When Private McPhun gruppit Private McPhee.
Oh the glaur it wis fylin’ and crieshin’ the grun’,
When Private McPhee guidit Private McPhun.
The Haggis of Private McPhee – Robert Service
Girvan Glaur
Seven Early Ooters (absentees: Jimmy, Peter, Rex) assembled just south of Girvan for what your correspondent had assumed would be a walk along part of the Ayrshire Coastal Path. A reasonable assumption one would have thought, given that this had been the walk agreed upon somewhere in France (or was it Spain?), the previous week. No need for a map no need for a GPS he thought.
How wrong can you be?
Instead of the Coastal Path we were to head inland to do the Pinmore Walk. Rex (the other GPS aficionado), who appeared to be the instigator of this change of plan, had been laid low by the Ryanair lurgy and he, his GPS and most regrettably of all his ANZAC biscuits were all conspicuous by their absence.
Still, Alan had a map.
The ascent out of Girvan was an unpleasant trudge through glutinous glaur masquerading as a farm track. As the climb levelled out the route became less clear with various tracks shooting off in different directions. Fortunately a few marker posts showed the way. After several of the group had studied the first marker and then moved off, Johnny called them back to tell them they were going in the wrong direction. How did he know? Well, they weren’t going in the direction the arrow was pointing.
What a cunningly simple device when it’s explained to you by a mathematician!
However, the markers soon petered out and we were faced with a bewildering choice of routes. Alan’s map had limited use since there was no scale shown or to be bluntly honest anything else of much use apart from a nice picture of a motor car and a cup of tea. We really didn’t know where we were.
We opted to ignore the route downhill towards a road, which was unfortunate since it turned out to have been the correct way. Eventually it dawned on us that instead of being on our 17 km circuit we were on a short 7 km granny walk.
Not everyone in the party appeared disappointed by this revelation.
As we made our descent back towards Girvan, and the prospect of a record early finishing time we discussed the possibility of extending the walk to take in Byne Hill, which stood invitingly to the left of our route.
We were all aware of the inhospitable nature of the present occupants of Byne Farm which stands sentry over the traditional starting point of the ascent, but armed with our trusty shield of righteousness (© Jonathan Aitken) we resolved that if we were challenged we would simply invoke our inalienable Right to Roam. However, as we passed the farm buildings we were harangued by a hairy harridan who let it be known we were not welcome ….. so we beat a hasty retreat, trailing our shield of righteousness behind us.
The harpy had suggested an alternative route and we decided to follow this. But first lunch, which was taken in the Elysian Fields of Girvan.
Setting off again, we spotted in a field a most appropriately-named farm vehicle. Here's a photo from the company website:
It turned out that the diversion wasn’t quite as the scold had described and we were obliged to walk 100 yards down the main road before following a new track which rose steeply up the Byne Hill to a small quarry. On the way we passed three contented pigs scrabbling about in a muddy field - sae cantie as a sou amang glaur - and this gave rise to a discussion about the film featuring a pig being secretly fattened up for Christmas in wartime Britain. Its title evaded everyone, but your correspondent can exclusively reveal that the film was ‘A Private Function’ starring Michael Palin and Maggie Smith.
Once past the quarry we were on to the open hillside where we stopped to look at a badly-weathered obelisk erected in memory of one Major A C B Craufuird who participated in the capture of the Cape of Good Hope. At 700 feet, the summit of Byne Hill was reached and this afforded fine views in all directions – we could see the Three Towns to the north, whilst to the south David pointed out the Lake District hills and Paul identified Skiddaw and Blencathra amongst them. As the hills drifted east, David and Paul became slightly less confident in the reliability of their pronouncements.
We descended along the shoulder of the hill - this involved a little scrambling - and were soon frighteningly close to Byne Farm again. However, at the last moment we veered sharply left into yet another field of mud and then into a yard which would have delighted the absent Peter – full of stone troughs, chimney pots, red telephone boxes and something that looked like a bell but, according to Robert, wasn’t one. Oddest of all were the trees sprouting satellite dishes – dozens of them. But all was explained when we saw the static caravan park below.
And that was the walk, apart from a half mile amble along the side of the A77 to the cars. All in all an enjoyable and varied walk, despite the muck and the crone.
Refreshments were consumed at the Harbour Bar in Girvan. A welcoming hostelry and a distinct improvement upon the Pish Bar.
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