Tuesday

The Dog Rambler E-diary

To 30
October 2012
Walk Dogs on walk Around and Over Capelaw Hill Length 6 miles

Cyrano, Finlay, Gina, Martha, Otis, Phoebe, Solo, Tim

With Halloween almost upon us the rain fell around us misting our sight like ghouls trying to steal around us. The whoosh of wet tyres on the by-pass at Dreghorn like the noise of flying broomsticks whizzing through the air. One last look over our shoulders and we headed off along the old road into the mist and toward the ghostly abandoned farm. From amongst the bushes, with spindly fingers like witches gnarled hands, the dark and angular shapes of the farm suddenly pushed out of the mist. Like a sharp jawed witch with bony cheekbones and a pointed hat. The dogs glanced up, had they heard the crack of a stick or was there something hiding in the shadows. No a rippling noise was in the air with an underlying but unmistakeable gurgle. Bouncing around trapped in the veil of the mist. They had heard and were now looking for the stream that passes under the road dancing over the stones on its bed. As we climbed we broke free of this low misty rain caught in the trees and bushes. And on imaginary broomsticks Phoebe led a sweeping line of witches across the open ground. Tim in close pursuit but Gina and even Cyrano following the tail. Martha, Otis and Solo keeping a little closer to me. Could they sense something in the air, a little creepiness? Finlay the

brave vampire hunter was staying at the front ready to save us all. But hang on he was not as far ahead as usual and soon was consumed by us all. Like wistful gremlins, sheep dotted the hillsides watching us closely with beady eyes. Ready to cast a spell us on the minute we looked away. We did not. We climbed onward and higher into heathery ground stripped of its colour. As though the shadow of a witch had touched the ground and bled it away to a sullen brown. The lovely tweed colours of a fabulous hillside shawl gone. Replaced by a dull cloak of deep tangled heather clutching at our ankles as we passed by. Cyrano bravely fought his way through it with Gina and Phoebe with her broomstick tail joined them. We were below the arcing top Capelaw Hill, with cloud fast descending as though summoned by a spell to hide of witches nest plunged deep into the darkened top. The intrepid witch hunters of Cyrano and Gina were joined by Tim as they fought through the heather trying to unearth these unearthly creatures. To no avail. They are cleverer than that and were probably now up in the low cloud following our progress and using the sheeps shining eyes as lenses of their own. Around the back of the hill we went as though sacred to climb it. Giving our selves more time. Away from the heather and over bleached grass faded by the touch from a witchs cloak. More sheep with unblinking eyes imperceptibly turned their heads like statues come to life, and those dark eyes followed our every step. The dogs fell into line as though under a spell from these sheep until an investigation of the deep grass by Finlay gave the all clear. With the light being stolen away from us by the minute and the long grass sharp, dark and erect like the bristles on a witchs chin we had to finally climb the hill. The dogs racing about as though hunting out that coven. Then out of the gloom a tall shape struck a pose where the ground met the low swirl of mist. At first it looked like an apparition of gallows from which generations of witches have lost their life. But as the mist swirled around our feet it was only a post after all. Relieved the dogs ran off down the hill in a state of euphoria we had conquered the hill and survived. The sheep no longer had that sinister look to them. The mist was lifting and Edinburgh was becoming clear below us. Although Arthurs Seat did have the look of a cocked witchs hat.

Nick

Photo slideshow from the walk

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