Exactly where the Ochils end and the rest of the world starts is always a difficult thing to define. On the southern edge, however, the River Devon provides a fairly reliable boundary, and it was to here that FotO member Ken Stewart went just before Christmas. It's fair to say that his day didn't work out quite as planned...
HOW DO YOU assess the risk of crossing a ramshackle bridge? Do you take the risk, or do you retreat? And what about other risky situations - on a scramble, an icy stretch or some other hazard? What if retreat may not be possible or sensible?
It was a fine chilly December morning when I set off from Dollar through the Hillfoot forest to reach Commonedge Hill. After a first visit to Seamab Hill I dropped steeply to Muckhart and skirted the golf course to visit the rather esoteric NO000000 grid reference point. From near here a track traverses the hillside round to the Blairhill area, where I planned to use the mapped path (shown on Explorers 367 and 369, but absent from Landranger 58) down to and over the bridge across the Devon (at NT003986). The intention was then to make a route back to Dollar based on the old railway line, though I was not clear how easy this might be.
After a scrabble through initial undergrowth, the path, or at least its line, was clear down to the Devon; there were only a few fallen trees and muddy bits to negotiate. The river runs in a well-wooded gorge here, with fairly steeply sloping sides. I passed the bridge and walked a short distance eastward, past the point where the Gairney Burn joins, to look at Cauldron Linn - a 24-metre double waterfall of which Stott (in The Waterfalls of Scotland, published by Aberdeen University Press, 1987) wrote: "[it] used to be on everyone's itinerary" (including, he notes, that of both Pennant and Burns) "but nowadays few visitors venture to see it [partly because] it is now disfigured by giant cast iron pipes". These pipes are still there, forming part of a small hydro scheme, and once beyond the small power house I scrambled with great care over the slippery rocks to gain a view of the fall from a riverside spot suitable for photography. Then it was back to the bridge, which is broad and metal-framed but where the wooden decking was clearly seen to have several large gaps.
This is where the risk assessment became a factor. To cross or not to cross? The alternative was to retreat uphill and follow the track and road to Vicar's Bridge. As the first bit of decking was absent, I decided to cross - initially very carefully - on the metal frame. From around three metres out, the decking looked better, and I took an overconfident step on to it.
It was as if I'd stepped into space and things happened very quickly. As I looked at where the decking should be I suddenly saw the river - not good. Seemingly at once came the impact on the rocky river edge four metres below the bridge - not too bad. I quickly jumped out of the water which was in pools rather than continuous, so that my clothes were wet rather than soaked. I felt nothing too drastic had happened, and started to consider how to return to the car.
A look at my wrist, plainly badly broken, changed such thoughts and I realised hospital was inevitable. As I sat on the edge of the river to recover, I was struck on the head by a large chunk of wood which had belatedly followed me down from the decking above. This was big enough to have KOed me had it been sound, but in the event it hit with all the impact of a cushion. It was very obvious why I had fallen through so suddenly: the decking had all the solidity of a sponge. Noticing my spectacles were missing, I guddled about in the river edge - not surprisingly without success.
I set off up a track which, unlike the semi-overgrown path, was unmapped. The nearest house was perhaps 250 metres distant but with 40 metres of ascent, and I soon discovered that walking was a problem. Crossing a stile was not easy. I was, however, kindly received at the house and conveyed by ambulance to Stirling Royal Infirmary, where in addition to the compound fracture of the wrist I was found to have three broken ribs. These had punctured a lung, and I also had a cracked pelvis. A six-day spell saw me recovered enough to leave hospital on Christmas Day. My brother, meanwhile, had travelled from Glasgow to collect my car from Dollar.
FOUR MONTHS ON, the wrist and hand are improving - though with quite a bit to go. The other injuries give some reminders, but are not a problem. It was eight weeks before I could drive, and initial flat walking was done with the aid of a stick, but I'm now hillwalking again. The first outing came in early February: Dumyat the easy way. I have also been back to the fateful bridge to take photographs.
Two questions have been common. Firstly: "Are you suing someone?" This is depressing evidence of a destructive culture. The more people sue, the more others will lose freedom to do things. There is no doubt that aspects of the risk were apparent, though a notice indicating this (and specifically stating that the decking was rotten) would have been appropriate. It would have been even better had the rotten wood been removed to leave an "honest" metal frame. All the same, in other cases land managers do not behave responsibly, and pressure on them may help.
"Did you have a mobile?" has been the second question. No, and in this case it would have been unhelpful, even in the unlikely event of a signal having been obtained in the gorge. Had I phoned for an ambulance there would have been great difficulty in finding me, and I would have had a long cold and wet wait outdoors instead of a shorter wait in a warm kitchen. As it was, even the house proved hard for the ambulance to find. Of course, there could be other circumstances in which a mobile might prove a help, but self-extrication is still best if at all possible.
What conclusions can be drawn about risk? Its subjectivity is shown in the classic error of loss of sense of danger. As described, I had twice just before the accident been taking great care - in descending to the river, and in manoeuvring on rocks to photograph the waterfall. So when the next section - the bridge - looked relatively easier, it was all too easy to drop my guard. Perhaps without the caution expended on the waterfall visit I might have been more patient with the slower process of keeping to the metal frame of the bridge.
Was I lucky or unlucky? Possibly both. The landing could clearly have been much worse, even fatal. The bridge could have been better maintained. In general walking terms, there is also regret that an interesting area with good walking possibilities - once well used - has been neglected for a century.