Last updated 21:47, Wednesday, 02 April 2008

PERHAPS I do not fully realise it but I have been told that I am no longer in the first flush of youth. I know that I walk at a slower pace and so take a bit longer to cover the miles.

I always carry a nibbie nowadays but insist that it is to ward off any argumentative bulls, deer, sheep, rabbits or wild, wild women.

Anyway, I now usually select the easier routes, tracks, paths or trods in preference to cliffs, rocks or mighty mountains.

On The Ides of March Bill and I drove up the lovely Ewes valley as far as the Bush Farm where we turned up the Meikledale and parked the car at Rigfoot nestling at the end of the Wolf Hope from where we had an easy walk along the loaning to the Burngrains Sheiling.

Like most of the cottages in the Ewes, Burngrains is now a neat holiday cottage.

Now the name implies the place where a number of burns come together, so we found ourselves at the confluence of the Meikledale Burn and Jock’s Hope Burn.

I have frequently wondered who this particular Jock could have been but have never found out to my satisfaction.

So we pressed onwards and upwards along Jock’s Hope as it climbed inexorably upwards for another three miles towards Murder Gill and down into Stennieswater.

The original track had been replaced with a wide smooth road suitable for some of the giant modern forestry machines but, for all that, it still took a lot of Shanks’ Cuddy to conquer all the sharp corners and steep climbs, especially when they could all be seen spread out away in front.

Our intention was to climb across into the parallel Wolf Hope to the south, so after an hour to the first large, sharp bend, we dropped across the burn to a sheep fauld to follow a smaller burn which had already tumbled down its cleuch for some distance.

We eventually reached the top of the muir at Roughbank Height and, at last, were able to look down into the Wolf Hope.

It has been said that the last wild wolf in Scotland was shot here. That being the case, there must have been an awful lot of “last wolves” being shot in Scotland.

It was still very rough walking but I now knew that we were on the right track; immediately across the new hope and at the top of the slope stood a monument in the shape of a hewn stone slab or headstone.It was in memory of a Lady Florance who married a scion of the Buccleuch family. They spent their honeymoon at Langholm Lodge during which time she took part in a fox hunt.

Very brave but extremely naive and even foolish, she rode her horse down the very steep slope to the Wolf Hope Burn. She did not even ask the horse what he thought.

Back down into Wolf Hope we followed it down through the hazels and birches and through the larach of an ancient settlement to return to Rigfoot.

At that moment, two figures appeared out of nowhere. One was a smart young lad who appeared to be looking after Santa Claus who was complete with a long flamboyant white, broad beard and rural clothes. Santa got into his motor while the lad remained to hold the gate open for us.

I ask him “who is that man?” although I already had my suspicions. “Oh, that is Jock, my grampa.”

Had I finally found out just who Jock’s Hope was named after?

Hardly, as I now realised that Santa was really my old friend Jock Grant from just across the road at Sandyhaugh of Ewes.

Says Jock: “A didnae ken ye under yer funny hat.”