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.
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.
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