Failford Gorge 29th October

 

Alan, Alan McQ, Allan, Davie C, Dougie, Graham, Gus, Hugh, Jimmy, Johnny, Malcolm, Paul, Rex 

Heading down the A77 towards the Sandyford roundabout the rain was falling in biblical proportions and was to continue as we headed for Failford. It didn’t let up and there were some, you can guess who, who didn’t want to leave their car, but by ten o’clock most were huddled together in the bus stop in the hope that the rain would abate. It was twenty past when all were ‘ready’ to go even although it was still chucking it down and, with a plan to walk to Peden’s Pulpit in place, we made our way on soggy paths.

On the first flight of steps, we encountered a cascade of water coming down them but eventually we reached drier ground and reached our target. There was a new barrier erected, at least new to your scribe who hadn’t been there for a couple of years, to prevent access to the steps to the pulpit, and so, after a few minutes, we retraced our steps back to junction of the paths. By this time the rain had eased off, so another decision was made that we would walk up to the bench and return by the higher path. Nobody took the lower riverside path, and all reached the aforementioned bench in better spirits, as the rain had gone and there were blue skies to be seen. Re-evaluating the situation, it was then agreed we would walk up to the style at Daldorch Farm before returning, but, in the event, we were back at the bench within five minutes as the path ahead was unpassable due to flooding.

Coffee was taken before we started on the way back with some choosing to take the lower route along the riverside whilst the rest stayed on the upper path. Meeting up again, we then continued high before remembering to take the path on our right down to our starting point. We were back at the cars by about quarter past twelve having covered four and a half miles or so and, after getting changed, we consumed the rest of our pieces before heading up to the Black Bull in Mauchline for FRT. After a very wet start, the day had turned out fine, albeit that the walk had been cut short. 

Given that the pub didn’t open until one o’clock, the locals were presented with the sight of a group of retired professional gentlemen, with tongues hanging out, awaiting its opening. What has the world, or the Ooters, come to? Nonetheless, the door eventually was opened by what looked like the cleaning lady and we all poured in. She was trying to accommodate us but within a few minutes the regular barmaid arrived to the applause of the assembled company and normal service was resumed. A good hour and a half was spent here and we were again treated to sausage rolls and biscuits. Many thanks again to our barmaid of the year. 

On getting home some were told by their better halves that they had encountered little or no rain showing just how localised the deluge had been.