24 August Fishponds, Fenwick and Furious Fermers

Allan, Davie C, Ian, Jimmy, Johnny, Malcolm, Paul and Robert

In the six years of our existence we can count on the fingers of one finger the number of times we have been challenged as to our right to walk on a certain piece of land. Today would take us on to our second finger.

Due to holidays, Munro-bagging and various other reasons, only eight of us gathered in Robert’s place in Kilmarnock for a walk we have done before, a low level and easy walk to Fenwick and back. (See 15/09/2010) After the delights of Robert’s coffee and half a dozen of Wee Davie’s wee scones (an egg cup size doesn’t satisfy hungry walkers or indeed greedy Ooters, Davie) we set off.

Conflicting weather forecasts had us unsure about when the rain would arrive but we set off anyway expecting to be rained on at sometime in the day. We came through Kay Park admiring the new Burns Monument Centre – well done to East Ayrshire Council for producing a building of some quality and not just the usual cooncil tat – past the Reformers Monument, a monument to the Killie men who struggled for the parliamentary reforms that eventually led to us all having a vote, and on into Dean Park.

In this park, Ian had us round the new Fallow Deer enclosure. Sure enough there were the deer grazing away and trying very hard to ignore us. But we will not be ignored. With whistles and ticks we managed to stir up enough interest among the deer for them to lift their heads and be photographed. Then we walked on.

A country road took us towards the Craufurdland estate and a track through the wood took us to Craufurdland Fishery. Since coffee was calling we looked for a place to sit and have a caffeine boost. But, since the last time we were here, last September, a new eatery of sorts has been opened in the hut and we felt that it was not de rigueur for us to use their tables; we looked around for a suitable seat. That’s when we were approached by a chap emerging from a land rover, a chap who had the air of authority in such a place. Pleasantly he asked us what we were looking for. When we explained he said it was OK for us to us the tables but if we felt uneasy about this then use the picnic benches round the back. This is what we did, thanking him for his courtesy.

Only two fellows appeared to be using the fishpond today but whether they were actually fishing or just cleaning out the pond, we couldn't be sure. We decided on the latter for they were far to active to be anglers and, anyway the net seemed to be full of green stuff ather that fish. We watched them do what they had to do while we relaxed and drank our coffee.

After coffee we found the public road and walked towards Fenwick. Then, taking a right, we turned away from the village on the road for Waterside. An old road, long abandoned, leaves this one to join with another old road from Horsehill to Netherraith. This was the way we intended to go. The first part of the old way is now used as the service road for Dalsraith Farm and we turned up this as we have done before.

That things have changed since we were last here should have been obvious from the closed circuit TV camera installed on this drive. Still, we walked on. The old road comes close to the farm building, between this and an old shed. Again we noted a difference for the way was now blocked by a static caravan and since there was no alternative route created, we had no option but to walk by this caravan to the other side of the farm. That’s when we were approached by a chap of a very different hue from the Craufurdland one. ‘Do you know you are on private property?’ he snapped. This was the wrong thing to say to us and the wrong attitude to approach anybody with. There then ensued a debate on rights of access. For reasons of civility we will draw a veil over the arguments of this debate. Suffice to say that a rather furious farmer retreated to his house muttering things to himself and we walked on.

The freedom of access laws give a right to us all to walk responsibly along old tracks and field edges even if these have been sown. Our old track was obviously an old road, twenty feet broad and separated from the fields by hedges on either side. Though overgrown, the firmness of the surface underneath confirmed it to be an old road. Even if there had been livestock in the fields, we would not be disturbing it for the hedges we fairly high. But there was no livestock to disturb and we walked along the old track wondering why this chap should be trying to keep us out.

Then the track made a sharp left turn and came to a gate. As we are responsible users of the land, in our usual fashion we opened the gate – barbed wire not withstanding – and closed and fastened it behind us. Now the track came along a field margin but the firmness and the map confirmed that it was still the old road. We walked on. Where this track joins the other, we found the muddy bit. This lasted almost a field length until we found more solid ground that proved we were still on the old track. This track brought us down to Netherraith Farm and tarmac again.

But we are not great tarmac lovers so at Craufurdland Bridge we crossed the public road and took the path down beside the Craufurdland Water. That the farmer was busy spreading slurry was evident from the aroma drifting on the breeze. Where we usually stop for the peece got the full effect of this country perfume and those with sensitive olfactory organs decided that this was not the best place to eat. We walked on. Further down the path we found the cause of the aroma. In a field that we were to walk through was a working tractor dragging a hose behind it and spraying brown, evil-smelling, watery slurry twenty feet in the air. We were lucky. He hadn’t quite reached our path but we hurried on just in case. Unlike the last farmer we encountered, the driver of the tractor gave us a cheery wave in the passing.

Now that we were downwind of the offending smell, we could sit down and have a bite to eat.

The rest of the walk was uneventful. We came back to Dean Park. We had been lucky with the weather so far but between here and Kay Park the rain came. The sensible donned waterproofs but Jimmy opted to walk on in shirt sleeves. ‘No point in getting my jacket wet’ said he. Anyway he had a dry change waiting for him on the other side of the park.

So ended another pleasant, if not uneventful, excursion. We returned to Robert’s house and took FRT in convivial surroundings watching the rain being driven away by the sun.

15 September Not the Luss Hills

Alan, Davie, Ian, Jimmy, Paul. Rex & Robert

It would seem that a modicum of sense is creeping into the collective psyche of the Ooters. The plan for the day was to travel to Luss for a walk on the hills there but the rain and wind of the last couple of days combined with a forecast of similar for today caused a change of mind. When we gathered in Ian’s with the sky lowering and the gale threatening to tear trees apart, nobody complained when Ian suggested a local walk.
The sky still lowered ominously when we left Ian’s place. Though the rain had gone for the moment, some donned the waterproofs ‘just in case’. It was a sensible idea for at least they cut the wind.
Ian’s walk was to be one we have done before (see 20/06/07 & 15/08/09) with one or two minor and one major diversion. The first of these minor ones found us in Dean Park but not where we expected to be. Ian took us by a contorted route among the trees to the graves of Thomas Evelyn Ellis, 8th Lord Howard De Walden and his wife Margherita Van Raalte, the owners and restorers of Dean Castle back in the nineteen-thirties. They loved the place so much that they chose to be buried in the grounds of the estate. Such is the seclusion of their resting place that, though some had lived in Kilmarnock most of their days and Rex had even lived barely quarter of a mile away, this was unknown to most of us, including Rex. It is probably unknown to ninety-nine percent of the visitors to the castle though this is only a few hundred yards away through the trees. This was to be our next port of call.
We were back on familiar territory at the castle. In 1974 Lord Howard De Walden gifted the castle and estate to the people of Kilmarnock and it is now run by East Ayrshire Council on behalf of the people and is open with free entry to the public. But, since it was not yet open for the day, Ian suggested we do our walk and pay a visit on return. We are all too polite to argue with Ian so continued to follow him through the park.
He took us next to the old walled garden of the estate. This is now used as a type of allotment scheme administered by the council where plots can be rented to grow your own crops. But not a lot of work has been done recently by the state of the ground we could see as we peered through the gates. Yes, as Ian says, there are facilities there but the ground appears to be in a fallow state with little in the way of cultivation being carried out. Perhaps there will be a change next time we come this was but for now, it was on with the walk.
We joined the Asloss road, headed for Boreland Farm, crossed the motorway by a bridge and came into the policies of Crawfurdland Castle. We knew from the previous visits here that the track we would take through the Rushybog and Wardknowe plantations was mucky and suspected it would be even more so today given the rainfall of the last few days. But Ian knew where he was going (That makes a change, think some.) and turned off the track onto a path through the trees. This was surprisingly dry and the walking was easy though there were some slippy tree roots to negotiate. Even more slippery were the boardwalks we encountered when we crossed the track and found another way through the woods. But on the whole these two paths kept the feet clean and brought us safely to tarmac a few hundred metres south of the fishery of Craufurdland Loch.
The fishery was devoid of anglers today and afforded little in the way of interest but we walked round it anyway just ‘because it’s there’. Sometime between leaving Dean Castle and arriving at the fishery the ominous clouds had dispersed and the sun made an appearance. It was sunny as we walked round the fishery looking for a place for coffee. But did we sit in the sun? Hey, this is the Ooters we are talking about. We left the sunshine, came into the shade of the trees, found the fishery office and sat down at slimy picnic tables, much to Rex’s disgust it might be added, and took coffee.
Beyond the fishery we found a minor road. Where before we have turned right and come to Craufurdland Bridge, we now turned left and headed for Fenwick. Past Marchbank and Aikenhead Farms we wandered. The wind was dropping and the sun was turning warm and our collective spirit lightened with the weather. On towards Fenwick we ambled taking in a brightening scene over rural Ayrshire.
But we never made Fenwick. At the foot of the Waterslap we turned right past some new housing. Then we left tarmac and took a right on the farm road for Dalsraith. Now came a sorry comment on the state of Ooterism. At Dalsraith Bridge where he found a convenient copse of saughs, Davie stopped for a pee. The very thought of this caused a contagion in the oldies and before long we had a line of Ooters watering the vegetation. The sighs of relief might have been heard back in Fenwick.
With all this weight jettisoned and feeling much lighter now, we made the short climb up to Dalsraith Farm. This was new territory for all, including our intrepid leader and when we made the farm, we made a mistake. (Anither yin? Ed) The track appeared to continue through a gate and we continued with it. But after fifty metres or so it became obvious that this was the wrong way. Our leader (and his trusty advisors) who, by this time had stopped to consult maps and scratch heads and had been bypassed the rest of us, shouted us back for his scout (Jimmy, aka Tonto) had found the right way at the other end of the farm.
That this was our track was obvious from the hedges on either side and there was firm ground beneath our feet, but that it was an unused track was just as obvious from the lush grass growing along its length. But it was our track and we followed it into the fields. Extensive but uninspiring views greeted us as we followed the path for this was high ground, the highest of the day. We enjoyed the space and the September sun now warming the bodies for the wind was dropping all the time and the turning pleasant. We passed a large but temporary body of water where black-headed gulls swarmed in the sun then turned right along a fence, trying desperately to cross a boggy area without getting wet and mucky feet, towards a gate in the corner. The track sort of petered out in this bog but the gate was a good reference point and we headed towards it.
The track did continue on the far side of the gate but it was now overgrown with saughs and brambles and nettles. We had a choice of which side of it to walk and opted for the side that took us unto a field with a strange crop for this area – a crop of willow. We could only speculate on the uses for such a crop, for crop it certainly was, and suggestions ranged from wicker baskets to fence hurdles to living shelters, all of which seemed sensible to our simple minds. The more ridiculous suggestions we chose to ignore. Then another gate came, a gate that would see us out of the planting and back onto the old track. We continued on the old track beside the Grassyards Burn to the farm of Netherraith, a very posh farm with a tarmaced drive. We took to the drive and came back to Craufurdland Bridge.
‘This would be a good place to have lunch’ suggested Rex. But in true Ooters style he was told that there was a better bit in a wee quarry ‘just doon the burn a bit’ for we were now back on familiar ground and we knew things. We left the tarmac again and took the wee path beside the burn that we had taken on our two previous outings here. The ‘bit doon the burn’ was at least half a mile and half a hungry mile at that. But we did find the old quarry and it did give us a better lunch stop than the bridge. In a sheltered spot in the beech trees above the Craufurdland water where we sat for lunch.
A post lunch saunter saw us follow the Craufurdland Water back towards Killie. We left the shelter of the trees and came over a well made style into a field. It was somewhere along here that sanity deserted us again. Considering the demise of that great television institution Last of the Summer Wine it was suggested that the Adventures of the Early Ooters would make a fine replacement. But who would play which part? Suggestions were made but we await the nominations of the other Ooters before we can give the definitive cast list. It was also suggested that the scribes rewrite the Adventures as screenplay to which Jimmy answered on behalf of his colleagues. What he said is unprintable but suffice to say that it was less than positive.
This piece of nonsense brought us down to the Assloss road and on to the ford. Despite the fair old run on the water, Holly, who makes a habit of picking up as much muck as possible during a walk, was washed. This involved Davie throwing a stick into the swollen water for holly to chase. Now, thoughts of droont dugs and bodies being washed down to Irvine came into the heads of some. But Davie is not that silly as to droon his own dug. The stick was thrown into the only calm bit of water in the burn and holly was washed without incident, much to our relief. Now with a clean dug, we walked on.
The Assloss road saw us back into Dean Park and down past the animal enclosures to the castle. A quick cultural (see last week) visit to see the armoury, feel the weight of the chain mail and hand a blog card to the attendant was followed by a short saunter back to our starting place.

FRT was taken in a pub the name of which has escaped your scribbler but no doubt somebody will remind him.

6 August Killie to Crawfurdland Circular

‘I’m a gie auld troot’, said he tae hissel’,
‘A gie auld troot’, said he.
-----------------------------------------------
‘But I’m the big fish that nae fisher can heuk,
An’ I’ll aye be that till I dee’.
Sandy Ross
Robert’s a spoilsport. When we saw the children’s fun day in Kay Park, we were desperate for a go on the bouncy castle. But Robert ruined all thoughts of juvenile enjoyment by taking us round the fun day to view the new Burns Monument Centre and the Reformer’s Monument. All very nice and interesting in an adult sort of way but we would much rather have had a go on the bouncy things. But, this was Robert’s walk and he had other ideas. The reason it was Robert’s walk today was down to his continued recuperation. After the exertions of last week, we felt it was better to let the old fellow have an easier, flatter walk today, but what really swung it in favour of his Crawfurdland Circular Walk was the promise of more pakora at his house at the end of it. So we forewent the idea of the bouncy castle to follow him round to the Burns Monument Centre and the Reformer’s Monument.
Only five of us gathered at Robert’s place, the rest taking the advantage of the summer to have a holiday from this retirement lark. But the five of us enjoyed the pleasantly warm day that Robert had laid on for us and set off through Kay Park to Dean Park. We took a high road through the trees of the Dean, avoiding the crowds in the busier parts. The wood was silent today, the warblers that are the mainstay of our woodland birdsong, having departed for parts warmer. And who can blame them considering the weather he have had this last month or so. So, we walked on, with only the crunch of boots on gravel and the blethers of the Ooters disturbing the calm of a quiet wood. We did spot some wildlife to please the naturalist though; two grey squirrels scampered across a clearing and into a tree. But that was the only thing of note as we continued through the quiet wood.
The path took us to Assloss, to the riding centre there. Jimmy asked if the house was the original Assloss House but neither of the Kilmarnockians could confirm this*. We found tarmac at Assloss and turned left along it. Jimmy and Robert did turn right and we thought that they were lost again but it was only so that Robert could show the inquisitor what he thought was Assloss house. Ronnie knew this to be Assloss Cottage so the riding centre may well be the old house. It remains a point for research.
We turned left along the tarmac now. This brought to by Boreland where we took the private road towards Craufurldand. There is no restriction in walking this road or in the grounds of Craufurdland so long as the privacy of the castle and its immediate environs are respected. We respected this privacy and turned onto a track through a wood appropriately named Rushybog Plantation. This was the wettest, muckiest part of the walk, not surprising really given the rain of the last few weeks and the name of the area, and care was taken as to feet placement. It is slightly disappointing to report that nobody slipped and fell and we arrive at the Craufurland fishery in one piece.
Fishers are philosophical optimists. They have to be. Many long hours standing up to the oxters in some river or motionless by some watery bank gives them plenty of time to outthink Aristotle, and develop a degree of patience that Job would be proud of. And it’s never their fault if the fish don’t bite; the wind is in the wrong direction, the sun is too bright or too dull, it’s too early, or too late in the day, the government don’t train the fish the way they used to - it’s just never their fault. The only thing that keeps them going is the thought of the big one that’s eluded them so far but which is out there just waiting to be caught. Many fishers – up to fifteen - sat silently round the pool today (standing being too much for some), each with his own thoughts but failing to share them with his neighbour.
We spoke to some on the way round and the answers were as above. It’s not their fault that the fish don’t bite. And in the twenty minutes or so it took us to walk round the pond, the fish didn’t bite.
We were in need of a bite, though, or at least a coffee so we settled down on a picnic bench beside the portacabin that serves as the fishery office. It’s a good thing that we are, basically, a cheery bunch for, so far, the conversations had been less so. When walking through the Dean woods to Assloss we discussed funerals and preparations for our demise. Walking towards Craufurdland we talked about cancers and other painful illnesses. Now we turned our attention to aging, debilitating conditions, vegetative existence and euthanasia. It wasn’t until Davie rose to throw himself in the fishing pond that we felt we’d better change the subject. Then a fisher landed a fish and the whole conversation changed. There is hope after all, Davie.
In the absence of Johnny, Robert volunteered to take the ‘fishal photie’, the only one of the day, then we were on our way again. We found tarmac just beyond the fishery and turned right along it. The self-same dogs that barked their spite at us the last time we came this way (20/6/07) repeated the process this time. But that didn’t prevent us from stopping on the wee bridge some twenty yards beyond their pen for a look at the wee glen there. Last time we came here, we took a pad down the side of the wee burn and back to the dean that way. Today Robert suggested a longer walk and as the day was yet young, we agreed and kept to tarmac.
The day was turned warm and the air was clear. From the elevated ground around Raws we could look southward to see Cairnsmore of Carsphairn rise on the horizon. And Windy Standard was pointed out to those who have yet to see the top from close up, just to prove that the sun does occasionally shine on this hill. But the distant views only lasted a wee while for we now dropped into the valley of the Irvine.
Robert had intended that we follow tarmac for a bit yet but Ronnie knew a better way. We left the road and took to a wee woodland walk called Armsheugh. This was a delightful, shady part of the walk and brought us down to the river. Lunch was called and when we reached a deepish pool, we sat and ate.
Holly enjoyed the spot we chose to eat. There was a deepish pool there, and a stick. It has to be recorded for posterity that it was Jimmy who threw the stick for her this time, something that holly hasn’t known in the three years of her life though she has tried hard. She is bound to be thinking that she has cracked the last nut. It remains to be seen. However, he threw the stick toady and Holly enjoyed the swim to fetch it. ‘But pleasures are like poppies' spread’ and we had to curtail her enjoyment eventually and walk on.
We found tarmac again at Templetonburn and stuck with it to the end of the walk. It brought us by the old Crokedholm School, over the bypass by a bridge and back into Killie.
This was a different type of walk for the Ooters today but one enjoyed by all.

Robert’s back garden caught the afternoon sun again today as we sat there taking fluid replenishment and eating his pakora. بہت اچھا, مسٹر McGarry.


*Further research provided the following information: Assloss riding stables occupy the nineteenth century Assloss House and surrounding outbuildings. The original Assloss, or Auchinsloss, tower-house still stands as part of Assloss Mains Farm. This tower was one of three in the valley – Dean, Assloss and Craufurldland – and was the seat the Achinloss family who received the charter of the land from Queen Mary in 1543. The tower was probably built around this time. The nineteenth century house was built by the Glen family who bought the estate in 1725.

Morning coffee beside Craufurdland Loch

5 August: Kilmarnock and environs - route map

Distance: 14.8 km

(Please correct me if I've made any mistakes. It wasn't easy trying to retrace our footsteps!)