, little more than circular rubble rings remaining. It is however extensive and fantastically well-placed. It’s hard to reconcile the fact that the site is 530m above sea-level with the degree to which it feels sheltered from the elements. The surrounding Carneddau ridges are so much higher that we are completely out of the gale force winds that are blowing over the tops today. You can almost feel the presence of the people, or perhaps they can almost feel ours. I could happily stay for a while in the sunshine, but we have hardly begun the hard work of the day and so we press on.

Before reaching the valley bottom, we angle our route to take in the small settlement shown on the map on the opposite slope to the larger Pant-y-Griafolen settlement. The map shows three circular features linked by a wall, with a further square feature close by. And this is exactly what we find. Three hut circles/round houses in a line, with the low remains of an enclosing wall around the northern side, with natural outcrops incorporated into the western end. There is a more substantial structure (probably the remains of a sheep fold) adjacent on the north side. It’s not the best-preserved of settlement sites, but the positioning is lovely, on the gently sloping valley side with the mountain ridges giving shelter on most sides. On a sunny day like today, I’d move here.

Our route will decide itself as we go on, but the first bit of business is to gain some height, so we head north-west along a good track that takes us with a zig and a zag up the slopes of Clogwynyreryr. The Ordnance Survey have helpfully made this all onelongwordthewaythatGermansdo, but actually it ought to be Clogwyn-yr-Eryr (there, that’s better), which translates into English as “Cliff of the Eagle”. Nice. We don’t see any eagles, but Chris does point out the location of the Hafodygors Wen four poster and stone row. There’s a great view of Pen-y-Gaer hillfort too, a site Blossom and I have admired previously from the Tal y Fan area and must get better acquainted with one day.

As we round the rocky end of the ridge, a view of the high Carneddau main ridge unfolds, from be-cairned Drum and across to Foel-fras. It looks a long way up yet. Our path turns its face westwards and we pause to look at a couple of suspicious looking stones either side of the track. One is about six feet tall and has a hole drilled right through it, the other is about half the height. Not an obvious pair of gateposts, we joke that it must be a stone row. Then we spot a further six-foot plus stone lying prostrate in the grass and joking turns half serious. We take a couple of snaps and proceed. Perhaps we should trust our instincts more, Coflein has this down as a possible stone row indeed! We note a further upright further up the slope but don’t even give this the respect it perhaps deserved (I don’t even have a photo).

An intriguingly complex, multi-phase series of defensive dwellings crown the crest of Turin Hill.... not to mention examples of those enigmatic cup-marked stones, the purpose/meaning of which still eludes us. Perhaps that will always remain the case. To be honest I misinterpreted the remaining grass-covered ramparts which still girdle the hill as a large multivallate hillfort with contemporary central ‘redoubt’, to which a very powerful circular dun was later added.

In actual fact it appears the inner hillfort, straddling the summit of the hill, was a later addition, perhaps a consolidation of resources when the larger enclosure was found to be too large to defend, too vulnerable to a surprise assault, perhaps?

For me by far the most impressive structure extant upon this hilltop is the aformentioned dun, sited a little below the summit to the west and unfortunately bisected by a dry stone field wall. Although virtually reduced to footings, the remaining volume of stone debris strongly suggests that here we have the significant footprint of what was a very powerful structure indeed. According to RCAHMS records [see thelonious’s link] there are additional examples of the genre to east and west, although much less distinct. Phew, clearly a lot has gone on upon Turin Hill across the millennia. The views are not bad, either, particularly looking northward across Hill of Finavon (incidentally bearing a fine vitrified hillfort) toward the distant, snow-capped Cairngorms. The large Carsegownie cairn can also be seen, nearer to hand, beneath its woodland copse.

Perhaps the greatest surprise, however, occurs as I take a wander along Turinhill Craigs (upon the southern flank) and literally stumble over a slab bearing several distinct cup marks. According to TMA rock art expert – and local resident – Tiompan there are more here [check out the related site]. Once again it is interesting – and perhaps instructive – that these slabs were not destroyed during the periodic remodelling which appears to have occurred upon this hilltop. Yeah, as I said at the start... what an intriguing place.

For reference I ascended Turin Hill from the north, past Back of Turin Hill (very prosaic). As usual, however, I misread the map and cut through woodland. Big mistake since, upon negotiating a wire fence, I suddenly feel a very sharp jolt surge through the right leg and fear the worst.... ‘Oh no, not the hamstring!!’. However the anticipated, searing pain does not follow, ‘just’ a further jolt as I replace the leg (think Homer stretching for the four pack suspended upon power cables). The penny eventually drops.... electric fence! Consequently if you come this way please keep to the right of the treeline... field gates give access to the western end of the hill and you won’t subject yourself to a dose of ECT. Unless you enjoy that sort of thing...... hey, none of my business.

Denoon Law is one of those sites that appears to have been bypassed by the modern world... it doesn’t feature in any guide I’ve seen.... indeed in ANY book I’ve seen. Yet it is most certainly very much a dominating feature of this wee corner of Scotland.... a very substantial fortress, indeed.

To be fair I probably wouldn’t have come here had it not happened to lay more or less between last night’s stopover in Glenisla and Brechin. But there you are... it did. So I duly arrive upon a cloudless morning of stunning – if rather severe – light. The field gate is closed but unlocked.... so I reckon I’ll take a quick shufti, so to speak. The eastern flank is protected by what appears to be an initial bank and ditch, a ‘barbican’ to hold up a surprise assault and give the inhabitants time to respond, no doubt. Otherwise Denoon Law is univallate, just the one rampart forming the defences of the enclosure. Hey, but what defences they are! Having said that, Canmore’s dimensions would seem excessive....

The foundations of what would appear to be a large rectangular structure lie within... a substantial hall, perhaps? Oh to be a fly on the wall of that mead hall. What stories, what tall tales! And then there is the beautiful, fertile countryside Denoon Law oversees. To be honest that is that. Nice ‘n’ simple. But then (near) perfection usually is. Yeah, I reckon Denoon Law is that good.

As I frantically snap away upon the camera, well aware that the light contrast is pushing my photography skills well beyond normal operating parameters, a rather young chap attired in farm overalls arrives upon a quad bike. ‘Can I ask what you are doing?’, says he. Seems not for the first time my camera tripod has been mistaken for a metal detector from afar. Nae bother, however. Once he determines the truth he simply wants to talk... seems there is a Roman fort nearby, local folklore adorned with tales of pesky Pictish warriors causing serious problems for the local legionnaries. Methinks Denoon was not a favoured posting in those days....

Anyway there is work to be done feeding cattle and wotnot – hey, ‘farmer things’ – so I’m left alone upon Denoon Law’s mighty ramparts for a few hours in the sun. Yeah, there are worse places to spend time. It is a good place to be. Eventually, however, it is time to leave Denoon and head for Turin Hill. But that’s another story.

There is no obvious place to park other than the start of the (relatively) long access road for Carsegownie Farm. Consequently I left a note on the windscreen of the trusty Rover and went to have a quick look at what appeared – from the busy B9124, anyway – to be a quite substantial cairn, lying resplendent within crop beneath a canopy of trees.

The initial worry – well, not actually ‘worry’, but you know what I mean – is unfounded.... tractor tracks give access through the crop to the site, an oasis of prehistory within a sea of green. Or something like that. Initial impressions are immediately confirmed... the large diameter of the cairn, albeit not that tall. There is a significant volume of debris on top, both organic and inorganic in nature. No doubt some of this represents field clearance, but there are also several large, enigmatic stones to be seen, perhaps surviving from the original monument? Note the excavation detailed within my miscellaneous post of last year... a cist was discovered here; however the interior is too overgrown to be any more specific, I’m afraid, other than to confirm the existance of a ‘hollow’ where I assume it once lay? Pity, I guess, but the vibe within the trees here is pretty special nonetheless, what with Turin Hill – topped by myriad forts and rock art – keeping watch upon the southern skyline.

The farmer drives up and is either satisfied by my note, or does not give a monkey’s one way or another. Yeah, it is refreshing to be at Carsegownie for a while.

Best to approach from the village of Oxenton along the track shown on the 1” OS map. A lovely little (therefore an early one?) hill fort, off the beaten path. Two ramparts visible on two of the three sides, poss a third one on the North slope. Lots of ancient quarrying inside the fort itself. Visted in May 2012.

Visited 11th May 2012

It’s getting a little late in the day now as we’ve already been to Minniglow Hill, and had a poke about in the lovely bookshop at Cromford, but it’s been a good couple of years since I last visited the Grey Ladies, so it seemed rude not to pop by.

We parked up where the road is slightly wider, just down the hill from the farm entrance opposite the stones (the plethora of ‘No Parking’ signs by the farm making it quite clear that the farmer wants no truck with visitors blocking his accessway)

I love Nine Stones Close, it’s one of the best sites in the Peak District, fantasticaly framed against the outcrop of Robin Hood’s stride, the whole area redolent of folktales and myth. The four remaining stones are all lovely, each one unique, from the heavily pockmarked stone, to the deep grooves worn into the tops of the stones by the countless years of falling rain.

Its a shame that only four stones remain (possibly five if you count the poor sad stone pressed into service as a gatepost) but they are all of a good size and satisfyingly chunky, the largest stones in Derbyshire. The nearby tree also fits in well with the circle, and as the sun dips lower long shadows are cast onto the stones.

I didn’t get chance to climb Robin Hood’s Stride today, and I’ve never found the Hermit’s Cave yet, but that only gives me an excuse to come back to this lovely place another day.

At the very highest point of the hill (511m), protected by the encircling ramparts, is a burial cairn of an earlier date. With views to die for, this was a fabulous resting place for someone. I can’t help but feel that Moel Famau to the north might have been similarly crowned, before the Jubilee Tower swept away any archaeology. As with many similar cairns, the visible stonework piled in a cone is a modern reconfiguration/addition. The mound proper sits below, with its much wider diameter covered by short turf.

We carry on around the eastern end of the fort’s circumference, until the ground drops sharply once again on the southern slopes. Steps have been built to minimise erosion from the fort’s many visitors. Although Offa’s Dyke Path skirts the western end of the fort, I imagine a lot of people make the short detour to have a look at this magnificent show of Iron Age strength. As we drop back to the path, we meet a group of teenage lads, shouldering enormous rucksacks as they climb the steeply sloping hillside. They are friendly, cheerful and polite, clearly happy to be out in the hills. Perhaps some of the TMAers of the future are in that group? It’s certainly the kind of place to inspire an interest.

From Bwlch Penbarra we have another steep, steep climb to get up to the ramparts of Foel Fenlli. Like the opening ascent of the day some two hours earlier, this is short, sharp shock. Our legs are more tired now that they were then though, and the hundred metres of vertical ascent is harder work this time. However, the reward is utterly worthwhile. Foel Fenlli is multi-vallate, like the other Clwydian forts. It has the benefit of terrific natural defences by virtue of its positioning atop a hill with steep drops on three sides (only the eastern approach is anything but knackering for any would-be attacker). Iron Age status symbol? You bet. The Vale of Clwyd looks a looong way below us. There are good views of the nearest of the neighbouring forts, Moel y Gaer.

Visited 11th May 2012

I’d had my eye on Minninglow Hill for some time, quite literally as I kept noticing its distinctive profile on recent visits to the Peak District. So with the rare combination of a day off work, combined with a rare burst of reasonable (or at least dry) weather it felt like time to make the trip.

I wasn’t sure what access would be like now, and as Ellen tends to get a bit twitchy at the thought of having to trespass I thought the best approach would be via the Midshires Way footpath. We travelled up past Ashbourne, as if heading to Arbor Low, but turned off beforehand onto the A5012 road to Cromford. A couple of miles along this road at the village of Pikehall, a right turn is signposted to a parking spot on the edge of the village where the footpath can be picked up.

At the pleasantly large parking area and picnic spot, the tree topped hill of Minninglow was clearly visible. Setting off along the footpath which ran along the site of an old disused railway line, the open countryside, with Minninglow looming ever larger in front of us, looked green and inviting, and so nice to be here after weeks of grey drizzle making life in town seem even duller than usual.

After crossing a high viaduct, and heading through into the remains of a small quarried area, I was more than pleasantly surprised to see a clearly way marked path up the hill. The signage and gates up the path looked fairly new and substantial, and gave no indication that the concessionary path was likely to be closed any time soon.

So safe in the knowlege that access was not going to be an issue we started walking up the hill. The rocky outcrops and large stones on the upper reaches of the slopes reminded me of the remains of ancient ramparts, and with only the stares of curious sheep for company we entered the gate into the tree enclolsed hill.

Two large megalithic barrows spring immediately into view, huge capstones exposed and showing the size this barrow would once have been. Although reduced in size over the millenia when you stand atop the embankment crowning the hill and look around you get an idea of the huge scale of this burial mound.

You feel so enclosed and sheltered here, the outer circle of trees screening you from the outside world, whilst an inner semi-circle of beeches huddles protectivly around the chambers. We unpacked our picnic and basked in the weak sun, just enjoying the magical atmosphere of the place, and as we eat we spot a hare darting from the cover of the trees into the field beyond.

Soon the cold wind starts to buffet at us and dark clouds glower in from the peaks making it too cold to sit around for much longer. But as other posts have said Minninglow is a fantastic place, and so private, we saw several groups of walkers on the footpath below the hill, but none seemed keen to go slightly out of their way to visit this amazing place, although I suppose that makes it quieter for those of us who like to just come to ancient places to chill out!

It may have taken me years to get around to visiting Minniglow but now I have I’ll certainly be back!

Funny, isn’t it, how incidental views of something from a viewpoint can act as a spark for future action? In this case it was Schiehallion rising upon the distant skyline from the wonderful Na Carraigean ‘four poster’ last year. Hmm.... ‘The Fairy Hill of the Scots’ (seems this is the generally accepted translation?)... which just happens to dominate Loch Rannoch, apparently the land of my distant ancestors, assuming the genealogical research undertaken by my late (and much missed) aunt Maureen to be correct. Yeah, I knew I really needed to do something about arranging a personal audience before it became an entry upon the ‘if only’ ledger in later life. But Mother Scotland doesn’t just ‘do’ favourable weather to order. Oh no! Which is why I find myself hanging out within Aberdeenshire’s fabulous Cothiemuir Hill RSC, pondering the best route towards Skye, when the thought suddenly enters my head. It has to be tomorrow! To the Fairy Hills!

My weather hunch is correct, the day dawning cloudless as I rise from my overnight stop upon the Devil’s Elbow (heh! heh!) above Glen Shee. So, a passing nod to the wondrous Spittal of Glenshee upon its glacial moraine en-route, I duly arrive at the Braes of Foss car park. Yeah, the knee feels OK, so today’s gonna be a good day. I hope. There is a £2 parking charge, the monies apparently used to maintain the approach track, which the John Muir Trust noticeboard explains has been re-routed to minimise environmental impact. Hey, I can live with that. The ‘board has a further surprise.... a fine, multi-cup marked stone standing right by the initial stages of the track and not shown on my ancient 1:50K OS map. Schiehallion looms above to the approx west and, foreshortened, looks a bit of a doddle, to be honest. Are they sure it’s 3,553ft (1,083m)? The first stage of the ascent does little to dispel this illusion, despite the fierce heat and thick coating of 50 factor sunblock. Yeah, the aforementioned track does its job well. A large cairn appears upon the immediate near horizon... surely not. Already? Err.... no. Needless to say the ridge stretches away to the summit upon the far horizon, the intervening distance a moonscape of shattered rock and quartzite outcrop. Quartzite... hmm. Funny, that. As for the cairn, a lack of bonding footprint with the earth strongly suggests no ancient providence. More’s the pity. Oh, one more thing. It is here that the nice, easy going track ends. Abruptly. Schiehallion may be a ‘fairy hill’ but, much like the celebrated gay contingent of 2 Para during the Falklands War, she is as hard as nails. And don’t you ever forget it.

So, the traveller, not so cocky now (ha!) is forced to pick his way across the knee juddering rock, small patches of grass veritable oases of relative calm within the brutal carnage that is the serpent’s rocky back – suggest trending to the left is possibly the better bet? The mighty Ben Lawers rises in this direction to as near-as-dammit 4,000 ft, a skyline of Cairngorm and Lochaber mountains to the right, ahead just shattered rock rising slowly, but anything but ‘gently’, to the summit cone. It is the first view of the latter which explains why Schiehallion has no need of a ‘Tinto-style’ Bronze Age cairn.... the summit itself is formed of one massive, nay gigantic, natural cairn of shattered rock. Mother does it best, does she not? Eventually I reach ‘the top’ where the view down to Loch Rannoch – and across to Rannoch Moor, Glen Coe etc blows my mind, vestiges of last week’s snow still apparent upon the high tops. Schiehallion has none, but needless to say has no need, her whiteness built in courtesy of the liberal coating of quartzite.

I move a little down hill to the west to avoid the noisy trainer-clad brigade and try and take it all in. I can’t, of course, there being too much sensory data to process. But if this landscape does hold my ancestral roots, what a privilege that would be. Hell, it’s a privilege to be here full stop. So... ‘Fairy Hill?’ A retrospective look at TMA shows the Braes of Foss site is but one of numerous examples of rock art below the mountain’s mighty flanks. So, yes. Seems pretty clear that Schiehallion has always basked in the attention of humankind. Time, of course, is fleeting. So I decide to stay the night below in order to maximise the moment. Yeah, it just feels ‘right’, you know? Perhaps it always has....

After a Sea-Trout commando expedition myself and Sam Spade dropped in on Gatehouse of Fleet en route home. We parked outside the house which posed as “The Green Man” pub in The Wicker Man and strolled out through the town to the Borland Hills. Some very perky stirks just out into pasture from the long delayed Spring meant an abrupt retreat from the area of Rutherford’s Witnesses before we could locate the Rock Feature.
Time was pressing upon us to return home but we figured we had half an hour left so I suggested we have a wee search for some of the Lagganmullan panels. We drove quickly out towards Skyreburn and parked at a little pull in on the Glenquickan Road. The fields were full of Ewes and lambs and our presence soon had literally hundreds of the things scuttling away through the connecting field gates, baaahing and bleating as they rushed up towards the farthest field at Lagganmullan Wood.
The field I wanted to check out for rock art was mercifully free of livestock (I am continually beset by livestock issues on my stone forays) and after wandering hoplessly up to the top field wall, I could see no slabs or rocks protruding from the surface of the smooth turf. In desperation I grabbed a handful of turf and tried to peel it back – it came away and revealed a beautiful pair of cups and rings. Sam Spade nearly fell over in surprise and amazement. I was pretty gobsmacked to have fluked it in such a random way too! We found another part of the panel by peeling some more easy turf back. A good soaking with some water & some photos before replacing the turf then we headed up to the top field where I wanted to check out a group of stones on a small hillock which had caught my eye on visits to the area last Autumn and at Easter this year. See if you can spot them here (a few of the blobs are trees).

goo.gl/maps/19N5

The Ewes and lambs which had fled from us when we entered the first field were now crowded around the stones on the hillock. I didn’t want to further disturb the livestock and incur the wrath of the farmer who was now approaching on his quad, so we just photographed them from a few hundred yards away. From the air, the stones form a rough triangle. Field clearance? Modern/ Victorian Folly? Messed up ancient site? Who knows... its not on Canmore and I’ll have to wait for another few weeks till I’m back in the area to get a proper look at the arrangement. Failing that... I’m back down for another week at Borland in October.... The lambs will have gone off to market and the Ewes will be off the hills by then...

A large bowl-shaped barrow North of Latham Hall to the South-East of the Staffordshire Moorlands village of Calton. It has been identified with ‘Thorncliff’ a barrow opened by Samuel Carrington in 1848.

Carrington found a primary inhumation accompanied with a flint implement and a broken, rivetted bronze dagger. A secondary extended inhumation, probably of a much later date, was also found. (“Ten Years’ Diggings..” Bateman, T. 1861. pp118-9.)

A central pit on the mound marks where Carrington opened the barrow and there is evidence of a second excavation of the site from 1959 that made no further finds.

The site was Scheduled (RSM No. 13578) on 4th June 1992. pastscape.org.uk/hob.aspx?hob_id=307557

02/06/2012 – Blue Cairn is just by the side of the road through Glen Esk, in the grounds of a school in Tarfside. Bit overgrown but it’s a fair size with a few large boulders forming a possible kerb. Easy parking at the small car park on the opposite side of the road. We arrived by a different route. Starting at Aboyne, Deeside, we walked south over the hills via the Fungle (old drove road) to camp at Tarfside overnight. Feet were pretty pleased to reach Tarfside. After a cold night we left Blue Cairn behind and headed back over the hills to Aboyne, this time via the Firmounth (another old drove road). Great weekend.

02/06/2012 – Good parking in Tarfside, Glen Esk. Follow the Firmounth (old drove road) north for a mile. The cairn is just by the side of the track at NO 4902 8057. It’s fenced off with a gate, protecting it today from the lovely cows with calves in the surrounding fields. Nice cairn with visible kerb. Worth going just for the walk, a lovely glen.

This standing stone is on the northern side of the aptly named Heather Hill. Traveling east from Dunecht on the A944 take the first minor road south. I took the first road west and parked at a gate which obviously hadn’t been opened for a long, long time. From there I climbed a wall to the south and walked the short distance to another road heading back east. Keep going until a track can be seen heading south. About half way up the hill look west and the stone should be seen sitting amongst some wonderful scenery.

It stands at 1.2 meters in height and has a couple of visible chokes offering support. Looking north over the Corskie Burn it has tremendous views north, east and west, to the south Heather Hill.

Visited 3/6/2012.

Visited on Friday 18th May , the one really wet day of the week. I have to say unfairly perhaps, that after the remote, mysterious circles, wedge tombs and standing stones situated on mountain sides, often in peat bogs almost always facing towards the sea – this stone circle was an anti-climax. Near the centre of the town of Kenmare (Ceann Mara – the head of the sea) it is the largest and most well preserved circle in the south-west measuring about 17 metres in diameter with 15 uprights and a large boulder dolmen at the centre. Boulder dolmens are rarely found outside south-western Ireland and are thought to be ‘memorials set above burials rather than formal chambers intended as receptacles for burial deposits’ (quote:* Sean O’Nuallain). The local information leaflet says that this bears some relationship to Stonehenge.

When Julian Cope visited in 2002 he describes it thus “ in their current state these stones remind the traveller of a fussy, ersatz and over-presented garden centre feature … “
Nicknamed the Shrubberies by the locals and ten years on – fast growing conifers have been planted completely enclosing it. And yet, and yet ... as the disappointment settles over you, you know the Caha Mountains are there though cannot been seen because of the plantings; you can hear, though cannot see, a rushing river nearby. Give this stone circle back to Nature and the ‘sense of place’ recently discussed on the forum would be there in abundance.

*from: “Stone Circles, Stone Rows, Boulder-Burials and Standing Stones”