Distance via Balsalloch Hill 14.5 km
Nine of us - Alan was the missing one today - boarded the bus in Girvan though only two paid. This is the advantage of public transport for the bus-pass brigade. The disadvantage today was the unexpected tour of the streets of Girvan. A convoluted tour it was as well, taking in nearly every street in the scheme. At one point we thought the driver was lost and was trying desperately to find a way out. The irritating thing for the two fare-paying Ooters was that the one or two passengers picked up in the maze also produced bus-passes. Roll on bus-pass day, say they.
The intention was to complete another section of the Ayrshire Coast Walk, the section between Lendalfoot and Girvan. To do this we were relying on Ian’s local knowledge - many a long summer spent here in his boyhood - and, just in case this failed, Rex’s handbook.
As we drove down the coast towards Lendalfoot, it became obvious that the promise of the bright morning would not be fulfilled for, even as we left Girvan, it was noted that fog hung over the low hills of the coast. Decanted from the bus, we felt the cause of this hill fog, a bitterly cold wind blowing over the snow on the high Galloway Hills to the east and meeting the warmer coastal hills. This was not a day in which to hang about.
This thought obviously occurred to Ian who took off southward along the main road as if his a*** was on fire. He was heading in the wrong direction, away from Girvan, though he seemed to know where he was going. And, like good little Ooters, we followed in his wake, trusting in his local knowledge. Four hundred metres along the road we left tarmac, came through a field gate and immediate stopped to don mountain gear for we could see where Ian was heading now. Well we might have seen it if the fog had cleared. But we knew where he was heading, upward into the fog. All stopped to don warmer gear, all that is except the bold Ian who strode up the field like a man possessed only to stop when he realised he was on his own.
Some reneged at the thought of another foggy climb. It has to be admitted that the scribbler
was the instigator of this mutiny - he holds his hands up to it - so must rely on the depute scribe for description of the hill climb. The stalwarts continued the climb but renegade four returned to tarmac arranging a rendezvous for the castle.
The wimps came to the Varyag Memorial. Johnny told the history of the famous Russian ship to those who were ignorant and the memorial itself was examined. This was much to Peter’s liking being made of bronze and highly sculpted. It is and impressive piece of work. Then we wandered through the village, took a right, left the sunshine behind and came up the road to Carleton Castle.
The historian was asked what he knew of the castle. He admitted ignorance but promised to find out. The Gazetteer for Scotland has this to say:-‘The ruined remains of Carleton Castle are located to the south of the settlement of Lendalfoot in South Ayrshire, 6 miles (10 km) southwest of Girvan. Built in the 15th century, the castle comprises a small rectangular tower, with one of its corners having fallen down. Carleton was the property of the Cathcart family and legend suggests that one laird, Sir John Cathcart, funded his lifestyle through a succession of wives, murdering each before moving on to the next. However, his final wife, May Kennedy of Culzean, realising her fate, pushed him from a cliff. His ghostly screams are still said to haunt the castle.’
We thought that might explain the eerie cursing sound we heard emanating from the mist on the hill but it transpired that this was only Robert venting after sliding in the mud and landing on his ar posterior.
Two minutes later the hill walkers were seen descending out of the mist. We came together at the castle.
Whilst Jimmy's dastardly mutineers took the low road, Ian's intrepid mountaineers had taken the high road. This entailed a steep and at times muddy climb up the sheer face of Balsalloch Hill. As we neared the top we moved into the clouds, but Ian's navigation was spot on. It turned out that we didn't actually need to see the view hidden by the mists because Ian gave an impressive description of the view lying before us, stretching from the coastline of Northern Ireland, around to Ailsa Craig and on to Girvan.
We didn't linger on top, cogniscent of the fact that the lowlanders would be concerned about our welfare. The descent towards Carleton Castle was as muddy as the ascent and as your mutinous scribe has already noted, Robert managed to fall into a mixture of glaur and coo cack, an event greeted with general mirth on both sides of the divide.
And so it was that once more we formed one great big happy group. (Depute Scribe)
Peter searched for treasures on the beach while we took coffee. Somebody suggested coffee at the castle but Ian had other plans. There was a spot down by the beach, in the sun and out of the wind so down the road we went, back to the main road. Once more Ian turned us southward, away from Girvan. However, this was only for a few metres before we turned off the road to a picnic table by the beach. Some had coffee at the table but it was still in the cold wind and the sensible took theirs in the lea of a garden wall, looking out to sea.
Somebody suggested coffee at the castle but Ian had other plans. There was a spot down by the beach, in the sun and out of the wind so down the road we went, back to the main road. Once more Ian turned us southward, away from Girvan. However, this was only for a few metres before we turned off the road to a picnic table by the beach. Some had coffee at the table but it was still in the cold wind and the sensible took theirs in the lea of a garden wall, looking out to sea.
It was a short coffee stop for some felt the need to move on to stir the blood against the cold so we moved off towards Girvan. And, an hour and bit after leaving the bus we left Lendalfoot.
The trudge along the main road was only interesting in the seaward direction for the road was busy with heavy traffic and the fog still hung over the high ground. The enclosed monument to the drowned fishermen was looked at, the surf breaking on the shore was commented on and the birders looked for their feathered friends. This, combined with the usual blethers, took us towards Kennedy’s Pass.
The observant among us saw the old Turnpike road slanting up the hill and, when we reached a field gate with a track heading towards it, we were for this way. But Ian had local knowledge (and had read the book) and pointed us further along the road. We turned into an old quarry from which there appeared to be no escape. We doubted Ian. Oh! we of little faith. Our
glorious leader led us to a parting in the quarry wall. A track lead steeply up through this and we were directed up the track by he who knew all along. And, as we climbed the track, the sun broke through the hill fog to shine on us for the rest of the day.
Striding out on the old turnpike road.We were now on the old Turnpike road, high above the new road and looking out to sea. We strode out. At the old toll house, we sat down for lunch.
We carried on along the old turnpike after lunch, enjoying the views seaward. Eventually this dropped us to sea level again but stayed to the east of the main road for a while yet. However, it was muddy at this level and Ian’s lugs were abused for it was thought that he led us here. Ian emphatically denied this and blamed it on the book for this was new to him as well. We believe him. Then the mud finished and we were decanted once more onto the main road.
The main road was as it had been earlier and the trudge into Girvan
was the same as that of leaving Lendalfoot. Holly found a ball and was amused by this all along the sea front. (Rex and Johnny also enjoyed the ball, showing off old, and obviously forgotten, cricketing skills)
A good walk in places but the sections beside the main road were somewhat uninteresting.
(Interesting sideshow in Girvin harbour, prawn fishermen preparing their catch - jmatt)
The harbour Bar provided the FRT for today.
The intention was to complete another section of the Ayrshire Coast Walk, the section between Lendalfoot and Girvan. To do this we were relying on Ian’s local knowledge - many a long summer spent here in his boyhood - and, just in case this failed, Rex’s handbook.
As we drove down the coast towards Lendalfoot, it became obvious that the promise of the bright morning would not be fulfilled for, even as we left Girvan, it was noted that fog hung over the low hills of the coast. Decanted from the bus, we felt the cause of this hill fog, a bitterly cold wind blowing over the snow on the high Galloway Hills to the east and meeting the warmer coastal hills. This was not a day in which to hang about.
This thought obviously occurred to Ian who took off southward along the main road as if his a*** was on fire. He was heading in the wrong direction, away from Girvan, though he seemed to know where he was going. And, like good little Ooters, we followed in his wake, trusting in his local knowledge. Four hundred metres along the road we left tarmac, came through a field gate and immediate stopped to don mountain gear for we could see where Ian was heading now. Well we might have seen it if the fog had cleared. But we knew where he was heading, upward into the fog. All stopped to don warmer gear, all that is except the bold Ian who strode up the field like a man possessed only to stop when he realised he was on his own.
Some reneged at the thought of another foggy climb. It has to be admitted that the scribbler
was the instigator of this mutiny - he holds his hands up to it - so must rely on the depute scribe for description of the hill climb. The stalwarts continued the climb but renegade four returned to tarmac arranging a rendezvous for the castle.The wimps came to the Varyag Memorial. Johnny told the history of the famous Russian ship to those who were ignorant and the memorial itself was examined. This was much to Peter’s liking being made of bronze and highly sculpted. It is and impressive piece of work. Then we wandered through the village, took a right, left the sunshine behind and came up the road to Carleton Castle.
The historian was asked what he knew of the castle. He admitted ignorance but promised to find out. The Gazetteer for Scotland has this to say:-‘The ruined remains of Carleton Castle are located to the south of the settlement of Lendalfoot in South Ayrshire, 6 miles (10 km) southwest of Girvan. Built in the 15th century, the castle comprises a small rectangular tower, with one of its corners having fallen down. Carleton was the property of the Cathcart family and legend suggests that one laird, Sir John Cathcart, funded his lifestyle through a succession of wives, murdering each before moving on to the next. However, his final wife, May Kennedy of Culzean, realising her fate, pushed him from a cliff. His ghostly screams are still said to haunt the castle.’
We thought that might explain the eerie cursing sound we heard emanating from the mist on the hill but it transpired that this was only Robert venting after sliding in the mud and landing on his ar posterior.
Two minutes later the hill walkers were seen descending out of the mist. We came together at the castle.
Whilst Jimmy's dastardly mutineers took the low road, Ian's intrepid mountaineers had taken the high road. This entailed a steep and at times muddy climb up the sheer face of Balsalloch Hill. As we neared the top we moved into the clouds, but Ian's navigation was spot on. It turned out that we didn't actually need to see the view hidden by the mists because Ian gave an impressive description of the view lying before us, stretching from the coastline of Northern Ireland, around to Ailsa Craig and on to Girvan.
We didn't linger on top, cogniscent of the fact that the lowlanders would be concerned about our welfare. The descent towards Carleton Castle was as muddy as the ascent and as your mutinous scribe has already noted, Robert managed to fall into a mixture of glaur and coo cack, an event greeted with general mirth on both sides of the divide.
And so it was that once more we formed one great big happy group. (Depute Scribe)
Peter searched for treasures on the beach while we took coffee. Somebody suggested coffee at the castle but Ian had other plans. There was a spot down by the beach, in the sun and out of the wind so down the road we went, back to the main road. Once more Ian turned us southward, away from Girvan. However, this was only for a few metres before we turned off the road to a picnic table by the beach. Some had coffee at the table but it was still in the cold wind and the sensible took theirs in the lea of a garden wall, looking out to sea.
Somebody suggested coffee at the castle but Ian had other plans. There was a spot down by the beach, in the sun and out of the wind so down the road we went, back to the main road. Once more Ian turned us southward, away from Girvan. However, this was only for a few metres before we turned off the road to a picnic table by the beach. Some had coffee at the table but it was still in the cold wind and the sensible took theirs in the lea of a garden wall, looking out to sea.
It was a short coffee stop for some felt the need to move on to stir the blood against the cold so we moved off towards Girvan. And, an hour and bit after leaving the bus we left Lendalfoot.
The trudge along the main road was only interesting in the seaward direction for the road was busy with heavy traffic and the fog still hung over the high ground. The enclosed monument to the drowned fishermen was looked at, the surf breaking on the shore was commented on and the birders looked for their feathered friends. This, combined with the usual blethers, took us towards Kennedy’s Pass.
The observant among us saw the old Turnpike road slanting up the hill and, when we reached a field gate with a track heading towards it, we were for this way. But Ian had local knowledge (and had read the book) and pointed us further along the road. We turned into an old quarry from which there appeared to be no escape. We doubted Ian. Oh! we of little faith. Our
glorious leader led us to a parting in the quarry wall. A track lead steeply up through this and we were directed up the track by he who knew all along. And, as we climbed the track, the sun broke through the hill fog to shine on us for the rest of the day.Striding out on the old turnpike road.We were now on the old Turnpike road, high above the new road and looking out to sea. We strode out. At the old toll house, we sat down for lunch.
We carried on along the old turnpike after lunch, enjoying the views seaward. Eventually this dropped us to sea level again but stayed to the east of the main road for a while yet. However, it was muddy at this level and Ian’s lugs were abused for it was thought that he led us here. Ian emphatically denied this and blamed it on the book for this was new to him as well. We believe him. Then the mud finished and we were decanted once more onto the main road.
The main road was as it had been earlier and the trudge into Girvan
was the same as that of leaving Lendalfoot. Holly found a ball and was amused by this all along the sea front. (Rex and Johnny also enjoyed the ball, showing off old, and obviously forgotten, cricketing skills)A good walk in places but the sections beside the main road were somewhat uninteresting.
(Interesting sideshow in Girvin harbour, prawn fishermen preparing their catch - jmatt)
The harbour Bar provided the FRT for today.
1 comment:
On the journey down to the next meeting, Ian remarked about being impressed by Jimmy's explanation of the hill fog at Lendalfoot which he had never seen in his 30 years of holidays there man and boy. Robert said it was just Jimmy p**h talk but Ian confirmed that the Physics of it was correct and remained impressed!
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