Corston Hill Walk

Mist spills over the Pentland tops to the east like steam from a cauldron, with the golden sun rising behind, as I depart the small car park at Little Vantage. However, instead of heading towards those hills - tempting as they are - this morning, I cross the main road, hop over a stile and set off in the opposite direction.

Yellow-topped Friends of the Pentlands marker posts guide me across the hillside, picking out a narrow path through clumps of compact rushes and occasional heather in bloom. I pass above the fringes of the adjacent fields, bordered by mature, windswept beeches whose crinkle-cut leaves rustle in the cool south-westerly breeze.

Eventually, I reach a small metal gate. Here, I turn left and begin to ascend what is the eastern flank of Corston Hill. There is no path here and I hug the fence line, taking advantage of its slightly higher ground to stay clear of the worst of the long wet grasses and swiping rushes. It’s no easy stroll as I pick my way uphill over this uneven terrain, but it proves more than worth the effort, for I am climbing one of the highest points in the landscape for miles around and soon I am surrounded by a breathtaking three-sixty-degree vista.

When the trig point comes into view, I bear left towards it and pause there to enjoy the view. It’s hard to know what to focus on, with wonderful scenes all around me - from the dark Pentlands in the south to the Forth bridges in the north, the green fields and forests of Lanarkshire to the west to Edinburgh’s city skyline to the east. I can see not only the silhouette of Arthur’s Seat, but also Berwick Law and the Bass Rock, perched crystal clear on the horizon. Line of sight is not the only connection here - Corston Hill’s bedrock is overlain by lavas thought to have erupted around the same time as those other volcanic features, nearly three hundred and fifty million years ago.

Soon, however, my attention is captured by something closer. A raven drifts by effortlessly, caw-ing periodically. It turns and glides back, continuing its patrol. I immediately understand why this intelligent bird would favour this location – with such commanding views nothing would escape its keen eye from here. Then, it is joined by another. Back and forth, together they fly – gliding, banking, turning in elegant synchrony, the misty hills their backdrop. For a few minutes I watch their sky dance, enraptured, until eventually, they drift off to the south-east, becoming mere dark specks over Auchinoon Hill.

From the trig point I pick up a sheep path which leads me through a gap in the fence and onwards to a rise with a small cairn on top. From there, I begin to descend the hill’s western flank, accompanied by the chatter of larks which rise into the air as I pass. The Morton reservoirs come into view. A train rumbles across the viaduct over the Linnhouse Water in the distance. I come upon a small, abandoned quarry where, in times past, some of the hard igneous rocks that cap this hill were extracted. A little farther on by some ruined farm buildings, I join a single-track road, turning right towards Selm Muir Wood. The piercing cry of a buzzard echoes over the wood, beckoning me onward. I enter the wood at the sign for Selm Muir Carp Fishery and, on broad forestry track now, quicken my pace, savouring the piny air.

Towards the far end of the wood, part way along the section of track that runs past a clipped beech hedge, there’s another Friends of the Pentlands marker by a stile. This directs me across the adjacent field towards a nearby farmstead, where I am subject to the slightly suspicious gaze of the local livestock, including an alarmingly large bull in repose. His flanks twitch as our eyes lock and I’m thankful there is a fence between us.

The route takes me up past Hilly Cow wigwams, eventually to rejoin my inward route where I left it to climb the hill. I feel lucky to have discovered this route, and to have had such a pristine morning on which to enjoy it. But there is one more gift nature has in store for me. Just before reaching the small gate where I began my hill climb, I come across a depression in the landscape, ringed with gorse. Arrayed across the bushes are innumerable spiders’ webs; each delicate silken strand rendered a glistening silver by miniscule water droplets from the morning mist. It’s an enchanting sight, almost as if nature has set out her very own display in readiness for Hallowe’en…. which, as the edge to the air reminds me, is just around the corner….

Allow 2.5 – 3 hours for this walk. Sturdy footwear is required. Please take care near and be respectful of livestock, obeying all signage.

Get the route! Scan ↑

---

Published in Konect October 2025

Author: William Weir

All photos by William Weir