athomson

Last updated 01:00, Thursday, 25 October 2007

IN SOME parts of the British Isles this has been a remarkable year with flood and fire, wind and rain, sun and cloud.

Yes, we have had the lot but, for all that, the south of Scotland weather has been decidedly gracious compared with the south.

We can only hope that the tail end of autumn is a bit more colourful – the wildflowers have gone but perhaps a plethora of autumn leaves will create a technicolour carpet ‘neath the trees.

From Ewes Bridge we climbed up to Pathhead and along Wattie’s Bank. Just before the end of the track we passed the old Observer Corps dugout and passed through the metal gate just across the track.

Going straight uphill we reached another gate and found ourselves in the Scrogg Wood, or Castle Scroggs, which is really an area of scrub bushes with a mixture of alders, birches and larch trees and a proportion of hawthorns and hazels.

Incidentally, a scrogg is a rough stunted bush or briar or scrub, although in Eskdale, hazelnuts are known as scrogg nuts. For much of the year this hillside is covered with the white of the anemone or azure blue of the wild hyacinth or crataes but by late October these flowers have been replaced by masses of bronze bracken fronds tumbling over each other and making walking difficult. But there was still bright yellow gorse or whin in bloom.

We soon reached the top of Castle Hill from where Eskdale and Liddesdale and Wauchopedale lay spread out at our feet with Annandale, Eden and the Solway shadowed by the Lakeland hills and Galloway in the distance.

But along the length of Ewesdale below us lay numerous larachs or remains of settlements. Castle Hill is probably the finest belvedere for a general view of the Muckle Toon.

While most border hills are inclined to be convex in shape, thereby hiding the lower and closer ground, Castle Hill is concave in shape with the Langholm streets and buildings clearly visible.

In the late sun some earthworks were easily delineated as at Terrona and Brieryhill, while we walked right through a couple on the slopes and ridge of Potholm Hill which is crowned with the ruins of a long dyke and a large cairn.

A wee bit farther to the north I came across a longish trench and dyke which seemed to curve round the end of the Potholm Hill with no indication of any possible use. The OS map indicates a settlement in the area but who would want to settle where there is neither food nor water?

Some of the earthworks were harder to make out, being at a lower level, like Henwell, Hoghill, Wrae, Glendivan and at Arkleton. But as we had still a few miles to walk back to Langholm we followed the traces of an old trail through a long dead and felled wood where only some ancient roots remained.

We were now into the Wrae Haas and followed a sheep trod down through a herd of cattle of varying hues and sizes.

By choosing this route, we escaped the trauchle through another scroggs banking and the thick steep forest of the Langfauld where within lies the infamous “Lover’s Grave”.

At this time of year when the game shooting is in full flow, or perhaps in full flight, it is sometimes a bit risky passing through such woods. But then the various guns are never shy about advertising themselves because they can usually be heard from some distance.

While walking through the woods above Holmhead I remembered my first close contact with Mr Brock Badger. At the North Lodge we turned left along the policy wall before striking up into the rhododendron bushes and into a clearing.

The event occurred before the advent of either Tara or Corrie so the “we” in question were a group of teenagers who wanted to see buzzards. I do not remember who the youngsters were but if anyone recognises themselves, please let me ken.

We came upon a heap of earth in front of a tunnel which was too big for rabbits and too open for a fox’s lair; then I saw an animal nearby. There was a slight quiver as we approached the beast and saw a badger lying in the open. We were saddened and angered to find that the puir beastie had a snare tightly round its waist and it had obviously never been checked for a day or two.

The badger had torn the peg from the earth and made its way back to the brock with the wire cutting into its body. I decided to remove the snare and was about to reach for it when one of my wiser companions pointed to the massive claws and, taking off his jacket, threw it over the badger.

With great difficulty, we removed the offending snare and the beast was able to move into the undergrowth. The next day the badger had disappeared.