20 August Killie to Darvel - The Long Way Round

Davie, Jimmy, Johnny, Peter & Robert

‘With you, dear Jenny, I would pass some hours,

Amongst its shady walks and fragrant bow'rs.’*

This was the day we welcomed Johnny back for his first outing since breaking his femur in April. And the walking wounded of last week were not fully recovered either. So this was to be a short and easy walk. It suited Peter for he had appointment to keep and was cutting the walk short anyway and it suited the rest as well for we were in the mood for a short walk .

It was raining when we met at Bob’s place in Kilmarnock. Not that it mattered at that time for Bob had prepared a slide show of his Canadian adventure and Peter had pictures from Australia. And Bob made coffee so we didn’t care whether it rained at that time so long as it dried up for us going out. By the time we had been to British Columbia and Alaska, Perth and the west of Australia it was the back of eleven and the rain had dwindled to a steady spit. Still, we waterproofed just in case and set off for a short walk.

Bob led us through the houses on a road that only he among the group had travelled. He was to lead us for the first part of the walk, into the Irvine valley, and Davie was to take over from there. So, through the houses he led us, over the busy A77 by a bridge and into a wee country lane. Too early yet for the brambles which hung in orangey-green clusters in the hedgerows but we now know where to get them. And too early for the scribes growing on stunted trees beside the old Crookedholm school. Our indignation was raised again to see how this substantial Victorian building was being allowed to decay. It had obviously been used as some sort of council department until recent years but was now abandoned and showing signs of wear. We wondered how long it would be before it was demolished and the land sold off to housing developers. Sad.
Peter left us when we reached a path for Crookedholm. A couple of locals blethered at the end of the path and we stopped to blether with them and to remove the waterproofs for the rain had now gone. They pointed Peter in the right direction. He took the path through the wood and we carried on along the road. We were for the Old Loudoun Kirk so stuck to tarmac.

Past Templetonburn we went. Jimmy suggested an association with the name and the Knights Templar. Paul agreed. Then it was past Grougar Row, still on tarmac. And we would have stayed on tarmac but Davie wanted to show us Burnbank Loch so we diverted along a footpath. He promised Jimmy that he would point out a comfortable chair along this path. Johnny thought this was a good thing for Jimmy might not recognise a chair, comfortable or otherwise. Its good to have him back with us. We stopped beside the comfortable chair which overlooked the loch for Davie also said that, in winter, this was a great place for watching wildfowl. Today there were only two swans on the far side of the water. Not much to hang about for so we walked on.

We came back to tarmac and to the ancient Kirkyard of Loudoun Kirk (founded 1415 said our dates expert). Jimmy related the story of Janet Little (1759-1813), ‘The Scottish Milkmaid’, who is buried here and Davie told of Lady Flora Hastings (1806-139) who also lies here. But Robert and Johnny heard none of it, they were off in search of a comfortable seat on which to have lunch. So we all took lunch here, sandwiches eaten between throwing sticks for Holly. This might have been to stop her looking for bones.

Davie led the way after the peece. Waymarkers pointed us down a track towards Galston and this is the way we went. The way marker pointing to the left after a few hundred yards was noticed but it was assumed that Davie knew a better way since he strode on past it. We followed him. We have done this before and with the same sort of result. We came to a barbed-wire fence separating us from the main road. There was no sign of a path. We looked but there was no path. Surely Davie wasn’t lost? Not a bit of it, he just wanted to show us the new Irvine Valley flood defences. And they were well worth the seeing, weren’t they? But there was no path. We climbed the aforementioned barbed wire fence carefully, clambered up the bank, walked along the verge of the busy road and came into Galston.

A quick conference was held to decide our way back to Darvel with Davie offering the options and the walking wounded being given the casting vote. We opted for the high road.

Galston was left by the Sorn Road. A few spots of rain were felt and, by the time we reached the entrance to Burnhouse Brae Wood and the start of the Burn Anne walk, it was getting heavier. We walked up through the wood, the steep slopes catching out the infirm who hobbled their way to the tops. And the rain came seriously. Even in the shelter of the trees it was serious. Waterproofs were donned.

The trees of the ‘Burnawn’ were left, tarmac was regained and we started the climb of the valley side in the rain. Up by Middle Third and Moorend we went, and up towards ‘the mast’. The day wasn’t particularly cold and the climb was steep and heat built up inside waterproofs. It was a sweaty climb. Johnny (he of the broken femur who was having his first outing for a while) upped the pace on this climb. He was to suffer for it later but he upped the pace now. And this was to stay brisk as we climbed by the Galla Hill path-end and on towards the transmitter. Johnny started to flag. A halt was called to divest of the outer garments. ‘Meh beck is sooming’, said Jimmy and the rest said likewise for it had been a long, fast and hot climb and sweat had failed to evaporate in the damp air. A breather was also called, for Johnny‘s benefit.

At the smallholding of Keiland we left tarmac and turned downward into the valley. Then came a Davie diversion. Instead of sticking to the track like sensible folk would do, he turned right on a path. Certainly it was signposted as a part of the Valley network but it was narrow and wet. And, as we came into the trees it turned mucky as well. And slippery. We all slid at sometime along this part. Johnny slid. He cursed for now the fast pace was telling on recovering joints and a jar was the last thing he needed. Jimmy slid. He cursed more silently than Johnny. He had jerked his back and was reduced to a painful, slow progress. The rest waited to give him a rest but he preferred his slow progress and gradually, as the downward slope eased, he recovered. We reached tarmac again and the wounded were recovered sufficiently to make a slightly faster pace but still lagged behind, each sympathising with the other. We waited for them in Darvel and we all returned to Davie’s together. We changed out of sweat-wet clothing and felt more human again.

We retired to take refreshment in the Black Bull where the suffering sat and were waited upon. Such is our concern for our fellow Ooters. We hope the b*****rs are recovered for next week as we cannae keep this show of concern going for too long.

*Janet Little. From 'Epestle to Nell, Wrote from Loudoun Castle'