And the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped.
Then shall the lame man leap as an hart,
Isaiah 35:5
It’s difficult to believe, given the weather we’ve had this year, that there was a fifteen to eighteen month spell when the Ooters first escaped from the chalk-face, we barely had a wet Wednesday. The past fortnight in our tiny corner of the world has seen torrential rain and flooding with only a few dry hours between downpours. Today was to continue the pattern, only this time the rain was combined with severe gales with storm-force gusts that rattled the trees and blew about anything that wasn’t fixed down. On the plus side, it wasn’t too cold for the time of year.
Then shall the lame man leap as an hart,
Isaiah 35:5
It’s difficult to believe, given the weather we’ve had this year, that there was a fifteen to eighteen month spell when the Ooters first escaped from the chalk-face, we barely had a wet Wednesday. The past fortnight in our tiny corner of the world has seen torrential rain and flooding with only a few dry hours between downpours. Today was to continue the pattern, only this time the rain was combined with severe gales with storm-force gusts that rattled the trees and blew about anything that wasn’t fixed down. On the plus side, it wasn’t too cold for the time of year.
It was through this weather that eight of us drove to Peter’s in Catrine for an easy day on the byways around there.
We sat for a while in Peter’s enjoying his coffee and carrot cake, for not one of us fancied going out into the weather, least of all Davie whose facial expression said what most of us were thinking. Who made the decision to go can’t be said for certain, but after a while and somewhat unenthusiastically we all dressed top to toe in waterproofs, trooped outside and prepared for the worst. The worst was wind-driven rain; the best was just wind.
But the rain had subsided and the wind was on our backs as we walked away from Catrine’s Mill Square, along St Germain Street towards the Ayr Bridge. Already Davie was chatting up the women. ‘The wife of an old friend’, said he; a likely story, says we.
Dragging a reluctant Davie away from his encounter with Alice, we continued the walk and found a bit of shelter from the wind when we turned on to Newton Street. This was Peter’s walk so we knew to expect the unexpected. Turning off Newton Street, we came towards the institute and found ourselves on the far side of a bridge fifty metres from where we started at the Mill Square. Peter had taken us on the longer walk just because he likes to show off Catrine. That’s what we think anyway.
We were now on the River Ayr Way and turned our faces downriver, a river running full and brown with the last fortnight’s rain. And, as we turned downriver, we turned into the strong westerly. And the rain came again, light rain but, driven on the gale, it was wetting. Yet, we knew that here in the valley we were sheltered from the worst of the weather. We didn’t anticipate better on the higher ground.
Down past the sewage works we came. (Told you Peter likes to show us the best bits of Catrine.) The gale-driven drizzle had gone again and we walked a bit easier. A heron was disturbed from its fishing at our approach and flapped away downriver, making heavy weather of it into the wind. We made slightly better progress on terra firma but Jimmy was struggling, even on the flattish ground beside the river. His knee hadn’t fully recovered from Mosset and now his back was playing up, the result of a bout of decorating and furniture moving. When we came to the rise to the top of the valley, despite the fact he used a stick today (see 3 November), he slowed to a crawl. We had to wait for him, and Johnny who had kept him company, in the wind on the high ground. Bugger!
Eventually, the two joined us and we walked under the concrete span of Howford’s new brig (C1964) and on to the tearoom of Catrine House. The rain came again as we waited for the curious to return from the new animal house they felt they just had to visit. ‘When you’ve seen one coo, you’ve see them a’, said Davie with a touch of cynicism in his voice. But the inquisitive returned with tales of coos and weird sheep and reindeer. We took their word for it and walked on to find tarmac at a crossroad.
We stood in the rain at the crossroads waiting to see where we were going next. Whether Davie misheard Peter (He didn’t have his sound system installed today – ‘Nae bloody use in the wind!’) or whether Peter changed his mind, your scribbler can’t be sure but as Davie prepared to go off in one direction, Peter walked off in another. We followed Peter. Davie followed us, with some mutterings about making up your mind. Not that Peter, or the rest of us for that matter, was lost or anything remotely like it for we are all too familiar with this walk and knew exactly where he led us. He led us down the old main road to the sandstone built old Howford brig (C1760) where we were again sheltered from most of the blow.
We always stop on the old brig. Why should today be any different? We did halt at the brig but only long enough for the rain to go off again. Then we continued up the old road.
When we reached the abutments of the old footbridge of Lady Alexander’s walk, Davie was for the climb onto the sandstone cliffs. But the lame Jimmy was for none of this exertion and opted for the longer but more level walk of the official River Ayr path. The party split with some joining Jimmy and the others following the more adventurous Davie. We came together again under Ballochmyle’s ‘Big Brig’.
According to the historian, at the time of its construction towards the end of the 1840’s, this viaduct had the largest masonry arch in the world at around 181ft span and 160ft above the river. No matter whether it had or hadn't, it still represents a tremendous engineering achievement and it is still the largest true masonry arch in the Europe.
We might have been forced to make a decision at the ‘Big Brig’ but happily, the conditions made it for us. (Remember we don’t do decisions very well in the Ooters) One thing was a certainty, though. If we took the low path there was no way we would get along the riverside ledge under the sandstone at the Haugh; it would be well under the spate. We were forced to take the high road. This took us along the top of the gorge where we could look down and see the brown river lap over the ledge. We were right to take the high road.
‘Coffee’, was called as we started the descent towards the Haugh, and in the shelter of the trees, on a fallen tree-trunk, we sat down for coffee.
Barely had we started the descent after coffee when the rain came again. This time it was serious and we were about to leave the shelter of the trees and come into the gale once more. We did just that, heads down into the weather, and trudged along to Haugh farm. Here we found the tarmac again and a decision had to be made this time. Peter offered alternative routes. ‘One’s six and the other’s half a dozen’, said the sage from somewhere under the hood of a dripping rain-cape. We listened to his wise words and went the way we always go.
We kept to tarmac for a while now. The rain went on the climb from the Haugh to the south side of the valley, which was just as well for we were about to come onto the high ground again and back into the force of the gale. And there was a strange brightening in the western sky as we approached Syke Farm.
A track came onto the road from the right, from Auchinleck House. Peter suggested we might go this way but most who had had enough of a soaking for the day, told him politely ‘Naw!’ and walked on before any argument could be made in his favour. We climbed to the high ground beyond Syke.
On this high ground, the wind blew but not as fiercely as before. And it was on our backs and was no particular hindrance. Peter planned it this way – so he says and we believe him. And, as we walked on, the wind pushed us along the road and the sky continued its brightening. The ‘Big Brig’ lay over to our left. A ray of sun lit it up for a minute or so before returning it to shade. The clag lifted from the heights of Blacksidend and the western sky continued to brighten. We had seen the last of the rain for the day.
We came back to our crossroads of earlier, down by the tearoom and on to Howford’s concrete bridge. Jimmy’s back was playing up by this time and his knee started to play up on the descent to the river again; he was reduced to a crawl on this section. Robert and Johnny took pity and kept him company to the level ground by the riverside.
Meanwhile, the advanced group had reached the river. Despite the spate, Holly was washed in the river. As if the dug wasn’t wet enough already! By the time most of the muck was off her, the lame had returned to the fold.
We came back to the Institute and the bridge over the river to the Mill Square. This time we took it, there was no thought of diversions and arrived at the starting point around lunchtime.
Those who read these scribblings on a regular basis will know that we sweaty buggers get just as wet inside the waterproofs as out. Today was no exception and a complete change of clothing from the skin out was the order of the day even before any eating was done. Both of these tasks were carried out in Peter’s place before we went in search of FRT. We found ourselves in the Brewery Bar a little after one o’clock. Now for some real wetting in the inside.
We sat for a while in Peter’s enjoying his coffee and carrot cake, for not one of us fancied going out into the weather, least of all Davie whose facial expression said what most of us were thinking. Who made the decision to go can’t be said for certain, but after a while and somewhat unenthusiastically we all dressed top to toe in waterproofs, trooped outside and prepared for the worst. The worst was wind-driven rain; the best was just wind.
But the rain had subsided and the wind was on our backs as we walked away from Catrine’s Mill Square, along St Germain Street towards the Ayr Bridge. Already Davie was chatting up the women. ‘The wife of an old friend’, said he; a likely story, says we.
Dragging a reluctant Davie away from his encounter with Alice, we continued the walk and found a bit of shelter from the wind when we turned on to Newton Street. This was Peter’s walk so we knew to expect the unexpected. Turning off Newton Street, we came towards the institute and found ourselves on the far side of a bridge fifty metres from where we started at the Mill Square. Peter had taken us on the longer walk just because he likes to show off Catrine. That’s what we think anyway.
We were now on the River Ayr Way and turned our faces downriver, a river running full and brown with the last fortnight’s rain. And, as we turned downriver, we turned into the strong westerly. And the rain came again, light rain but, driven on the gale, it was wetting. Yet, we knew that here in the valley we were sheltered from the worst of the weather. We didn’t anticipate better on the higher ground.
Down past the sewage works we came. (Told you Peter likes to show us the best bits of Catrine.) The gale-driven drizzle had gone again and we walked a bit easier. A heron was disturbed from its fishing at our approach and flapped away downriver, making heavy weather of it into the wind. We made slightly better progress on terra firma but Jimmy was struggling, even on the flattish ground beside the river. His knee hadn’t fully recovered from Mosset and now his back was playing up, the result of a bout of decorating and furniture moving. When we came to the rise to the top of the valley, despite the fact he used a stick today (see 3 November), he slowed to a crawl. We had to wait for him, and Johnny who had kept him company, in the wind on the high ground. Bugger!
Eventually, the two joined us and we walked under the concrete span of Howford’s new brig (C1964) and on to the tearoom of Catrine House. The rain came again as we waited for the curious to return from the new animal house they felt they just had to visit. ‘When you’ve seen one coo, you’ve see them a’, said Davie with a touch of cynicism in his voice. But the inquisitive returned with tales of coos and weird sheep and reindeer. We took their word for it and walked on to find tarmac at a crossroad.
We stood in the rain at the crossroads waiting to see where we were going next. Whether Davie misheard Peter (He didn’t have his sound system installed today – ‘Nae bloody use in the wind!’) or whether Peter changed his mind, your scribbler can’t be sure but as Davie prepared to go off in one direction, Peter walked off in another. We followed Peter. Davie followed us, with some mutterings about making up your mind. Not that Peter, or the rest of us for that matter, was lost or anything remotely like it for we are all too familiar with this walk and knew exactly where he led us. He led us down the old main road to the sandstone built old Howford brig (C1760) where we were again sheltered from most of the blow.
We always stop on the old brig. Why should today be any different? We did halt at the brig but only long enough for the rain to go off again. Then we continued up the old road.
When we reached the abutments of the old footbridge of Lady Alexander’s walk, Davie was for the climb onto the sandstone cliffs. But the lame Jimmy was for none of this exertion and opted for the longer but more level walk of the official River Ayr path. The party split with some joining Jimmy and the others following the more adventurous Davie. We came together again under Ballochmyle’s ‘Big Brig’.
According to the historian, at the time of its construction towards the end of the 1840’s, this viaduct had the largest masonry arch in the world at around 181ft span and 160ft above the river. No matter whether it had or hadn't, it still represents a tremendous engineering achievement and it is still the largest true masonry arch in the Europe.
We might have been forced to make a decision at the ‘Big Brig’ but happily, the conditions made it for us. (Remember we don’t do decisions very well in the Ooters) One thing was a certainty, though. If we took the low path there was no way we would get along the riverside ledge under the sandstone at the Haugh; it would be well under the spate. We were forced to take the high road. This took us along the top of the gorge where we could look down and see the brown river lap over the ledge. We were right to take the high road.
‘Coffee’, was called as we started the descent towards the Haugh, and in the shelter of the trees, on a fallen tree-trunk, we sat down for coffee.
Barely had we started the descent after coffee when the rain came again. This time it was serious and we were about to leave the shelter of the trees and come into the gale once more. We did just that, heads down into the weather, and trudged along to Haugh farm. Here we found the tarmac again and a decision had to be made this time. Peter offered alternative routes. ‘One’s six and the other’s half a dozen’, said the sage from somewhere under the hood of a dripping rain-cape. We listened to his wise words and went the way we always go.
We kept to tarmac for a while now. The rain went on the climb from the Haugh to the south side of the valley, which was just as well for we were about to come onto the high ground again and back into the force of the gale. And there was a strange brightening in the western sky as we approached Syke Farm.
A track came onto the road from the right, from Auchinleck House. Peter suggested we might go this way but most who had had enough of a soaking for the day, told him politely ‘Naw!’ and walked on before any argument could be made in his favour. We climbed to the high ground beyond Syke.
On this high ground, the wind blew but not as fiercely as before. And it was on our backs and was no particular hindrance. Peter planned it this way – so he says and we believe him. And, as we walked on, the wind pushed us along the road and the sky continued its brightening. The ‘Big Brig’ lay over to our left. A ray of sun lit it up for a minute or so before returning it to shade. The clag lifted from the heights of Blacksidend and the western sky continued to brighten. We had seen the last of the rain for the day.
We came back to our crossroads of earlier, down by the tearoom and on to Howford’s concrete bridge. Jimmy’s back was playing up by this time and his knee started to play up on the descent to the river again; he was reduced to a crawl on this section. Robert and Johnny took pity and kept him company to the level ground by the riverside.
Meanwhile, the advanced group had reached the river. Despite the spate, Holly was washed in the river. As if the dug wasn’t wet enough already! By the time most of the muck was off her, the lame had returned to the fold.
We came back to the Institute and the bridge over the river to the Mill Square. This time we took it, there was no thought of diversions and arrived at the starting point around lunchtime.
Those who read these scribblings on a regular basis will know that we sweaty buggers get just as wet inside the waterproofs as out. Today was no exception and a complete change of clothing from the skin out was the order of the day even before any eating was done. Both of these tasks were carried out in Peter’s place before we went in search of FRT. We found ourselves in the Brewery Bar a little after one o’clock. Now for some real wetting in the inside.
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