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.