Cobbinshaw Reservoir Loop

As I emerge from the car, I am immediately met with the sweet aroma of warm spring air drifting over open country on a slight breeze.

The air is filled with the gently lilting, descending, laid-back song of willow warblers. The bubbling, haunting call of a curlew echoes across the plain laid out below.

I pause to take in the uninterrupted vista. I can see clearly to Tinto Hill (the highest point in Lanarkshire) in the south and, turning to my left, the profile of the Pentlands lies off to the north-east beyond Cobbinshaw Reservoir – my destination today. Cobbinshaw lies just five miles south of West Calder and was built by engineer James Jardine to feed the Union Canal. Although I am only twenty minutes or so from home, the big country views conjure the sensation of having been transported somewhere altogether more remote.

Having taken a small access road half a mile north of Woolfords, I’m parked in a layby beneath the forest plantation of Pearie Law. It’s a peaceful morning as I tramp down the tarmac in the direction of the reservoir. Red campion and cuckooflower are in bloom by the roadside. A meadow pipit alights on a power line above. Soon, I am crossing a bridge over the railway line and arrive at a farmstead by the shore. Here, swallows swoop over the gardens and the song of blackbird and chaffinch reverberates through the trees.

Anglers on Cobbinshaw Reservoir

I make my way over to the water’s edge and watch as anglers set out in small motorboats, puttering forth into open water. Lines are cast, rods arcing through the air, as gigantic wind turbines wheel silently on the horizon behind. I head down to the causeway that separates the southern quarter of the reservoir from the main body of water. As I make my way across, I feel the south-westerly breeze pick up and it ushers the clouds on sufficiently for the sun to break through, imbuing a little warmth and dressing the water’s wind-rippled surface in shimmering gold. Water breaks against stone in gentle, hollow slaps. Greylag geese are grazing on a promontory opposite. A small group take off, circling past. A redshank whirs by too, propelled by rapid wingbeats.

Once across, I head up the rise to another steading, then bear right, down towards a second, shorter, causeway. Here I spot more geese, Canada geese this time, who take to the water, meandering in my direction. A tufted duck forages in an inlet and is soon joined by another small flotilla of geese. A lapwing executes tumbling, diving aerial acrobatics whilst emitting surreal radio-tuner whistles, perhaps to distract the gulls, who soar the thermals above, from an egg-laden nest.

I sit on a large stone at the side of the causeway and pull out my notebook. The only sounds I can hear are the honk of the geese, the lapping of water, and the song of a lark high over the fields nearby. If I were mixing a tonic of sounds to relax and nourish the soul, I could scarcely think of a better combination. Suppressing the urge to close my eyes and drift off, I make to set off again and, looking up, see two oystercatchers have alighted on the path ahead, looking splendid in their black and white attire with long, lipstick-red bill and legs. They retreat, flap-scurry fashion, as approach.

Tarbrax Bing viewed from Cobbinshaw

I continue over rough pasture and, coming over a rise, the rust-red form of Tarbrax bing looms into view like a volcanic cone. In the foreground, a flock of sheep with young lambs regard me quizzically. Soon I reach a rough track which I join, heading west. This takes me past the remnants of old mine workings and, farther on, some ruined buildings standing forlorn, the windfarm as their backdrop – old and new juxtaposed. I am back at the railway now and cross a footbridge before turning right at a sign marked ‘0.7m to Cobbinshaw’.

The path is also intriguingly signposted ‘The Fairy Path’. The reason for this soon becomes apparent - tree stumps decorated as fairy houses line the route and bring a smile as I pass.

As well as its more mystical inhabitants, the railway siding is populated by rowan, birch, and goat willow – the catkins of the latter each a tiny explosion of pollen-laden bristles. Boughs are a-buzz with bees gathering nectar. An orange tip butterfly flaps by.

Before long, I am back at the access road and ascend back towards the car, thoughts elevated by this delightful walk. This area is a Site of Special Scientific Interest and it’s easy to see why, with the wonderful variety of landscape, flora and fauna to be found here. As I cast my eye back the way I came, a low rumble signals the passage of the West Coast Line. I turn and continue back towards the car and the warblers sing me home.

The walk is approximately 3 miles over mostly level terrain and can be completed in 1 – 1.5 hours, but it’s worth allowing a little longer for stops.

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Published in Konect June 2024

Author: William Weir

All photos by William Weir