As the legend goes, the local coven of witches were awaiting a clandestine rendezvous with the Devil himself on the wind-torn stretches of Auchinden Hill. But Auld Nick was running late and the babble of wretched villains began to grow impatient, becoming even more raucous in their restlessness.
All of a sudden, the Devil appeared - to the delight of his wicked audience - soaring over the Kilpatrick Hills. He neared the crowd and, with a flick of his tail, tore the summit of Auchinden Hill asunder.
This scar would become known as The Whangie, a rocky chasm 50 feet deep and 300 feet long.
As a child, I remember my mother telling me the story of the witches and the Devil, and my runaway imagination would imagine the scene playing out around me.
I could have sworn I could hear a cackle or two on the howling wind, or seen the flicker of a red tail disappear behind a crag.
It has always been one of my favourite stories of Scottish folklore.
My last visit was incredibly wet and windy and downright miserable, but no less magical.
The ground under-foot was a soggy marshland from the downpoor, but somehow this brought out the best in the countryside. Every colour took on a new vibrancy and the sun bathed the countryside in gold.
It was almost difficult to imagine a hellish scene of devils and witches amongst such beauty.
