Castle Semple Loch & Kenmure Hill, Jan 25th

A wild, grey Saturday, escaping from the city and the January blues. From the minute we stepped off the train, we were greeted by raging winds. Wrapping ourselves in every layer we had brought, we set off for the lochside, feeling the creak of the wooden bridge through our boots but unable to hear it over the wind gushing around us and across the water. Greeted more by birds than people, we were swept along the shore with the wind behind us, legs guided by the force of the air, turning to watch the water whipped into waves. As the path steered away from the loch, we headed up into the woods, finding dog walkers sheltering amongst the trees. Climbing muddy slopes, we found less trampled paths, slipping and sliding along the tree roots. Suddenly, tearing eyes away from muddy feet, we found ourselves surrounded by moss-covered trees, transported to a world of bright, vibrant green - as if spring had parachuted in around us. Up close, the moss held entire worlds - unfurling lush springy tentacles in every direction. In a glade of tall pines, we paused awhile, leaning back against the trunks to tilt our heads to the sky and watch the canopy shift and creak. Springing our heels against the moss-covered ground, we breathed in deep the freshness of the woods, reluctant to rejoin the path. Eventually, the growing cold nudged us on, feet leading us over Blackditch Burn and down the track to the Collegiate Church. At the edge of the loch, the sky had shifted, low clouds rolling away to reveal the view. With eyes set on Kenmure Hill Temple, we stumbled down the path along Black Cart Water, feeling the squelch of mud clagging to our boots. Stumbling up the hill, gusts stung our cheeks, threatening to sweep us away, reminding us how small we were in the midst of the landscape - one part of a much bigger puzzle. On reaching the temple, the loch opened up below us, a snake of blue-grey stretching in the midst of green. We took shelter in the lee of the temple, numb fingers warmed by tea, chocolate and oranges. The return walk was a workout. Wind in our faces, battering limbs and filling lungs. Heavy feet, heads bent into the gale. So cold my phone battery cut out, denying me photos and insisting I drink in the sights with my eyes whilst it was re-warmed by body heat inside my many layers. Reaching the woods offered calm respite, the trees taking the brunt and giving us space to linger. Returning to the loch, we found more people had emerged into the day, being blown along while the choppy slate-grey water was thrown against the pebbles at our feet. Not a day for swimming, and yet, the inevitable, irresistible tug of the water was still there - demanding a promise to return another day.