A photo of my grandad can still be found on the wall in the restaurant area of the Cross Keys Hotel in Ettrick Bridge. What he is doing in the picture I can’t quite remember as I saw the picture about 12 years ago on a quick stop through the village.

The Ettrick Valley was a regular stopover in my early years. My grandparents lived in the house under the bridge that crossed the River Ettrick. I visited often and shared in their love of twix and kitkats, walking around the Brockhill and throwing stones into the river at the bottom of the garden.

My fondness for and memory of those days always hits me when I return to the area and it did just that over the weekend.

Storm Babet resulted in numerous changes to our original plan for the weekend which was to involve camping, bothying and hill walking. Red and Amber weather warnings on the East coast gave us a few concerns about going out in the gales and torrential rain at all. But the promise of better weather towards the west and a fire led us to the Ettrick Valley, and Over Phawhope bothy.

The road end near Potburn was wet and windy, but definitely less stormy than to the North East, where floods, power cuts and downed trees were causing havoc. It’s a short walk to the bothy and we arrived a bit wet but just warming up.

After setting up our beds and enjoying some refreshments, we headed for the hills behind the bothy. Following the track up towards Ettrick Pen, the wind increased but the rain stopped. We drifted towards Hopetoun Craig and the appropriately named Wind Fell but came across a cairn and from here headed downhill towards the plantation.

We found some gorgeous red lichens on the fence posts that lined the ridge. The views from our little ridge were impressive, despite the cloud.

The trees danced around us in the wind as we ambled down through the firebreak to the Southern Upland Way path at the bottom of the hill.

Once back at the track we headed back to the bothy.

By this time it was 5pm and the darkness was creeping over the glen. The bothy was even darker as the one small window struggled to pull in enough light. A fire was the answer and the light and heat gave the room a cosy atmosphere. The noise of four stoves roaring and boiling water came next which I can only liken to aircraft flying low and fast through the room.

Food, fire and fermented grains (otherwise known as whisky, Laphroig and Ardmore in this case) allowed the room and its occupants to take a collective deep breath as we all settled into the evening.

Some deep thought going on here.

The next morning was still wet but far less windy. Breakfast was had and we packed our stuff up ready for the short wander back to the vehicles.

I’d love to sit at this bench in summer.

After some sweeping and cleaning we were ready for the off. We took out all our own rubbish while leaving a big pile of wood for the next users so we left with our bothy account in credit.

The Ettrick Valley feels like an area that helped shape me as I spent so much time here as a child. Even the name Ettrick, when I see it elsewhere, e.g. in street names, I’m immediately taken back to a time where I’m sitting in my grandparents house eating my third twix with my granny or sitting in the Cross Keys drinking a fresh orange and lemonade and watching my grandad play dominoes with his pals.

I didn’t have time on this trip to go back to Ettrick Bridge to see my grandparents house or my grandads photo in the pub. But next time I will.