'Then I knew I was lost indeed. For by the flickering light of a dying fire of driftwood I could see that I was again in the cave of Sawny Bean, with the same narrow hams a-swing on the roof, the tubs of salt meat festering under the eaves, and the wild savage crew dancing about me'
from: The Grey Man
SR Crocket
We thought we had missed the bus. The intention was to drive to Lendalfoot, take the bus to Ballantrae and walk the Ayrshire Coastal Path back to the cars. But we thought we had missed the bus. The timetable (don't you just hate that word?) said the bus was to leave Lendalfoot at 10:22. We were held up by road works but still managed to arrive at the bus stop at 10:22. We waited. For fifteen minutes, we waited. We thought we had missed the bus but, fifteen minutes late, it arrived.
The bus dropped us at The King's Arms in Ballantrae. This is where we finished the last part of the walk so it was the appropriate place to start the second. If the walk of a fortnight ago was to be the example for the Ayrshire Coastal Path, we looked forward to a super walk again today. It wasn't to be a long walk - six and a half miles, said Rex's book - but Ian, who knows well this part of the coast, promised some interesting bits. But first, we had the village to clear.
As we walked down towards the beach, we came across a gang of grass-cutters standing round a lorry-load of lawn-mowers. Community service boys by the look of them, overseen by a man of our own age. Rex copped an earful when he asked if they were having another busy day. 'How come you fellows never pass us when we're working?' was the gist of what was said but perhaps these weren't the exact words. And why he should question Rex's parentage is beyond us.
Jimmy was beginning to do likewise when Rex led us onto the beach. 'I don't do soft sand' was his comment. But he was assured that it was okay for the beach wasn't soft sand, it was soft shingle. Yes, it was soft shingle and it stretched on before us meaning tough going for a while. The birders took their mind of the going by spotting. Wheatear, Sparrowhawk, Ringed plover etc. caught their attention. And the rest? Burn crossing and looking for firmer footing was their relief.
We cleared the shingle eventually by coming on to the old road, that section of the road that was abandoned when the new one over Benann was made. This should provide us with more stable footing now. Our ire was raised when we came to a locked gate across the road. Was this not a public road? As such was it no a 'Right of Way'? Is it not illegal to obstruct a right of way? We were indignant and climbed the gate anyway. Nobody was going to obstruct our passage! What we hadn't noticed was that the farmer who had barred the way was using the old road as a dump for farmyard manure. We waded through an inch or so of slurry while trying to avoid the bulk of the pile. We watched our feet carefully. But Ian was off the road and heading up a grass path. He was for Snibs cave and we followed.
Snibs, according to the memorial that Rex and Davie read, was a banker in Dundee. For some reason known only to him, he gave up banking, gave up society and came to live in this cave. He lived here for many years before his death at the tail end of last century. The cave is dry, even in this wet summer it is dry, and might have given Snibs a comfortable shelter. Not comfortable enough for us softies, though and we were soon back on the road. Back on the road and avoiding the glaur again.
There came another locked gate. and we climbed it thinking the way would be better on the other side. But we were wrong. The road was still mucky with animal droppings as the road is now used as part of the surrounding fields and sheep and cattle grazed here. There was another locked gate. And another. And another. Kissing gates beside these, obviously made as part of the long distance pathway, had been chained and nailed shut. Our indignation was raised again. And this was our progress towards the top of the hill and the main road.
Hunger called. Ian said we were only ten minutes from Sawney Bean’s cave and suggested were eat there. We agreed and left the main road on an overgrown grass pad heading towards the sea. This took us to the top of a cove ringed by craggy cliffs and steep grassy slopes. It looked as though there was no way down to the shingle below but our path became more distinct here and dropped us down a steep, and in some places slippery, grass slope to the beach. The sea lapped gently on the gravely beach and splashed against rocks at our end. It was among these rock that lay the entrance to Sawney Bean’s cave. We sat on outcrops in the shingle and ate.
Everybody in the group had heard the legend of Sawney Bean and his cave but none but Ian had been here. So, after lunch we went in search of the cave. It was easy to find, especially when Ian showed us where it was. Ian and Jimmy went first, clambering up the slippery rock to the cave entrance and entering the darkness. No hams hung from the roof, no fires burned under cooking pots and no voices other than ours could be heard. But it was easy to see how stories of such caves could be believed. The two were joined after a few minutes by Davie and the trio made an exploration into the cavern for around thirty metres until it narrowed. Speleology is not to any of our liking and they ventured no further. The entrance chamber was enough.
Rex fancied seeing the cave after Jimmy and Davie came back and told him about it. Ian returned with him. But Johnny and Paul preferred to stay on the shingle rather than risk the slippery rock to the entrance. Four of us sat on the beach and waited for the other two to return.
The climb from the beach back to the road was somehow easier than the descent. Now poor Holly's freedom had to be curtailed for we were now to follow the main road and busy road it is. We stayed on the grass verge on the descent of Benann, at least as far as the caravan park entrance, with the traffic speeding past. Not the best of walking conditions now. An old railway or something like it lay some twenty metres seaward and we thought that this would make a better walkway. Perhaps as the walk is established, it will be taken along this and through the caravan park. But, at the moment, we had to keep to the main road watching out for potholes in the grass. We found a pavement at the caravan park and this provided easier walking. It was kept to f
or the rest of the walk.
Seals lay on the rocks near the Varag memorial lay-by, grey seals according to the naturalists, and we watched them as we walked to the lay-by car park. Paul and Davie examined the Russian writing on the Varag monument and Davie gave Paul a lesson on Cyrillic script. Ian lingered by the shore talking to a woman about the seals. Jimmy called for an official photo round the monument but was largely ignored. And Johnny and Rex ambled on to the cars.
This was a curate’s egg of a walk - good in parts. The parts that were good were extremely interesting but the parts that weren’t so good will need a lot of work done if this is to become an official long distance walk.
The Fish inn in Girvan provided our fluid replacement therapy today. It will be the last time it does. The place was cheerless and what was left of the ale was tainted. We won’t be back.
The bus dropped us at The King's Arms in Ballantrae. This is where we finished the last part of the walk so it was the appropriate place to start the second. If the walk of a fortnight ago was to be the example for the Ayrshire Coastal Path, we looked forward to a super walk again today. It wasn't to be a long walk - six and a half miles, said Rex's book - but Ian, who knows well this part of the coast, promised some interesting bits. But first, we had the village to clear.
As we walked down towards the beach, we came across a gang of grass-cutters standing round a lorry-load of lawn-mowers. Community service boys by the look of them, overseen by a man of our own age. Rex copped an earful when he asked if they were having another busy day. 'How come you fellows never pass us when we're working?' was the gist of what was said but perhaps these weren't the exact words. And why he should question Rex's parentage is beyond us.
Jimmy was beginning to do likewise when Rex led us onto the beach. 'I don't do soft sand' was his comment. But he was assured that it was okay for the beach wasn't soft sand, it was soft shingle. Yes, it was soft shingle and it stretched on before us meaning tough going for a while. The birders took their mind of the going by spotting. Wheatear, Sparrowhawk, Ringed plover etc. caught their attention. And the rest? Burn crossing and looking for firmer footing was their relief.
We cleared the shingle eventually by coming on to the old road, that section of the road that was abandoned when the new one over Benann was made. This should provide us with more stable footing now. Our ire was raised when we came to a locked gate across the road. Was this not a public road? As such was it no a 'Right of Way'? Is it not illegal to obstruct a right of way? We were indignant and climbed the gate anyway. Nobody was going to obstruct our passage! What we hadn't noticed was that the farmer who had barred the way was using the old road as a dump for farmyard manure. We waded through an inch or so of slurry while trying to avoid the bulk of the pile. We watched our feet carefully. But Ian was off the road and heading up a grass path. He was for Snibs cave and we followed.
Snibs, according to the memorial that Rex and Davie read, was a banker in Dundee. For some reason known only to him, he gave up banking, gave up society and came to live in this cave. He lived here for many years before his death at the tail end of last century. The cave is dry, even in this wet summer it is dry, and might have given Snibs a comfortable shelter. Not comfortable enough for us softies, though and we were soon back on the road. Back on the road and avoiding the glaur again.
There came another locked gate. and we climbed it thinking the way would be better on the other side. But we were wrong. The road was still mucky with animal droppings as the road is now used as part of the surrounding fields and sheep and cattle grazed here. There was another locked gate. And another. And another. Kissing gates beside these, obviously made as part of the long distance pathway, had been chained and nailed shut. Our indignation was raised again. And this was our progress towards the top of the hill and the main road.
Hunger called. Ian said we were only ten minutes from Sawney Bean’s cave and suggested were eat there. We agreed and left the main road on an overgrown grass pad heading towards the sea. This took us to the top of a cove ringed by craggy cliffs and steep grassy slopes. It looked as though there was no way down to the shingle below but our path became more distinct here and dropped us down a steep, and in some places slippery, grass slope to the beach. The sea lapped gently on the gravely beach and splashed against rocks at our end. It was among these rock that lay the entrance to Sawney Bean’s cave. We sat on outcrops in the shingle and ate.
Everybody in the group had heard the legend of Sawney Bean and his cave but none but Ian had been here. So, after lunch we went in search of the cave. It was easy to find, especially when Ian showed us where it was. Ian and Jimmy went first, clambering up the slippery rock to the cave entrance and entering the darkness. No hams hung from the roof, no fires burned under cooking pots and no voices other than ours could be heard. But it was easy to see how stories of such caves could be believed. The two were joined after a few minutes by Davie and the trio made an exploration into the cavern for around thirty metres until it narrowed. Speleology is not to any of our liking and they ventured no further. The entrance chamber was enough.
Rex fancied seeing the cave after Jimmy and Davie came back and told him about it. Ian returned with him. But Johnny and Paul preferred to stay on the shingle rather than risk the slippery rock to the entrance. Four of us sat on the beach and waited for the other two to return.
The climb from the beach back to the road was somehow easier than the descent. Now poor Holly's freedom had to be curtailed for we were now to follow the main road and busy road it is. We stayed on the grass verge on the descent of Benann, at least as far as the caravan park entrance, with the traffic speeding past. Not the best of walking conditions now. An old railway or something like it lay some twenty metres seaward and we thought that this would make a better walkway. Perhaps as the walk is established, it will be taken along this and through the caravan park. But, at the moment, we had to keep to the main road watching out for potholes in the grass. We found a pavement at the caravan park and this provided easier walking. It was kept to f
or the rest of the walk.Seals lay on the rocks near the Varag memorial lay-by, grey seals according to the naturalists, and we watched them as we walked to the lay-by car park. Paul and Davie examined the Russian writing on the Varag monument and Davie gave Paul a lesson on Cyrillic script. Ian lingered by the shore talking to a woman about the seals. Jimmy called for an official photo round the monument but was largely ignored. And Johnny and Rex ambled on to the cars.
This was a curate’s egg of a walk - good in parts. The parts that were good were extremely interesting but the parts that weren’t so good will need a lot of work done if this is to become an official long distance walk.
The Fish inn in Girvan provided our fluid replacement therapy today. It will be the last time it does. The place was cheerless and what was left of the ale was tainted. We won’t be back.
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