20 January - Brown Carrick Hill

When working people fill the street
and couthy Ooters, Ooters meet,
as Wed-nesday begins to dawn
an’ folk can scarcely haud that yawn,
while we sit sipping on our coffee
in Rex’s splendid little bothy,
we think na on the lang Scots miles,
the waters, mosses, slaps and styles
that lie ahead from Rex’s hame
where sits oor Bluey’s lovely dame
watching o’er the plumbers’ work -
who, from their travails, mustn’t shirk.

Distance: 15.6 km

This truth fand oor eight Early Ooters
as they tae Ayr toon took their motors
Auld Ayr wham ne’er a town surpasses
For traffic jams and exhaust gases.

Oh Ooters had ye been sae wise
as tae listen tae Allan’s guid advice,
ye wouldnae hae gotten aw wet through.
Instead ye could hae gotten fou,
for he had said instead of walkin’
we could hae stayed chez Rex, jist talkin’.
Or sent out one man wi’ his dog
and he could just hae penned this blog.
But naw, ye went tae Greenan Shore
which Ronnie had heard of long before.
Quite why this was I can’t report,
but t’was some kind of outdoor sport.

And here young Bob did don those goggles
to frighten off the sprites and bogles
that lay between us and our quest -
Brown Carrick Hill – braw Ayrshire’s best.

But to our tale – along the beach
Craig Tara Park was soon in reach,
having passed auld Greenan Castle
which did but cause us little hassle
Because yon Neptune’s tide was oot –
No need to deviate our route.
In olden days t’was Butlin’s Camp
But then came many a full revamp.
The chalets they are all long gone
though Happy Campers’ ghosts live on
Now, split-new caravans abound
But noo in Januar, there was not a sound.

Ian provided news, quite kosher
That in the War this was HMS Scotia
For this rhyme, I do regret
That it was the only one I could get.

Then off we strode, all of us in line
along the side of the A719.
The cars sped by at fearful pace
as if it were a diabolic race.
We left the road at Genoch Mews,
pausing, to take in the views
of Fisherton and old Dunduff
when the going got too tough,
as upwards we began to climb
o’er ice and mud and muck and slime.
T’was as though we rose into the vera heaven
But first a break – it was ten past eleven.

We sat a while sipping up our coffee
As Allan and Johnny passed round their toffee
And Ronnie tauld his queerest stories
Our raucous laughs were ready chorus.

Back on the road, and Ian was last
as we approached the aerial mast.
O’er stiles and wires we made our way
though this time, I am pleased to say,
oor Davie didn’t feel a shock
from fences built to hold livestock,
which give them just a little tingle
should they wish, with other beasts, to mingle.
And so it was the trig point beckoned
jist about half past twelve, we reckoned
“A wondrous view”, I’d like to say,
but sadly, all we saw was gray.

Upon the top we didn’t linger
though Johnny pointed with his finger
to islands, seas and sandy bays
which alas were hidden in the haze.


And so returned the jolly bunch,
stopping just for a bit of lunch;
for the weather was now getting worse
which caused the company to curse
the sleet and rain which assailed them all.
And yet a sadder fate was to befall
young Holly who was all forlorn
having stood upon a wayward thorn.
But her valiant master came to her aid,
and mindful of the last vet’s bill paid
did pluck right out that painful prick
and Holly ran off to find a stick.

T’was then we saw an unco sight,
enough to gie a man a fright.
An unlikely looking hairy mammal –
from far Cathay, a Bactrian camel!
“Jings, whit’s that!” said Ian (who likes a drama)
from Andes hills a long-legged llama!
“And look o’er there” said Ian,( ‘cos he knew)
“That ugly looking bird’s an emu!”
Oh Jimmy, Jimmy if you had only heard
what was said by us when we saw yon bird!
Whilst you were laid up with your gammy knee
we did some proper ornithology!

The rest of our story is best left untold
for we were wet and soggy and cold
when we returned to Greenan Shore.
We really couldn’t take much more!

And after the walk there was no pub!!
We all went home to wash and scrub
and then to Ronnie’ we did scurry
to tuck into our well-earned curry.
And then there was the sloe gin test
where Gordon’s was proclaimed the best.
And after that a Buckie sample.
Just one glass proved to be quite ample.
There was Absinthe, Mad Dog, beer aplenty -
all was there for our cogniscenti.
So much drink yet no one was blotto.
We all took heed of Rabbie’s motto.

Whene’er to drink you are inclin’d,
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind,
Think, ye may buy the joys o’er dear,
Remember Tam o’ Shanter’s mare.