I very nearly didn't make it to Girvan for the Ailsa Craig weekend. It was sod's law on Middlefield Law, but I didn't really help matters much. With just enough light for a late bag from the high point on the road south of the summit, at NS689299, I followed a faint track before it disappeared into the undergrowth after a few hundred metres. I duly broke off north-west through the tussocky grass, fully unprepared for a flying leap and a hands-down dive into one of the many well-hidden wet and peaty channels.
Just as well that I stopped to check my pockets, as the car keys had also taken a dive, and in my haste to get away I'd failed to zip up the trouser pocket. A search revealed precisely zilch, and it was all I could do in the fading light to excavate the channel, so I could at least locate the spot the following morning. As if.
The recovery man from Ayr came and got me back into the car, but I wasn't optimistic about finding the keys. Sleep slowly arrived after wondering how much the bill would be for a new ignition barrel and replacement keys. At first light I managed to get my bum out of the sleeping bag and on to the hill at a decent hour (something I don't do often enough). Well, it took me 30 minutes just to locate that channel, even though it was no more than 300 metres from the car, and lo and behold, there were the keys sitting nicely in the grass. I finally made it to the summit and arrived at Girvan with 15 minutes to spare. Lesson learned: I now have a spare key within the car and the main bunch are firmly clipped to my trousers at all times.
