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and 

Walk Hartside Hill and Clints Hill,

Scottish Borders

Length 6 miles

Dogs on walk Dylan, Jolie, Lucas, Maggie, Solo, Tim

The twin hills of Hartside Hill and Clints Hill rose gently before us, a slight dip separating

them. Hartside Hill cloaked in its thick coat of trees part of an extensively planted pine

forest. Its partner Clints Hill different. Open moorland looking a little cold and bleak under 

the ominously clouding sky. Some of the clouds rising in great columns climbing high into

the sky. Turning from a fluffy white to a threatening angry grey and black.

With one eye on the weather we set off along the track toward the forest and its winding

route cutting casually up the slope of Hartside Hill. Jolie was immediately off down the

track so full of energy. She caught the others by surprise and was on her own. She

stopped, looked back. Thought about it and came bounding back. Leaping into the air and

landing right in front of Lucas. That was enough and he chased off after her back along the

track with Tim gallantly pushing himself along behind them.

Nearing the gate we had to wait for Dylan. Who recently has taken to moseying quite

slowly, sticking his head deep into the grass to get the fullness of the scents. As we waited

Maggie and Solo stole off into the stream passing under the track, their splashing sounds

giving away their supposedly surreptitious foray.

The Dog Rambler 

E-diary

Monday

05September 2011

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Through the gate and the path cut right, but hold on someone was missing. Somehow

Maggie and Tim had failed to get through the gate because of one last dip in the stream.

Reunited we pressed on. Ahead of us on the hillside, towering above the mature trees,seven wind turbines rose white and majestic. Each of their three bladed arms turning

slowly in the mild breeze. Like the hands of clocks, counting down time.

Between the hillside’s coat of trees the track had a scarf of heather. Ribboning along on

either side pulsating with purple against the deep tweed colours of the stems and leaves.

Into it ran Jolie, Lucas and Tim and then back onto and across the track. As they began to

run along the track Dylan and Solo joined them. But as they swung off again Dylan kept on going to head the walk and stay there. Solo slowed down again until caught by Maggie

who he meandered along with.

Climbing higher the distant hills came into view, blueish and pale in the hazy light as the

sun fought against the semi blanket of cloud. In the fields below the cows, horses and sheep

were mere spots but the occasional lowing and bleating drifting on the air reminded us of 

their true size.

Atop of Hartside Hill stands a tall communications mast. A skeleton structure of latticed

metal converging to almost a point at its top as though it were bones waiting to be clothed

in flesh. Its electronic equipment of dishes and aerials humming almost imperceptibly, its

heartbeat. Jolie ran beyond it into the boggy hummocks of grass. I called her in case of 

deer. I had seen them once here, nestling in the grass, quite some time ago. Until we

pitched up and spooked them away. So you never know. There were not any today. Wereached the trig point marking the true top of the hill, almost hidden in the trees.

We were not finished with the hill yet and returned to the track to follow it round the

other side of the hill to a natural turning point. We headed back until we could cut off 

onto Clints Hill. Bare compared to Hartside Hill and with a smaller almost truncated mast.

Beside it an ancient cairn. Clashing modernity with lost history. Without the trees we were

afforded wide uninterrupted views. Of no interest to the dogs who relished getting backonto the wooded track where Maggie sprung to life leading Jolie on a chase down the

track. Without doubt she can go faster downhill. But she was soon panting and left Tim to

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take up the chase. However, he was beaten as Jolie ploughed into some deep heather 

leaving him marooned half sunk like a capsized rowing boats. Jolie found a stick and Tim

swam out of the heather to tug at it with her. By now Lucas was just behind me and no

amount of encouragement could persuade him to go ahead and join the games. He washappy just like Dylan waiting some way ahead for us to catch up.

We did, by the time we reached the gate again. In a less splayed out group we arrived back

at the car able to look to our left to see the trace of our walk climbing up the hills.

Nick

Photo slideshow from the walk 

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Nick Fletcher

The Dog Rambler

9 Links Street

Musselburgh www.thedogrambler.com

East Lothian nick@thedogrambler.com

EH21 6JL t. 0131 665 8843 or 0781 551 6765

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