Killcreggan

I finished the stretches of dyke in Kilcreggan. As is often the case, I ran short of stone and had to borrow from the heaps around the gardens. Although the original wall tipped over, it was built with much skill. The facing was tight and, for a wall of such height and narrowness, it is standing well. In fact it is narrower at the base than many walls only two thirds its height and this is maybe part of its problem. But not all. The hearting is a bit sparse inside and, now a century has passed, it has settled and migrated down a bit . This is why we often run short of stone. The guys, like most workers back in the day, were paid low rates by the yard and chucked the hearting in to build the walls up fast and thicken their paypacket. As with most jobs, the rate of pay is fairer now and so we build walls with stouter hearts, at least we should. And building them tighter like this uses more stone. Despite all this, those men built a good wall that is, barr the odd repair, still standing straight and true long after they passed.

Kilcreggan

I am repairing an old dyke that marks the bounds between two houses in Kilcreggan. One is modern but the other, like so many houses in the village, is a piece of Victorian grandeur in minature with things like sculpted stone window details and ornamented wooden eaves.


It's almost 40 miles by road for me so last night I camped on an old jetty near the village. The jetty is two parallel mortared dykes with boulders between. Its long since tackety boots crunched on the stone and it now wears a coat of turf where clusters of pink thrift and sea campion dance in the wind. As darkness fell a riotous assembly of pipestrelle bats gathered giving wild chase to each other. Try as I might I could not hear their flight, even when they performed quick fire swoops and dives but two feet away.

Kilpatrick hills

I went over the hill from Glasgow today to fix a wire on a dyke I repaired a few months ago. The rain was driving in hard and Jim the farmer wanted a better day so we postponed. I had a dyke repair in Kilcreggan to see but not until afternoon. That left me free for a while so I walked up the hill to the Whangie.

The story goes that The Devil was in Strathblane but had an appointment with another soul in Dumbarton. For a shortcut he leapt the hill. On the way over his tail whanged the hillside and sliced it open. A huge segment of cliff peeled away and settled a few feet forward leaving a deep gorge immediately behind. We live in more secular times and it is now a popular spot with walkers and climbers. A well worn path winds its way up the hill and I passed a school party coming down. The rain had by now eased off and, as we passed, I saw that they didn't look quite so bedraggled as I expected given the squall they had been caught in.

A pair of ravens were the only company at the top. They must have a nest on the cliff and, as I picked my way through the gorge, they glided the wind above whilst giving me what-for in throaty voices gruff as Lily Savage.