The Pentland Hills - Lucky Edinburgh (2)

by - 22:53 on 11 November 2007

In Edinburgh, you would think that all that down-town theatricality of castle and crag, fine facades of neo-classical columns and ‘Athens of the North’ stuff would be enough for any city. But, no. Should you tire of the cultural choice, then the city offers a fine wee range of hills to experience for £1. (At least, that’s the bus fare from the city centre and it’ll get you to Fairmilehead.)

All you have to do is to walk and, ideally, get a little out of breath. The writer Robert Louis Stevenson was born in Edinburgh and a great enthusiast for the hills on his doorstep. He does the best descriptions of these rolling, windy heights. For example, this is what he writes about the views:

“There are the hills of Fife, the hills of Peebles, the Lammermoors and the Ochils, more or less mountainous in outline, more or less blue with distance. Of the Pentlands themselves, you see a field of wild heathery peaks with a pond gleaming in the midst; and to that side the view is as desolate as if you were looking into Galloway or Applecross. To turn to the other is like a piece of travel. Far out in the lowlands Edinburgh shows herself, making a great smoke on clear days and spreading her suburbs about her for miles; the Castle rises darkly in the midst, and close by, Arthur's Seat makes a bold figure in the landscape.”

Except for the long gone smoke that gave the old city its label of ‘Auld Reekie’, this is exactly what you see today. The description (and much more) is in Stevenson’s ‘Picturesque Notes’ (1879), a text much pillaged through the years by guidebook writers. In Stevenson’s day, obviously, there was more green space between the city and the upland and in his wonderings he probably did not meet mountain bikers. Today, they are just one of the recreation groups who use the hills.

Nice people, all of them. Even in a place only a few minutes’ drive from the anonymity of the city, the healing effect of the outdoors shows itself by the way that total strangers greet you in passing. A month or so back, my little Sunday morning expedition coincided with a local running club’s hill-race, or what they picturesquely called a ‘skyline race’. In place well ahead of the runners, a high-viz jacketed marshal stood on the summit of Scald Law and was happy to explain it all. I sat in the autumn sunshine nearby and watched him chat to other walkers and passers-by and point out local landmarks.

I don’t know why, but people in general seem to be more open and communicative when they’re on the hills. It’s good to think that this happens not just on wild mountain crags, but also on these easily accessible but not quite tamed slopes so close to the busy city. It’s also pleasing that in spite of their popularity, if you get the angle right, then Stevenson’s comment about the view being desolate is still true today. Or at least, on a sunny Sunday in autumn. The only change is that desolate becomes ‘unspoilt’ in Scottish copywriting speak.

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