The Joy of Rambling In Populated Places Or Why You Should Ditch the Munros and Take a Walk in the Central Belt

It’s to my great shame that it has taken almost four years of living in Glasgow for me to climb the Campsie Hills. Now in my defence, a global pandemic combined with rules against leaving the city boundaries – the Campsie’s sitting treacherously in East Dunbartonshire – has meant there were fewer opportunities then you’d expect, but even so they had always been on my “to-climb list” ever since I first noticed them staring at the city. But what fun they brought when I finally climbed them this weekend! The views over the Clyde Valley in particular were incredible, and from the most westerly cairn – just south of Cort-Ma Law – you could see from Renfrewshire in the West all the way to the Queensferry Crossing in the East.[1] Likewise, the walk back through the bogs near Lecket Hill were in many ways astounding, the blue of the sky, the complete emptiness of the landscape, just you, the grass and the water, followed by the reward of another epic view. All in all, a wonderful day out.

 

It might look dry, but it's actually boggy peatland.

It’s a bit of a truism that different locations can affect how we can think, and while this line of thought can be taken too far – looking at you 19^th century anthropologists – I can completely understand how long exposure to the solitude of the hights could affect a person’s mentality. Under the empty blue sky a sense of your own smallness can come about, free from distractions the mind can be left to wander and a different texture of being arise. There’s a reason some people are drawn to the high places and hilltops, and I can totally appreciate it.

And yet, while the views were astounding, I must confess my favourite bit of the day wasn’t the tops of the hills. Instead, it was actually the walk from Kirkintilloch Town Centre along the old railway line to Milton of Campsie.[2] There's a real joy that can only be found walking along a bustling town centre with people going about their usual day-to-day activities, tramping past houses, kirks and civic buildings rich with history, followed by a walk along a leafy old railway track lined by the ruins of old industry. There may be, like the silence of the moor, a sense of melancholy when you stumble acorss a broken railway bridge, but when surrounded by the sounds of woodland – squirrels in the trees, insects buzzing in the bushes, the occasionally well wishes from local joggers and dog walkers - it is surely a much lighter and sweeter melancholy. The sounds of activity remind you that it is here where history is constantly been made, and it is here where the stories, yes even the stories about the bog and moor, are told.

A (Former) Bridge Over the River Kelvin

Last year I had the privilege of being involved with the Young Christian Climate Network’s Relay to Glasgow, and for the final stretch of the relay we planned to walk from Edinburgh to Glasgow. A few weeks before we did so I remember excitingly telling another member that I had managed to get the time off, only to then horrify them when I went on to say that walking between the two cities had always been on my bucket list. For them it seemed mad that I, someone who lived so near the mountains, would want to walk between two cities through rather undistinqushed Central Belt countryside. And I get it, honest, walking from Motherwell to Uddingston isn't the usual holiday trip, but my reasons were simple. For millenia people would have walked between Glasgow and Edinburgh, therefore I wanted to understand that experience as well. History might be mostly a text based discipline, but this was one of the rare opportunities to make it a practical experience. And it should be said that the week was as enjoyable as I hoped it would be, by walking the route you saw how the geography shaped the different communities and wherever we went there was sites of interest and, dare I say it, moments of beauty. [3]

 

This little guy lived somewhere between Livingston and Whitburn

Obviously, I am not decrying anyone from enjoying the peaks and glens. Munro baggers, continue catching your giant stationary Pokemon, and do not be surprised if you occasionally see me out there too. But more likely, expect to continue seeing me walk along the highways and by-ways of the populated lands, those places which have had the mark of humanity on them for millennia, and which have their own special beauty. So let others take the high road, I’ll take the low road, and to each may joy abounding await!

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[1] What to know just ho how excited I was? Well here’s the TikTok I made when I got there! https://www.tiktok.com/@thesojourner/video/7126197265642966277?is_from_webapp=1&sender_device=pc&web_id=7102425914700858885

[2] Scholars of East Dunbartonshire will know that this doesn’t actually get you to the Campsie Hills. In my ignorance I had not checked where the path started, and so I therefore ended up taking a bus from Milton to Lennoxtown to actually do the walk as planned.

[3] People interested to read more about that week can read about it here: https://stephenjwatt.blogspot.com/2022/07/relay-to-cop26-article-from-st.html