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on the bus
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A Grand Day Out – the 2008 Eskapade
Organised by Willie Gibson Report by Richard Lathe |
Waiting for the late-comers |
ready to go
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A splendid one again – and each year is different. There was
some aiding and abetting from Nick et al (the et al includes some
reccying, ladder building, and some uisge – hence the name of
the Esk). Scarcely recovered from the trials of the Wed night Pub
Run experience a band found themselves 07:30 in pitch dark at Carlops
awaiting the minibus. We were slow to fasten our seatbelts. “Last
time I managed a 360 degree turn on ice” quoth the driver (Irene
Schierloh once again - many thanks- ed). We buckled out seatbelts. |
a wierd morning
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over the wall
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The sky lightened as we arrived at Musselburgh, where the gale was
gusting 50-60 mph (where was Nigel?) off the bay with a splendid display
of whitecaps. By now the group had grown. Cody arrived with Gordon
in tow, other brave aficionados incuded Karen, Hilary S, Bill and
Rodney. And many others yet to experience the Esk. Ben gets the prize
for the latest arrival (Mykura beware, serious competition here). |
Rodney is lost
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Cody looks surprised
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Derek crosses bridge 2 |
In Dalkeith Estate
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Still in Dalkeith
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Unlike previous years (wall to wall frost and ice) the temperature
was an unusually clement 10-12 degrees, and before we’d gone
far the sweat trickled and gortex tops were discarded. We followed
the track under the new Dalkeith Bypass bridge and headed for Lasswade.
Sadly no mice pies (but we have a promise for next year!), but Win
turned up instead, and on we go, passing increasingly desperate signs “Strictly
no access” “private” “trespassers will be
prosecuted” with wry ignorance. |
A Happy Chappy |
A lot of Bottle
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First stop at Polton Bridge,
to grab some much-needed water, and Juliet brought out some magical
flapjacks! Now Roslin Glen, where the water was surprisingly low enough
to let us follow the low road, though some care was needed. The castle
was upon us (we ran through the underneath arch) and the powder works
were quickly left behind as we regrouped at the start of the old railway
(marked on the map, not having glasses, as ‘demented railway’). |
Folly |
Kings Acre |
This is the hard and tedious bit. Plod, plod… footsteps resounding
as we head through tunnels before the final stretch up to Penicuik
High Street and the Hotel Royal, which it’s not. True to tradition
not a cup of tea or a bacon sannie in sight, just 2 score tired runners
waiting patiently. |
Down to Lassswade
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Down to Lasswade
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Dreep
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Dreep
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Dreep
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Meeting the Others
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Polton Mill
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How many Scotsmen does it take to make a cuppa and a
roll? Answers on a post-card to the Hotel. But refreshments arrived
just in time to avert mutiny. Many cups of tea later, quite a few
took off at this point, only to be joined by more freshmen (Cali,
Bob, Joanne among them) who took off like daisies as the final team
donned soggy shoes and braved the elements. |
Polton Mill
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Roslin
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The met office said the wind would decline in the afternoon.
It decidedly did not. However, no met office spokesperson was available
for comment, and we headed into the muddy depths of the upper Esk
valley. Across the gorse-bound pipe-bridge and up to the next checkpoint
at one of several odd pillars that adorn the valley. |
The Royal
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Part 2
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 Penicuik Estate
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John Littlewood
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Regroup |
A pillar of Carnethy
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The windy Moor
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About this time the hallucinations set in. A twin pair
of horses, jet black and ivory white, monster chess-pieces, came prancing
down the turf. Can’t say who was more surprised, but as they
cantered past one neighed to the other “am I going mad, or was
that a pack of wild carnethies?” As they say, stuff happens
in thar hills. |
More windy moor
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Kate James
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Here we are running into the wind, buffeted, pushed,
torn, we can hardly run it’s so strong. Another pillar, and
finally the Pentland Hills approach. The last bit through Habbie’s
Howe, still following the river, was absolutely grand, though few
were minded to enjoy the scenery with so many muddy miles behind us. |
A mile to go
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Last regroup |
Talk of mud, as we padded up the last hill, over the
fence, and on to the fields of Rogersrig, we thought we’d left
the murk behind in the valley, all ready for a swift run home. Wrong!
That last field was mud over the shoes, in patches half way up the
calf, and glutinous sucky stuff to boot. Yuuuuk.. |
Amazon Dean has a fewengravings by Allan Ramsay |
Not far now |
As the light in the sky fails, and 25 miles under our
shoes, the lights of Carlops appear magically. No marathon run this,
it’s an off-track mudathon where ankles creak, pals barter nurofen
tablets, and the odd fall into the mire is part of the experience. |
Bob is 21 today |
It was a Cake walk
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But the lights of the Inn! Muddy shoes are shed, the
back room shimmers in in the light of a glorious new timber-burning
fireplace, we are back – warm, tired, happy, a cold pint in
hand, Rodney made it again too (he’s done every Eskapade since
the run was inaugurated). Relax… We all lean back, creaking
gently, as the logs crackle. Cody is already asleep in front of the
fire. A Grand Day Out! See y’all next year. |
A good meal
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