Friday

The Dog Rambler E-diary

To 22
June 2012
Walk Dogs on walk Along the top line of Pentland Hills Length 6 miles

Brooklyn, Cyrano, Dylan, Finlay, Otis, Teela, Tim

Awesome weather today. Brilliant sunshine as we travelled around collecting everyone for the walk. Even as we parked at Swanston at the foot of the Pentland Hills, I toyed with the idea on not needing waterproofs. Was I mad? The weather forecast was for downpours. One ugly cloud massing near us made the final decision for me. Full waterproofs. And were they needed? Well yes and no. A funny old day. We did get wet but not badly. Most of the water was already sloshing around on the ground. Much to Finlays delight. I have never, ever seen him so filthy. Every muddy puddle, and there were lots, was like a bath of Asss milk to him. Gently sliding in, belly first. Lying down and savouring the filth. If that was not enough he felt the need to pop his head under the water just to see what was there. Not that he could see anything in the thick, dark soup. We all got wet from the sodden ground where paths were streams and streams were rivers. But no one else was anywhere near the colour of him. As we climbed away from Swanston, the whitewashed, thatched cottages were a lantern against the darkening sky and low clouds kissed the trio of tops on Caerketton Hill. Their gentle caress hiding a more sinister approach as finger like they began to grip around it

smothering the tops. As the dogs took the path through some glowing gorse bushes still bursting with yellow flower a great crack of thunder took us all by surprise. It rumbled deeply like a half starved dragon. We all jumped and looked at each other, but none of the dogs was too bothered. Thankfully, as the rumbles continued at intervals all day. At one point passing over us and heading west before swinging north and back eastwards to Edinburgh. Our sunshine was gone and we were heading up toward the thickening cloud. Incredibly muddy paths with rivulets of water everywhere. Brooklyn leaping across them, racing over the lush grass. Pulling Tim with him and tempting Cyrano too. Who took the bait and chased for a short time. Brooklyn next tried Teela and the look of surprise on her face said it all. But she was off the path and fair game in his mind. She was off the path because I do not think she loves to climb. Always seeking a way down and trying to nip off along any paths that promised her a loss of height. Otis kept firmly to the path, not prepared to cover more ground than necessary on this his last walk of a long week. Into the thickening cloud Cyrano, Finlay and Dylan began to disappear. We are used to cloud up here but this was different. It closed in tightly. When only twenty to thirty feet away the dogs were getting enveloped. It pushed against us like the soft, clammy hands of lost souls. Circling around us, muffling the noise as though stifling its own wails. The sound of the dogs collars chinking or the noise of my trousers rubbing were amplified and thrown back at us almost echo like. But all other noise was banned as it shut us up in its tight grip. Now overhead a deep, throaty roar burst the grip. More thunder bellowing its rage. The clouds grip loosening and drifting around opening a path for us. Once over Allermuir Hill it let us go. Spitting us out beneath its hilltop realm. The dogs too feeling the relief set off at pace through the heather in a chase of joy and freedom. Cyrano tracking Dylan and then finding himself chased by Tim. Dylan turning to Brooklyn, a white flash across the heather. Teela watching but no danger of participating she still had half an eye out for the way down. Happier now though as were definitely dropping. Crossing the shoulder of Capelaw Hill at last we fell below the cloud. A gentle glow on the

land as some sun slipped through its gauzy mantle. Below us Edinburgh was shrouded, like an old lady wrapping her shawl tight against the weather. And it was coming again. Heading back to Swanston the sky began to darken and an eerie light descend. More thunder split the air, some way off, and it was touch and go if we would beat the rainfall back to the car. We did. But looking at us it was hard to tell. Wet from the soaked ground and the dampness of the cloud, leaving its parting kiss on us. Nick

Photo slideshow from the walk

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