Ben Venue has a reputation for providing a lot of view given its sub-Munro height, but previously I’d dismissed it due the route length (14km) and reputation for being a bogfest. Our recent long but very enjoyable slog over and around the Galloway hills convinced me to reconsider it, and when I discovered that its path had been upgraded just a couple of years ago, I decided it was worth a go.

Ben Venue as seen from an early point on the route from Loch Achray

At 1am, having had a few hours of suprisingly good sleep, I stumbled out of the van with my two furry companions securely attached to my belt. Purely out of a desire to keep the van safe – and not at all due to the crazily early departure time – Susan had offered to stay in bed, so it was just the three of us.

Sleep-deprivation aside I like really early morning walks best of all. I take a perverse pleasure in heading out in the dark when all sensible people are tucked up in bed, guided by my head torch and two enthusiastic black noses. As is usual our first mile was very stop-start due to sniffage, pees and poos, but after that we made rapid progress thanks to a firm, mostly dry path backed by frequent signposts to eliminate navigation concerns. After about an hour we passed a notice that we’d come to the end of the signage, but the trail continued as normal up ahead and I commented to the pups that this was going to be one of the easiest hills we’d ever done. That of course was something I should never have said out loud, and shortly afterwards we came to the start of a field where the path flat-out disappeared.

I scanned the field ahead carefully with my torch, and saw a couple of wooden stakes in the ground. With nothing else to follow, and the map suggesting that we should continue in roughly that direction, I took a few steps into the field towards the stakes, and sank past my ankles. Bog juices immediately seeped into my boots and I let out a long sigh. Beanie and Biggles both turned to look at me and I told them what they already knew: “well pups, it’s bog time again!”

We trudged our way across the field to the start of an incline, where PathFinder Biggles quickly latched onto other walkers’ footsteps; a little further on we rejoined the path. This wasn’t quite as dry and firm as the first section, but it led us almost directly to the trig point on one of Ben Venue’s two high points with 75 minutes still to go before sunrise.

Beanie and Biggles love climbing up and down hills, but they don’t like hanging around for ages in the cold and wind. Fortunately I was prepared for this eventuality, having strung our big orange Vango Storm Shelter from my camera bag. In my head, this was how the next hour or so was about to play out: I’d throw the shelter over the three of us, giving me a wind-free place to swap my sweaty base-layer for a dry thermal and to put on the pups’ coats. We’d then while away the time until sunrise in our torch-lit abode having treats and cuddles. Basically it was going to be a bit like being under the covers with a torch as a kid.

That is not at all how things went. I unpacked the shelter easily enough and got it over me and Biggles, but Beanie – who always feels the cold the most – was stuck outside. Pinning the base of the shelter against the rocks with my feet to keep it from blowing away, I coaxed Beanie inside, at which point Biggles somehow ended up outside. I reached out and dragged Biggles in, only to watch Beanie sneaking back out under the rear edge of shelter. This was crazy; inside the shelter was warming up nicely thanks to the elimination of windchill, but I couldn’t keep the three of us together inside it for any length of time. At one point I tried getting Biggles to park his bottom on the base and settle down so that I’d have both arms free to haul Beanie in and get her onto my lap. I was almost there when suddenly the shelter was whipped out from under my feet and up over my head, leaving both me and The Beanster outside. My first thought was “wow, that must have been a powerful gust of wind” but in reality it was Biggles, who’d decided to make a bed and was rapidly winding the shelter round and round himself. He was cosy now, but the rest of us were shivering in the cold and dark. After a struggle I freed the shelter from his lordship’s grasp without ripping it, but never succeeded in getting us all inside simultaneously. If Vango storm shelters could have a theme tune, it should be The Hokey Cokey.

The struggles with the shelter did at least kill some time, and between that and a few expeditions between the two summit points on Ben Venue, we lasted out until the sun finally appeared.

Not long until sunrise now..

And there it is…

The view towards Loch Katrine was superb!

I kept trying different shots and rewarding the pups for their patience until, in a moment of carelessness, I spilled the remaining contents of the treat bag on the ground. For once in his life Biggles was alert and immediately set about vacuuming everything up while Beanie was still trying to get her snout into my trouser pockets. With no treats remaining, I had a choice: face the most intense woofing I’d ever experienced, or share some of my own private stash of extra tasty coated peanuts with the furry types. You can probably guess which option I chose.

Biggles takes in the view, while Beanie stays focused on my peanuts

The journey back was peppered with stops for layer removal as the temperature rose, and as we got back onto that splendid first section of the path the pups were happy to slurp from, and cool their feet in, the various streams we crossed.

When we got to within 50 yards of the van Biggles started pulling like a train and Beanie began dancing on her rear legs. I assumed they were overjoyed at the thought of being reunited with Susan, but then the real reason became apparent: Susan had filled their breakfast bowls and left them out by the entrance to the van.

Contented post-breakfast naps for two, please!

I’m not saying that Beagles don’t offer unconditional love like other dogs, but a big serving of breakfast definitely helps.

Nearly five years ago Beanie decided to escape the confines of popular walking routes and go off on a solo romp in the Galloway hills. She unhooked her lead (which she was able to do back then, before I employed extra security measures) and went on her own Big Yahoo of an adventure.

After some hours of merrily following her nose she returned, tired but happy. I’ll never know what she got up to during that time, but I do know that after carrying her the 8km back to the car, the two of us spent the next day thoroughly knackered, with tender feet and sore muscles.

Last week Beanie returned to the Galloway hills, had an even bigger adventure away from the popular walking routes, and again spent the next day recuperating. This time however I know exactly what she got up to, because me and Biggles were with her every step of the way.

Our walk started by Bruce’s Stone at Glen Trool, but instead of following the well-trodden route up The Merrick, we headed out towards Gairland Burn and Loch Valley to try some of the lesser-visited hills.

The first part of the walk followed an old drystone wall and offered beautiful views back to Loch Trool. The weather was perfect; dry and bright but not too warm. It strongly reminded me of the hilly farming regions of North Yorkshire I enjoyed as a boy.

The next section was long, boggy and boring for anybody not in possession of a highly-tuned sniffer, but when we emerged from it we were by Loch Valley, getting our first view of the hills we’d be sampling.

Looking forward towards the hills

It was here that we answered a question that’s been foremost in the minds of top current affairs experts of late. No I’m not talking about the Brexit implementation details, or the Russia/Syria thing, I’m talking about the really big issue, specifically: “are Earl’s Air-dried Beef Steaks any good?” Our pups have had growing respect for Earl – who seems to be a Golden Retriever who makes the cheap doggy stuff at chain-store Aldi – ever since they tried his dental sticks. Knowing that a big walk was ahead of us I’d grabbed a serving of Earl’s latest creation and stuffed it in my camera bag, but I had no idea whether it would pass muster. And the answer? Well if speed of consumption is any guide then yep, Earl knows his stuff and his beef steaks are well worth speed-swallowing.

Moving on we passed the long-abandoned “sheepfold” between Loch Valley and Loch Neldricken, sniffed it, peed on it a bit, and then headed uphill. The hillside was covered in a thick layer of dried, reedy grass which was so soft it sucked the energy right out of my legs, but made very comfortable bedding material for his Biggleship.

After no small amount of climbing up and over things we eventually ended up at the top of a hill that actually has a name: Craignairy. The weather had been cycling between heavy cloud and bright sunshine up to that point, but as we reached the summit plateau and looked out over Loch Enoch towards The Merrick, we got the perfect combination of the two.

Beanie and Biggles sipped from the pool of fresh, clear drinking water that had been so thoughtfully provided by the summit cairn, and I continued to take a few shots.

Deciding that this would be a good time to confirm the initial conclusions regarding Earls’ beef steaks, I put Beanie & Biggles into “wait” position by my feet, and placed one “steak” on the top of each of my boots. After a short wait, I gave them the go-ahead, at which point Beanie promptly grabbed the steak that had been intended for Biggles.

In the split-second that followed, I saw a range of emotions pass over Biggles’ little face. First there was shock, then panic, and then resignation, even though there was still one steak sitting untouched on my other boot. I started pointing and trying to get the words out to Biggles before Beanie could gulp her steak down and go for round two: “Oi! Biggles! Quick, get the other one!” It was close, but he came to his senses just in time. Beanie of course was aware of her missed opportunity, and complained loudly:

What?? I was going to have that!

Noooo!

As often happens Biggles didn’t really understand why Beanie was woofing, but decided to join in anyway, so I got stick from both of them for trying to keep things fair.

Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you just can’t get it right.

Now we had to choose which of Craignairy’s neighboring hills we would visit next: the worryingly named “Dungeon Hill”, or the larger “CraigNaw” that was sort of on the way back to the van. Given the light and the time of day, I decided that CraigNaw was the better choice.

The way ahead to the start of Craignaw

Craignaw took longer to climb than I expected; every time we reached what I thought would be the summit, yet another short climb was revealed ahead of us. Regardless, there were plenty of great views to be had on the way up, including one that made even Biggles feel a bit inadequate.

Looking back to CraigNairy

And other views from the top

We had our final round of beef steaks at the very top of Craignaw, and this time there were no mishaps.

The walk out to this lovely region and the hill climbs from it had all been great, but now we had a long, boggy trudge back to the van. For most of this I edged around the worst mud and marsh spots, but the closer we got to the finish line, the more slapdash I became. At one point, having untangled Beanie & Biggles’s leads for the umpteenth time, I thought “Why bother avoiding the wet stuff? My feet are wet anyway, and this will go faster if I plough straight through it”. So that’s what I did at the next muddy pool, and almost went over as my entire lower leg disappeared into bog. Ever the caring Beagle, Beanie came straight to my side, and used my sudden loss of height to gain access to my trouser pockets. I gently but firmly extracted her snout from my trousers, then not so gently extracted my leg from the bog, and returned to my original “avoid the bog” walking strategy.

We were all tired and hungry when we finally reached the van; I reckon we’d probably walked around 18km in total, and a fair proportion of that had been on hills. I served up the pups’ tea and while they half-swallowed, half-inhaled it from their bowls, I perched on the back seat in my mud-soacked clothes, sipping an instant cappuccino and demolishing a bag of bacon rashers crisps. Now two days later I still have muscle-soreness from carrying all my camera gear on that walk, but I know that at some point we’ll be back to do the hills we missed.