The bus driver was extremely helpful, as were the old ladies at the back of the bus. It must have been obvious to them that not only were we strangers in the area but were strangers to using buses and they took pity on us. Between them they dropped us off at the right place in Glen App and pointed us in the right direction. Not that we needed pointing in the right direction for, having arrived at the start of the walk, an information board and Rex’s guidebook told us exactly where to go. This was the start of our exploration of the coastal path and, despite overcast conditions and the threat of rain, we set off to enjoy the walk.
The map pointed us along a byroad. Fifty y
ards later, and out of sight of the main road, other things were pointed as Rex’s coffee of an hour before found its way into bladders and there was now a row of Ooters facing the shrubbery, watering an already damp landscape. However the road was dry and, at the moment, though the sky lowered, the rain stayed away. A forest-type road slanted up the hill on the north side of Glen App. Rex’s book told us it would take us onto a landscape of purple heather, the haunt of merlin and hen harrier, and give us superb views of Loch Ryan and the Rinns of Galloway. At least it got the colour right for the heather was in full flower today and clothed the hillside on both sides of the track. But there were no birds to be seen, only the occasional grouse could be heard amongst the heather. And, slightly higher still, there was no landscape to be seen either for we were into a fog. And the rain came, not particularly heavy rain but enough to make us hap up.
We walked in a wetting mist over a purple heathland. This would have been a delight in sunnier conditions but today it was damp and dreich. The mist lifted just sufficiently to let us see the sea below and what might have been land beyond. Then it closed in again. Coffee was suggested and, when we found the shelter of some trees beside a wee burn, we sat down for refreshment. So far the walking had been good on an old track.
The midges did the trick and we were off again as quickly as soon as coffee was finished. The track continued. It looked as though we would join tarmac but a marker pointed us along another track, towards the sea. Though this track took us down out if the mist, we wished that we had found tarmac for it was wet and mucky, made so by the feet of livestock, and in some places was flooded ankle-deep with brown water. It was not a pleasant part of the walk today. But it improved as we dropped towards the sea. And so did the weather. So did our frame of mind after the glaur of the previous half mile.
An old house was passed, one without a roof or windows. Johnny was asked for his new saws and router and his expertise so that we could re-build it for as a holiday home for it was in a pleasant position in a wee valley running down to the sea.. He declined. Davie asked the roads expert, ‘Have these roads been here for hunners o’ years’ ‘How the feck do I know’, came the reply, ‘I havenae been here for hunners o’ years’. So much for experts. Such was the level of conversation as we dropped with the road to the sea. As the day and our mood brightened lunch was called in a and taken on the cobble beach of a small cove called Currarie Port.
We ate. We spent some time here. The day was brightening all the time and now we could look out to sea and see the horizon for the first time. Corsewell Point with its lighthouse was now visible and Ireland showed as a faint blue streak on the horizon beyond. Some sat and watched the Irish ferry round the point. Some just sat and absorbed the mood of the quiet cove. Johnny and Holly played fetch-sticks, (It was difficult to say who enjoyed it most.) Jimmy tried to catch the scene with the camera and Rex looked up the next part of the walk in the book.
‘The next part’ took us up the valley of the Currarie Burn that emptied into the sea here. Our side of this was narrow, lying along the living rock between a high crag and the burn itself. But it was negotiated easily enough and we found ourselves on a ‘road’ new-cut out of the rock hillside. It was a rough road yet and Davie protected his dodgy ankle as the loose stones coggled feet this way and that. But it didn’t last long, just sufficiently to lift us well above the sea again. Then the hillside was taken to and we were lifted even further. Rex felt the need to visit the top of this hill, curiously called Donald Bowie, and some followed him. Others followed the fence across the side to find a cliff-top path.
Though the mist and rain were long gone, the
cliff top grasses still held their water in large dewy drops. And the grass was long. Trouser bottoms were soaked and, in due course, trainered feet were likewise. But the path did afford us a different perspective now, north-westward this time. The Mull of Kintyre lay on the skyline and Arran showed to the north. Jimmy commented how Holy Isle is often visible when Arran is obscured. Some had never noticed this phenomenon before but promised to look out for it in future. If they remember. But both islands were visible today. And Paddy’s Milestane stood out clear enough for us to see the lighthouse.
But the path degenerated and, at one point, we lost it altogether. Davie and Robert crossed the fence into a field. This was a bad move. A kissing gate was spotted by the others fifty yards down through some bracken. This obviously marked the route so we headed in that direction and left the wayward two to find their own way back over the electric fence that now separated us. After touching the fence to see if it was live, Davie cleared it wihout further ado. Robert, however, in attempting a clearance, touched it with a part of his body he would have preferred not to have touched it with. We think his new, high pitched voice will fade in time.
We lost the path a few times along this part of the route. Some direction posts wouldn’t go amiss here as the fence is no sure guide and there is no path as such. So we found ourselves higher on the hill than we aught to have been. This was no bad thing for the view over Ballantrae to Ailsa was good from this height. But we lost the view when we dropped down to Drumbrochart Farm. An old Morris Oxford, a curious child and a laden apple tree were the only things to note between here and Downan Farm. Alan and Jimmy sampled the apples but they looked too green for the rest of us. (The apples that is, not Alan and Jimmy.)
Tarmac was found and followed to the A77 and Ballantrae where damp walking gear and wet socks were changed for dry.
The map pointed us along a byroad. Fifty y
ards later, and out of sight of the main road, other things were pointed as Rex’s coffee of an hour before found its way into bladders and there was now a row of Ooters facing the shrubbery, watering an already damp landscape. However the road was dry and, at the moment, though the sky lowered, the rain stayed away. A forest-type road slanted up the hill on the north side of Glen App. Rex’s book told us it would take us onto a landscape of purple heather, the haunt of merlin and hen harrier, and give us superb views of Loch Ryan and the Rinns of Galloway. At least it got the colour right for the heather was in full flower today and clothed the hillside on both sides of the track. But there were no birds to be seen, only the occasional grouse could be heard amongst the heather. And, slightly higher still, there was no landscape to be seen either for we were into a fog. And the rain came, not particularly heavy rain but enough to make us hap up.We walked in a wetting mist over a purple heathland. This would have been a delight in sunnier conditions but today it was damp and dreich. The mist lifted just sufficiently to let us see the sea below and what might have been land beyond. Then it closed in again. Coffee was suggested and, when we found the shelter of some trees beside a wee burn, we sat down for refreshment. So far the walking had been good on an old track.
The midges did the trick and we were off again as quickly as soon as coffee was finished. The track continued. It looked as though we would join tarmac but a marker pointed us along another track, towards the sea. Though this track took us down out if the mist, we wished that we had found tarmac for it was wet and mucky, made so by the feet of livestock, and in some places was flooded ankle-deep with brown water. It was not a pleasant part of the walk today. But it improved as we dropped towards the sea. And so did the weather. So did our frame of mind after the glaur of the previous half mile.
An old house was passed, one without a roof or windows. Johnny was asked for his new saws and router and his expertise so that we could re-build it for as a holiday home for it was in a pleasant position in a wee valley running down to the sea.. He declined. Davie asked the roads expert, ‘Have these roads been here for hunners o’ years’ ‘How the feck do I know’, came the reply, ‘I havenae been here for hunners o’ years’. So much for experts. Such was the level of conversation as we dropped with the road to the sea. As the day and our mood brightened lunch was called in a and taken on the cobble beach of a small cove called Currarie Port.
We ate. We spent some time here. The day was brightening all the time and now we could look out to sea and see the horizon for the first time. Corsewell Point with its lighthouse was now visible and Ireland showed as a faint blue streak on the horizon beyond. Some sat and watched the Irish ferry round the point. Some just sat and absorbed the mood of the quiet cove. Johnny and Holly played fetch-sticks, (It was difficult to say who enjoyed it most.) Jimmy tried to catch the scene with the camera and Rex looked up the next part of the walk in the book.
‘The next part’ took us up the valley of the Currarie Burn that emptied into the sea here. Our side of this was narrow, lying along the living rock between a high crag and the burn itself. But it was negotiated easily enough and we found ourselves on a ‘road’ new-cut out of the rock hillside. It was a rough road yet and Davie protected his dodgy ankle as the loose stones coggled feet this way and that. But it didn’t last long, just sufficiently to lift us well above the sea again. Then the hillside was taken to and we were lifted even further. Rex felt the need to visit the top of this hill, curiously called Donald Bowie, and some followed him. Others followed the fence across the side to find a cliff-top path.
Though the mist and rain were long gone, the
cliff top grasses still held their water in large dewy drops. And the grass was long. Trouser bottoms were soaked and, in due course, trainered feet were likewise. But the path did afford us a different perspective now, north-westward this time. The Mull of Kintyre lay on the skyline and Arran showed to the north. Jimmy commented how Holy Isle is often visible when Arran is obscured. Some had never noticed this phenomenon before but promised to look out for it in future. If they remember. But both islands were visible today. And Paddy’s Milestane stood out clear enough for us to see the lighthouse.But the path degenerated and, at one point, we lost it altogether. Davie and Robert crossed the fence into a field. This was a bad move. A kissing gate was spotted by the others fifty yards down through some bracken. This obviously marked the route so we headed in that direction and left the wayward two to find their own way back over the electric fence that now separated us. After touching the fence to see if it was live, Davie cleared it wihout further ado. Robert, however, in attempting a clearance, touched it with a part of his body he would have preferred not to have touched it with. We think his new, high pitched voice will fade in time.
We lost the path a few times along this part of the route. Some direction posts wouldn’t go amiss here as the fence is no sure guide and there is no path as such. So we found ourselves higher on the hill than we aught to have been. This was no bad thing for the view over Ballantrae to Ailsa was good from this height. But we lost the view when we dropped down to Drumbrochart Farm. An old Morris Oxford, a curious child and a laden apple tree were the only things to note between here and Downan Farm. Alan and Jimmy sampled the apples but they looked too green for the rest of us. (The apples that is, not Alan and Jimmy.)
Tarmac was found and followed to the A77 and Ballantrae where damp walking gear and wet socks were changed for dry.
We didn’t have far to go for refreshment this day. The Kings Arms was just across the road.
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