CLACKS BOUNDARY OCHILS

Here is a run that I don’t especially want to do. It just seems like a neat idea, that’s all.

Neat conceptually, I mean. In person, on foot, it will probably be a naff day of bogs, burns, spruce scratches and traversing the sides of hills while cursing my name. The challenge is simply to trace the Clackmannanshire county border as it passes through the Ochils in a roughly east-west direction. It is 26ish kilometres long with 1400ish metres of climbing.

They call Clacks the ‘wee county’, because yeah, it’s small. Britain’s smallest, supposedly. It’s also a bloody mouthful. No county should have the right to sixteen letters. I was so convinced that this would be the longest county name in the UK that I spent more time than is reasonable doing some fact checking, only be reminded that Scotland actually makes a habit of these long names. But if you ignore all those ‘East’, ‘West’, ‘North’, ‘South’ and ‘And’ nonsenses, it is the longest county name, so the last 30 minutes were completely worth it (RIP Kirkcudbrightshire, eighteen letters). Living in Tillicoultry, Clackmannanshire, with two unusual surnames, it was frankly beyond a joke trying to give someone my contact details over the phone.

But it’s not just small, it’s also really old, and we all make allowances for old things. So, just as you turn a deaf ear towards your gran’s casual racism (‘she grew up in a different time’), we have all learnt to tolerate how inefficient it is to permit a county of such tiny proportions to exist in a supposedly rational modern system of government. In fact, most of its inhabitants are really quite affectionate about it. But beware the ghosts of 1975 and 1996: nothing is sacred to the marauding hordes of pencil pushing efficiency consultants and civil service management types. With a few strokes of the pen this wee county could easily be swept away forever. You’d find yourself having your pot holes not-being fixed by the heathens over there in Stirling, instead of by those bastards in Alloa, and this route concept would be wiped off the map before you even had a chance to do it. But you’re probably not going to do it, so that’s fine.

Unless I can tempt you…?

The western end of the traverse is the ‘Welcome to Clackmannanshire’ sign not far from the Blairlogie carpark (bearing the county’s slightly depressingly self-deprecating slogan ‘More Than You Imagine’). The eastern end is the county sign just below that well known family destination, the Glendevon Water Treatment Works. A nice route between these two points would take you over all the best hills in the Ochils, much like the 2000’s race does, and would be really quite a splendid day out. This is not that route. Instead, it will take you more or less exactly where you never really wanted to go.

So let’s imagine you’re doing it east to west. From the convenient and ample parking on the A823, run up the lane past the sewage works, then follow the Auchlinsky burn, which will immediately and inevitably find you trudging through a rough bog. Stand there a while. Squelch around a bit. Get used to the feeling; it’s not really going to get any less damp from here.

Skirt along the zig-zag upper edge of the forest, before promptly turning to bushwhack down through it down to Glenquey Reservoir. Proceed onto an actual path up the glen for a short while, then compel yourself to climb directly to the summit of Whitewisp, and on to Tarmangie. For a moment here you will actually be running along the tops, and it will feel like this route was a good idea. It’s fence-following along to Skythorn, but then you will need to get into the Broich Burn – go on, get in… oh ok fine, you can run next to it I suppose – all the way down to the windfarm.

Marvelling at the majesty of Scotland’s world-leading renewables infrastructure, tiptoe your way over to the Greenhorn Burn. From here, the county mapmakers clearly got bored so you pretty much straight-line it along a fence to the summit of Blairdenon, while the ground beneath you undulates this way and that. Wave to Perth & Kinross as you leave it behind, and to Stirlingshire as you meet it, for mighty Blairdenon is the three-shires stone of the Ochils. Don’t say I never take you anywhere nice.

Descending south, another unhelpful dog-leg is required, before you get back in the burn again: this time the Second Inchna Burn. Poor sequel if you ask me. First Inchna burn was way better. They just churn these things out for money don’t they? Let this tributary wash you down into the merry torrents of the Menstrie burn, and onwards towards the flood plain. But just before you get to the village you need to hoik yourself up out of it, skirt west just above that little woodland, and then pop out on that little lane – you know the one – to you skip merrily down to the main road, kiss the ground, kiss the sign, say my name three times and pray that those soulless bureaucrats in London and Edinburgh don’t come for your beloved Clacks in a bout of rampant administrative rationalisation, and wipe this county off the map.

(Then continue on round the entire county edge back to Glendevon. You’ve just done 16 miles, you may as well do the other 40. It’s basically all flat from here anyway.)

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NOTES: As self-appointed arbiter of this record, I have made the following decisions. You are allowed to go in either direction, but you must stick pretty damn close to the boundary throughout. I’m a reasonable fella; I will allow up to 100m deviation from the exact boundary line, mostly because it will probably be difficult for you to tell when you are on it or not. But don’t take the piss, ok? If you’re going to do it, do it properly. For successful completions to be approved you will need to submit a start and finish photo at each sign, and swear on your life that you did it accurately. If your shoes are dry I will declare you a fraud and you shall be shunned by club members forever more. I find it hard to believe that in 30 years of OHR nobody would have done this before, so to those of you who presumably have, please step forward to receive my approval and to recount the your tale to the rest of us!

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This essay was originally written for the Ochil Hill Runners newsletter (Spring 2023). You can join OHR here. Thanks to James Ashworth for publishing.

Bobby Gard-Storry
Cumbria, 2023