Rig Road to North Esk Reservoir

It’s a pristine early Autumn morning as I park the car in a small layby at the end of Cockburnhill Road where it meets the Rigg Road. As I set off on my way, the low sun illuminates the Pentland skyline to my left in purples, browns and golds.

At the western end of Rigg Road, by a stile, a Scottish Rights of Way Society sign indicates ‘Carlops by the Borestane 5½M’. A narrow path leads into a wondrous micro-habitat of brush and shrub, with gorse, hawthorn and wildflowers. This narrow strip of wildness is awash with colour. There are the lilac scatterings of devilsbit scabious, beloved by peacock butterflies, and pink swathes of rosebay willowherb, now almost fully gone to seed with just a final few flowers clinging to the tops. Heavy clusters of orangey-red rowan berries glow in the early morning sunlight and brambles are red and black gems amid the low tangle. Long wet grasses swipe at my legs and my trousers are soon soaked, but I barely notice as I take in the profusion of life.

After passing through a metal gate, the track borders a plantation of diminutive pine saplings, fringed by birch. To my right are a long line of spindly, contorted, half-bare beech trees, punished by decades of harsh winds and rain, leaves on the turn. Meadow pipits, goldfinches and linnets come to rest on the power lines overhead, coming and going, none staying too long, as if the wires were hot to the touch.

Emerging into a sheep field, I track diagonally in the direction of Listonshields Farm until meeting a wider path running up from Buteland which will lead me south into the hills. At the intersection, sheep eye me warily through the bars of a gate, where shed wool lies on the ground like an early portent of winter snows.

Beyond the gate it’s easy walking on a wide gravel track and I begin the long steady ascent into the open uplands of the Bavelaw Estate. The heather is glorious in full bloom. I inhale deeply, savouring the sweet scent. I start as half a dozen red grouse break cover to my right with a whirr of wings. They fly about a hundred yards before stopping to chastise me from a distance with their “Go back! Go back!” calls. On this fine morning there’s a hint of comedy in their voicing, like slightly adenoidal parrots. Nevertheless, I can well imagine back in times when outlaws roamed these hills, on a misty night this sound might well have sent a shiver down the spine. More grouse come into view near the path, craning necks above long grass to eye me disapprovingly from beneath flame-red brows, before flapping off in a hail of protesting clucks. Another emerges onto the path ahead and waddles into a take-off. They are everywhere now, their calls reverberating around me like an echo that never diminishes.

I breakfast by the Bore Stane, a sandstone outcrop at a col between hills lying at the meeting of three council boundaries, enjoying grand views both north and south. To the north, the Firth is shrouded in a blanket of low cloud like a glacier slipping out to sea, the tops of the Ochil and Fife hills protruding beyond. To the southeast, a valley, from which the River North Esk emerges, slaloms down towards Carlops, framing the Cloich Hills in the distance.

I descend into the valley, it’s sheltered and still. The path narrows and the landscape closes in, cradling wildlife and walker alike. Wispy white clouds hang high in the blue above, each with an upward inflection like the wind ruffling an elderly gentleman’s hair. A merlin circles over to the west. Small groups of meadow pipits bob through the air as if suspended on marionette strings. Glancing downward, I have to divert my foot at the last minute to avoid a toadlet squatting on the path. Crouching to take a look, I notice a multitude of little criss-cross spiders’ webs spun in the grass around me like dropped lace hankerchiefs.

The Henshaw Burn descends into the valley from the west. Shortly before reaching the reservoir, the burn passes through a small area of marshland. I pick my way along through the reeds to the meditative sound of slow-flowing water over stones. Crickets sing. Dragonflies zip and whorl past me, Common Darters and Hawkers. One alights on a stem in front of me, its long thin dark body giving the appearance of a flying exclamation mark.

Finally, the reservoir comes into view, its surface glistening gold. I make my way down to the small wildlife hide overlooking the water. Recently renovated by the Friends of the Pentlands, it offers the perfect vantage point for taking in this tranquil scene. A pair of ravens croak in the sky above as I gaze across to the little islands on the lookout for water birds. The sun is high in the sky now and it’s getting quite warm, there’s not much moving. Yet, I’m more than satisfied with the peaceful vista and just soak it up for a while. Just as I’m about to close up, a blue flash appears – a sapphire dart - skirting the shore of the promontory opposite. A kingfisher! This is a jewel that tops a wonderful morning’s walk and sets a spring in my step as I head for home. My apologies in advance to the grouse…I’ll definitely be back!

Allow 2-3 hours each way for this walk and ensure you are well prepared, with good boots, waterproofs and refreshments. It’s also possible to push on to Carlops for a full day trip.

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Published in Konect October 2022

Author: William Weir

All photos by William Weir