Yarrowford to the Three Brethern

Now in deep mid-winter the airstream has turned towards the north and for the last week, with one brief day of remission, snow and ice and a gurly wind have dominated our weather. Local hills are capped with white and onto these we take ourselves during the last weekend of the year. Four miles west of Selkirk, we cross a dog legged stone bridge to park up next to the village hall in Yarrow ford. The whole building, road side and detached, is painted in a garish red, at odds with its surroundings but adding colour to the dullness of an overcast winters day A Cicerone walkers guide arrived a few days ago so we trust to its exactitude and strike out for Walk 28, mysteriously called ‘In search  of an army’s pay chest’. A short pull up sees us reach open ground, with good views left and right. We stop to chat to a friends of Forbes while his girlfriend’s six year old son has a right old shindig with a young Alsatian dog on the snowy slope running down to the valley floor. Difficult to know who is the most feral! The path turns sharp left and takes us on a long slow pull up to Minch moor and onto a section of the Southern Upland Way. The surrounding hill tops are covered in dense grey cloud the snow covered fields dissolving into the descending gloom.  The path crosses so-called ‘Wallace’s trench’, a short but distinct trough cut into the hillside, origins unknown but must have acted I guess as a defensive position during some long ago conflict, but why here is anyone’s guess. We track through a series of farm gates before reaching the open fell. My iPhone walking apps counts out the kilometres as we trudge uphill through deepening snow. A fingerpost points us right towards the cairns of the Three Breathen, each marking the estate boundary for Yair, Philiphaugh and Selkirk. Now on the exposed crest we maintain our ascent as a flukra of snow drives in from the north.  Deep wedges of snowdrift need crossing as zips are pulled tight. We pick up the pace endeavouring to keep warm as the temperature drops from the increasing wind chill. As the blast of snow drifts away the cloud begins to shift from the hill tops and the route ahead appears, a winding path hugging the hillside. The increase in light shows distinct blue tinges in the snow as iced stands of water crush away beneath our feet. In a small dip in the land not far from the top we hunker down in the lea of a stone dyke for lunch. We have been on the go for three hours without stop and are in need of sustenance. With an increasingly clear sky we reach the Three Brethren and take in a wild stormy scene. The thick heavy cloud has receded leaving the day blustery and wild. With the snow lying deep on the high ground the thickness of the coverage recedes as it gets closer to the valley floor. This  produces a sort of layered effect, from the unbroken whiteness of the tops to a speckled seam  below  where clumps of earth , brown stands of dead  bracken and spikey heather break though the shimmering  cover. Finally, before the green fields are exposed the land is pot marked with grass and stone dykes set off through the glimmering whiteness. The return track begins through a wooden gate next to the columns of stone and runs parallel to a wire fence, dropping quickly and directly to the lower ground. We identify from the guide book a paths crossroads as our next turning point, reached about one kilometre below the top. We miss the turning, presuming it is below us, not above.   This leads to a wide swing around the side of Foulshields hill instead of the higher planned route across the saddle that sits on the other side of the knoll. Rounding the hill the Yarrow valley opens before us with views across to Bowhill estate, where we have walked a few times this year. We now navigate the side of the valley through a series of fields, avoiding a large herd of cattle, scattering a flock of sheep while negotiating by the site of Newark castle in the distance and the main road that runs alongside it. We come across a stone memorial to Tibbie Tamson, set high in the hillside within a small walled woodland. The little ditty  on the accompanying plague referencing the crack that runs through the stone.  Tibbie died sometime in the 18th century in Selkirk and for some unknown reason was buried here outside the town boundaries.  Reasons for her internment at this remote spot include suicide, that she was a victim of plague, that she was insane and finally that she was a witch. Whatever the cause, she was clearly cast out by her peers  and now occupies this quite spot, perhaps better thought of in  death than she was when alive. The going becomes difficult as the sloping field is slush covered and footing is easily lost. We descend to the roadside and walk the last three kilometres back to the car on the main road, passing a wall plate set into the wall of a ruined cottage. Inscribed on it a few details of the life of the local explorer Mungo Park, who died in Africa at a young age. We circle a small pond in the middle of Yarrowford village and are guided to the car by the showy and lurid crimson village hall. Turns out the walk derives its name from a tale of lost treasure hidden on the hillside by retreating troops after the battle of Philiphaugh in 1645. Apparently hidden in Hangingshaw wood, the reported hoard has never been found despite many attempts across the intervening years. The Yarrow valley has been full of surprises on this long, demanding, and snowy end of year trek.


 

                                                            Snow beneath a breaking sky (Forbes Shepherd)