17 March The Kelly Cut or If we ever lay hands on that ****** that writes up the walks for The Herald ..............

We met three fellows as we prepared for the walk this morning, three fellows of our own age. We were at Cornalees Visitor Centre donning boots when they arrived; three fellows, one from Glasgow, one from Paisley and the other from Bridge of Weir. Our intention was to do the Kelly Cut, a walk that was new to all the Ooters. Their intention was to do the same and they were in the same degree of ignorance as we were. Still we had a map and they had the route description cut from The Herald. They would follow us, or we them, depending on who was at the front at that time. Life was hunky-dory then.
The weather was kind, well as kind as mid-March can be, overcast but bright, dry and mild and the sun did its best to come through at times. The views weren’t exceptional as a haze hung in the air restriction visibility to a few miles. Nevertheless we expected a good walk, an easy and short walk for this was another birthday curry evening and we didn’t want too hard a walk or we might all doze off over the curry. What we didn’t expect though, were the patches of snow still lying deep in the gullies, even a low as the visitor centre. And great swathes of the stuff corniced the hill above the Greenock Cut.
But we were not for the hill. We turned our footsteps on the path signed ‘Kelly Cut – Wemyss Bay 6miles’. We looked forward to an easy walk for the path was level and firm with only the occasional muddy bit to slow our progress. The pace was brisk from the outset with Robert, Ronnie and Davie setting it and Jimmy and Allan trailing on at the rear taking photographs. And it was kept brisk for the first mile or two until the blood warmed up. We walked beside the cut as it curved in and out of the gullies to maintain its level. Sometimes we felt that we were making no progress as we walked for ages to find ourselves barely fifty yards away on the other side of a cleuch. But the walking was good, the crack was good and the pace was just on the high side of comfortable. We might have walked along that path all day but the time approached eleven and coffee was called. On a dry bank overlooking Daff Reservoir, we sat down for coffee.
After coffee the pace was eased. Jimmy and Alan got to the front and slowed Davie to a reasonable pace where everybody kept together as one group. The first frog spawn of the year was spotted in a shallow pool in the cut and we stopped for a few minutes to examine it. But this was the only halt on our progress towards Kelly Dam. The road steepened towards the dam and a sign directed us away from it towards Inverkip. But we were for none of these signs; we would follow the fellows in front who had the route description from The Herald. At the dam we caught them up. ‘We just came off the route for coffee’, said they. So it was a return to the sign for us, but not before we had crossed the dam and Jimmy had led us into another bog.
We followed the service road down towards Inverkip. Not only was more frog spawn noted but also the frogs. ‘The big ones are the females and the wee ones are the males’ said Robert, showing off his knowledge of wildlife. We watched the puddocks for a wee while then Rex set off again and we followed.
A wee bit of concern crept into some as we approached the caravan park, a caravan park that shouldn’t have been there according to our map. Some suggested we should have turned off the road further up. Some suggested we should go on yet. Where were these Renfrewshire men when they were needed? Robert, the old Munroist, looked at the map and said that we should turn sharp right at Kelly Mains Farm. We hadn’t passed that yet, had we? We didn’t think so and walked on.
At Kelly Mains Farm we turned sharp right, left the tarmac of the caravan park road and found an ancient, abandoned road lined with trees. We knew where we were then – well, some of us did – and walked on confidently. By this time lunch was calling. On some convenient logs in a copse of mature elm, beech and limes, lit by a warming blink of March sunshine, we sat down for lunch.
Barely had we finished lunch and were back on the old road when we were caught up by our Renfrewshire friends. They, like us, were bemoaning the lack of signage on the route. Despite the description in The Herald, they still found difficulty way-finding. Each group congratulated the other in getting this far.

Davie found the sign saying footpath and directing us off our road and up a field track, but our map reader said we shouldn’t turn off until Finnoch Bog Farm, then we should make a sharp right. We followed the map reader, a move we would regret.
At Finnoch Bog farm we found tarmac, a broad, busy road but with a pavement beside it. We walked up the pavement looking for the track on our right up that would take us into the trees we could see on the skyline. Instead we found a modern housing estate, Langhouse, which shouldn’t be there according to our map. Still, we followed our road into the estate. Then it bent away from where we wanted to be and we stopped for a conference. It was as we stood looking lost that a kind soul, taking pity on these wan’ert auld men, leant over her garden fence and gave us the directions that we so sorely lacked. ‘Back to that turn-off and you’ll find a path to take you behind the houses on to a track. As the track swings right, take to the left and cross the field to the waterworks. You’ll find the road there’. With grateful thanks to our saviour, we retraced our steps to the turn-off. And who should we meet coming towards us? That’s right, the Renfrewshire men.
The path we found did take us onto a track, an old forest road. Surely this would take us up into the trees? It certainly appeared to, so we followed it. It climbed straight up the hill. The first quarter of a mile was fairly steep but, on the track, the walking was good. And we could see the waterworks over to the left. Then, as the slope eased the track ran out into a marshy stretch of field. Despite misgivings from the rear of the group, the map reader was adamant that the drystane dyke that we followed would take us onto a forest road through the trees. Once again we followed our map reader.
At a gate in the dyke we entered the forest and found the forest road, a long abandoned forest road but a road nevertheless. But which way to turn? Davie suggested left for that was where the waterworks were. A conference of map readers suggested right for Davie’s road ended in the forest after a bit. Right would bring us to where we should be for the road curved round. Anyway we wanted to be near the electricity pylons. The ‘righters’ won the day and we set off right.
Right proved the correct decision for the road improved after a while and brought us on to and arterial road where we could see the electricity pylons. ‘This looks like it comes up from where I saw the sign’, said Davie and, sadly, we had to agree with him. We probably could have saved a good mile or so if we had taken his advice. Still, as our new road swung round to the north, confidence in our route finders was regained. And, at one point, through a gap in the trees we could see the cut we had walked alongside in the morning. We were definitely on the right road now.
A mile later we came to a clearing where the trees had been felled and we could see the waterworks in front of us. We could also see, some four hundred yards down over the fields, the housing estate we left the best part of forty minutes ago. We could have saved another mile if we had come up over the fields to the waterworks. But, hey-ho, what’s a mile among friends? 'A helluva distance,' says Johnny who was beginning to flag at this point.
The map readers said that our next path should lead off to the right. We came to the waterworks looking carefully for any path that went right. There was none. But, at the waterworks, a road ran off to the right. ‘That’s it,’ said the mappers confidently. We believed them.
They were right. This road took us out of the forest to the dam of Daff Reservoir that we had looked over at coffee this morning. Above us we could see the scar of the cut running across the hillside. Not so far to go now, but not before we had a rest. We had come from our lunch stop with barely a break and it was telling on some now. So we sat against the dam wall and had a break.
The ‘not so far to go now’ proved to be the hardest part of the walk for legs were tired and the ground broken. The Munroists, Rex and Alan, opted for a direct line over the rough ground towards Cornalees while the rest took a longer route alongside a drystane dyke and found the vestige of a sheep path to ease the way. Holly ran between the groups. Whichever way was chosen, the walking wasn’t easy on tired legs and we all struggled on this section. Eventually we came down into the gully of the Kip Water and found a boardwalk. It was a tiring group of Ooters that climbed that boardwalk to find the level path alongside the cut. An easy and slow amble brought us back to Cornalees.
Wildlife was at a premium today. Apart from the frogs and spawn, we spotted a single snipe on the old road before lunch and Alan spotted the deer bounding across the fields as we came from the housing estate into the forest. But the best spot of the day came as Alan and Rex crossed the doogals towards the boardwalk.. A woodcock sprung with a flutter of wings just as Alan was about to stand on it. We feel sure that the adrenalin will have subsided and Alan’s heart rate will have returned to normal for next week. But it did help him over the difficult bit.

We were changing out of boots at Cornalees when the Renfrewshire boys arrived. What did they think of the walk? ‘If we ever lay hands on that ****** that writes up the walks for The Herald ..............’ said they, obviously having had as much trouble way-finding as we had.

This was a much longer walk than we anticipated today (fourteen to fifteen miles said Jimmy) and there will be some tired bodies tomorrow. We had no time left for FRT for we were later finished than we ettled and we were conscious of the time approaching for our evening curry. And the opinion of the walk? Well, we’ve done it now, so we don’t need to do it again. It’s not nearly as good as its near neighbour, The Greenock Cut.

Distance: At a guess around 22Km