Sweet is the morn in flow’ry May,
And sweet the e’en in autumn mild,
When roving through a garden gay,
And sweet the e’en in autumn mild,
When roving through a garden gay,
Or wand’ring in some lonely wild.
The Bonnie Lass o’ Ballochmyle
Robert Burns
Robert Burns
What the autumn mild has in store for us we will need to wait to see, but it was certainly a sweet May morning that greeted us when we gathered at Dunure for our next leg of the Ayrshire coast. The sun shone early, the air was clear. The only thing that sopped this being the perfect morning was the cool westerly that greeted us when we left the cars but the forecast was in our favour and we expected the day to warm up nicely as it progressed.
And there was to be no lonely wild for us today. There would be ‘gardens gay’ though, both formal, as in the sunken lawn and borders at Culzean Castle, and informal as we walked through the ‘Pleasure Garden’ of the Culzean woodlands and the flower-decked machar of the coastal fringe. The botanists amongst us anticipated it eagerly. And the birders anticipated some excellent spotting.
Leaving Maidens
We left Maidens in two groups with the first ambling along the beach to allow the other to catch up. Davie had turned to the north car park and the rest to the south one some half mile away so we left in two groups. But the first group enjoyed the speed of the amble; it was a day for taking time. The sand was firm and the walking easy. The second group set off at the usual speed and we were all together by the time we approached the caravan park. They were reduced to the speed of the first bunch. Somewhere along the beach we lost the wind; we came into the shelter of the Culzean cliffs and lost the breeze altogether. Coffee was called for, but Davie suggested we wait until the top of the headland where we would get a great view seaward. This is what we did.
A flight of sandy steps rises from the beach to the scrub-covered headland some fifty feet above. This should be no problem for any one of us but Johnny had us stopped. Not that he had a problem; it was just for one of his photo-shoots. We posed dutifully as directed and then continued up onto the scrubby cliff-top. Davie led us through the shrubbery to a grassy clearing overlooking the sea where we settled down for coffee.
Off the beach into Culzean
Heading for Culzean
Davie was right, this was a superb place to stop. We were in the sun and out of the wind and the view seaward was first class on a day like this. The sky was azure, though high altitude cloud trailed the southern horizon adding creaminess in that direction: the sea reflected the blue of the sky but turned it cobalt and ultramarine: the greens and yellows of cliff-top whins added colour to the scene while orange lichens and thrift tinted the rocks below. The Ayrshire coast was visible all the way from Turnberry lighthouse in the south to the crags of Portincross in the north. The Clyde islands and the hills of Cowal formed the northern horizon. Arran filled the north-west skyline and, west of this, the blue-grey line of Kintyre ran southward to its Mull. Paddy’s Milestane stood proud in the southern sea. And Gannets, dive-bombing for fish, entertained us as we took coffee. Bob said ‘The Med would be goin’ some to beat this the day’. Nobody argued.
Ailsa Craig
We spent some time over coffee, just lazing in the sun. Surprisingly, Peter made the first move. (Robert would like it recorded that he didn't move first - this time.) Reluctantly we raised ourselves from the sun-warmed, springy turf and followed Peter.
Culzean’s swan pond was through a wood of more mature trees. When we reached it, we turned right for there were some who wanted too visit the aviary. What a disappointment. A notice on the door informed us that the aviary was now closed. The PC brigade has triumphed again. It seems that it is unacceptable now to keep birds in cages so all the Culzean birds have been given to local breeders. Eh! Do these breeders have bigger cages than Culzean? We very much doubt it. But the birds are gone now and NTS are looking for a new use for the aviary.
The path on the east side of the swan pond was taken. This took us into more mature woodland, a woodland that was alive with birdsong and decked out in spring flowers. Here was ‘flow’ry May’ in all its grandeur. Bluebells, red campion, wild garlic and a yellow flower Jimmy identified as Doronicum coloured the ground level under a canopy of fresh spring green. And, once again, we were sheltered from the breeze. This really was an enjoyable part of the walk.
The battery
But the wood ended, too soon for the naturalist who was still tuned into the birdcalls, and we came out into the immediate environs of Culzean Castle at the Battery. We were now into the more formal part of the park. Davie spoke of the Orangery and this was our first port of call in the formal garden.
A collection of different varieties of oranges and lemons grew in pots under the protection of the Orangery. We had to watch Rex for, as an Aussie his natural inclination was to pee on the lemon trees. But he managed to contain himself and the lemons avoided urination.
Oranges and lemons
The sunken garden, with its lawns and fountain was a suntrap today and heat built up as we wandered by the formal borders and up to the castle itself.
Culzean Castle is such a well-known feature of Ayrshire landscape and history that it needs no description here. We halted for a few minutes on the mortar terrace to look over the sea to Arran and see the Ayrshire coast run northward. The naturalist was disappointed not to see any seals on the water, which he assures us, is the usual case from this terrace. But Peter and Ian had other interests apart form wildlife and landscape: Peter for the gashouse and Ian for the caves underneath the castle.
Down at sea level, we turned left for the caves, assuring Peter that we would return to view the gashouse. The rocks were scrambled over, too much scrambling for Ronnie and Johnny who chose to remain on the sand and await our return. The first cave is nothing more than a shallow opening in the cliff face so excited no particular interest from the newcomers. But the second was deeper and longer and allowed us entry, after a duck through a manmade doorway, into a netherworld, a dark and damp netherworld. While the rest of us were content to remain in the spacious cavern with a chink of daylight reminding us of our own world, Jimmy and Ian were for further into the cave. They were, until Jimmy, in the complete darkness, stood in the mud-slimy puddle. His howls, as the cold water oozed into his trainer and his head hit the roof as he stood up, might have been interpreted by those hearing it outside as some modern day Minator roaring in its labyrinth. But it was only Jimmy with a wet foot and a sore head. The speleologists returned to the company and we all returned to the daylight world.
The third cave was to be the one that provided most interest according to those who knew. More rocks were scramble over to reach it. But it was to prove a disappointment for both entrances are gated and barred now. Health and Safety rules, OK! We could do nothing but gaze into the darkness through the bars before admitting defeat and returning over the rocks to find Ronnie and Johnny and return to the gashouse.
The gashouse was worth the visit and we spent time here examining the information boards. It’s amazing the number of Ayrshiremen who were at the forefront of the social, economic and technological developments of the industrial revolution. (For further information, consult your history expert)
We left the gashouse and took along the shore. The going was easy on the firm sand and the walking was casual. Culzean policies were left when we turned round a headland and came to Maybole Shore. This is a name you won’t find on a map but it is a local name for this part of the shore and Ian told the story of its naming. It is too long to quote here but if you wish to know, the writer feels confident that Ian will relate it again.
An excited cry from one of the birdie folk drew our attention to a pair of birds that Davie identified as whimbrel. They looked like curlew to us but we were assured they were whimbrel and we should consider ourselves lucky to see them. Some of us were underwhelmed.
Lucky or not, we continued the walk along Maybole Shore. Hunger came calling for it was now approaching lunchtime and, on flat rocks at the end of Maybole Shore, we settled down to eat.
Lunch was long and unhurried for we were only a short distance from our destination, the day was turned pleasantly warm and the view over the water to Arran was superb. Again, there was a lack of interest in moving after it. But we forced ourselves reluctantly to our feet and continued the walk. The beach was stony now, multi-coloured cobbles as far along as we could see. But we had time and took plenty of it to find a way through. Peter looked for agates. Some, naughty boys, helped themselves to a brightly coloured stone or two and carried them home. Some just took their time and enjoyed the day. The cobbles lasted for two or three hundred metres but it must have taken fully twenty minutes for us to cover this distance. When we did leave the cobbles, it was not by choice.
We approached another bluff where crags came down to the shoreline and a sign pointed us inland and upward over the head. We climbed with a track of sorts. This ran out though but further signage pointed us down into a wee burn that ran full of last week’s rain. There was a shoogly, four-inch plank across the burn beside a fence but no other way over. We looked forward to the antics of the hydrophobes, Rex even getting the camera ready for the inevitable fall. But there was no fall and we were all safely on the other side. Rex was disappointed.
Dunure Castle
Dunure
Approaching Dunure
The path continues upward beside fields of sprouting corn, towards the road. One of those military lookout posts, the remainders of WW2, stood beside the field. The sensible ignored it and walked on. Those in their second childhood were for into and up it. Was it worth it? The sensible would say no for the view wasn’t improved any. But the boys enjoyed it.
We thought for a moment that the path would take us onto the Dunure road but we were wrong. It took us back down through grass, long even at this time, to the short, springy machar above the sea. Now we had only a few hundred yards to Dunure Castle and it was taken at a very leisurely pace. Here the advanced group waited for the sluggards. We all waited for a while before making our way back into the village and to the Anchorage Bar for FRT.
Perhaps it was the day, perhaps the easy pace, perhaps the way the path avoided roads, but it was the general opinion that this was the best section of the walk that we have done so far. We look forward to more.
Leaving Anchorage Bar
Photos by Johnnie
The sunken garden, with its lawns and fountain was a suntrap today and heat built up as we wandered by the formal borders and up to the castle itself.
Culzean Castle is such a well-known feature of Ayrshire landscape and history that it needs no description here. We halted for a few minutes on the mortar terrace to look over the sea to Arran and see the Ayrshire coast run northward. The naturalist was disappointed not to see any seals on the water, which he assures us, is the usual case from this terrace. But Peter and Ian had other interests apart form wildlife and landscape: Peter for the gashouse and Ian for the caves underneath the castle.
Down at sea level, we turned left for the caves, assuring Peter that we would return to view the gashouse. The rocks were scrambled over, too much scrambling for Ronnie and Johnny who chose to remain on the sand and await our return. The first cave is nothing more than a shallow opening in the cliff face so excited no particular interest from the newcomers. But the second was deeper and longer and allowed us entry, after a duck through a manmade doorway, into a netherworld, a dark and damp netherworld. While the rest of us were content to remain in the spacious cavern with a chink of daylight reminding us of our own world, Jimmy and Ian were for further into the cave. They were, until Jimmy, in the complete darkness, stood in the mud-slimy puddle. His howls, as the cold water oozed into his trainer and his head hit the roof as he stood up, might have been interpreted by those hearing it outside as some modern day Minator roaring in its labyrinth. But it was only Jimmy with a wet foot and a sore head. The speleologists returned to the company and we all returned to the daylight world.
The third cave was to be the one that provided most interest according to those who knew. More rocks were scramble over to reach it. But it was to prove a disappointment for both entrances are gated and barred now. Health and Safety rules, OK! We could do nothing but gaze into the darkness through the bars before admitting defeat and returning over the rocks to find Ronnie and Johnny and return to the gashouse.
The gashouse was worth the visit and we spent time here examining the information boards. It’s amazing the number of Ayrshiremen who were at the forefront of the social, economic and technological developments of the industrial revolution. (For further information, consult your history expert)
We left the gashouse and took along the shore. The going was easy on the firm sand and the walking was casual. Culzean policies were left when we turned round a headland and came to Maybole Shore. This is a name you won’t find on a map but it is a local name for this part of the shore and Ian told the story of its naming. It is too long to quote here but if you wish to know, the writer feels confident that Ian will relate it again.
An excited cry from one of the birdie folk drew our attention to a pair of birds that Davie identified as whimbrel. They looked like curlew to us but we were assured they were whimbrel and we should consider ourselves lucky to see them. Some of us were underwhelmed.
Lucky or not, we continued the walk along Maybole Shore. Hunger came calling for it was now approaching lunchtime and, on flat rocks at the end of Maybole Shore, we settled down to eat.
Lunch was long and unhurried for we were only a short distance from our destination, the day was turned pleasantly warm and the view over the water to Arran was superb. Again, there was a lack of interest in moving after it. But we forced ourselves reluctantly to our feet and continued the walk. The beach was stony now, multi-coloured cobbles as far along as we could see. But we had time and took plenty of it to find a way through. Peter looked for agates. Some, naughty boys, helped themselves to a brightly coloured stone or two and carried them home. Some just took their time and enjoyed the day. The cobbles lasted for two or three hundred metres but it must have taken fully twenty minutes for us to cover this distance. When we did leave the cobbles, it was not by choice.
We approached another bluff where crags came down to the shoreline and a sign pointed us inland and upward over the head. We climbed with a track of sorts. This ran out though but further signage pointed us down into a wee burn that ran full of last week’s rain. There was a shoogly, four-inch plank across the burn beside a fence but no other way over. We looked forward to the antics of the hydrophobes, Rex even getting the camera ready for the inevitable fall. But there was no fall and we were all safely on the other side. Rex was disappointed.
Dunure Castle
Dunure
Approaching Dunure
The path continues upward beside fields of sprouting corn, towards the road. One of those military lookout posts, the remainders of WW2, stood beside the field. The sensible ignored it and walked on. Those in their second childhood were for into and up it. Was it worth it? The sensible would say no for the view wasn’t improved any. But the boys enjoyed it.
We thought for a moment that the path would take us onto the Dunure road but we were wrong. It took us back down through grass, long even at this time, to the short, springy machar above the sea. Now we had only a few hundred yards to Dunure Castle and it was taken at a very leisurely pace. Here the advanced group waited for the sluggards. We all waited for a while before making our way back into the village and to the Anchorage Bar for FRT.
Perhaps it was the day, perhaps the easy pace, perhaps the way the path avoided roads, but it was the general opinion that this was the best section of the walk that we have done so far. We look forward to more.
Leaving Anchorage Bar
Photos by Johnnie
No comments:
Post a Comment