27 July Pinwherry to Ballantrae

Allan, Davie, Ian, Jimmy, Johnny, Malcolm, Paul & Peter

According to the leaflet, ‘Walks from the Ayr to Stranraer Railway’, that Johnny passed to Jimmy and Jimmy passed on to Paul, there is a path along and old coach road from Pinwherry to Ballantrae. Since none of us had been there before, today seemed the perfect opportunity, especially as the weather was settled into a warm summery spell and we needed an easier walk than last week. That’s why seven of us waited at Girvan harbour for the bus to Pinwherry. The seven was soon raised to eight when we were joined quite unexpectedly by Ian who had come away from an appointment rather earlier than expected and had rushed down the road from Killie to join us. Now there was eight of us (and Holly forbye) we set off on the bus for Pinwherry.

The hamlet of Pinwherry is nothing more than a scattered collection of houses along the Girvan to Newton Stewart road with a country station, hence the inclusion in the Walks from the Railway leaflet. But we weren’t to go to the station. The bus dropped us in the middle of the village and Paul, reading the leaflet, directed us southward through it and over the bridge on the Duisk Water. A hundred metres further on he had us turn off the road on to a well surfaced track under the railway. This was the start of the coach road.

The track climbed into some trees through stands of tall, purple-pink rosebay willow-herb through which small tortoiseshell butterflies fluttered, and upwards yet on the side of the Stinchar valley. Then, as the willow-herb died away and the trees cleared, we could look behind us to the upper Stinchar valley around Barr, and forward to the impressive landmark of Knockdolian guarding the lower valley. This, then, was the valley we were to follow all the way to Ballantrae.

. There was one point of concern when the well surfaced track came to an end and there was no sign of anything continuing through the field, but a recent tractor passage had left a trail and we followed this more in hope than in certainty. We were now into the full sun and we enjoyed its warmth as we crossed the open field for days like this have been few and far between this year. We wandered on with Jimmy lagging behind trying out his new camera and the rest still unsure of the way. But the tractor track did the job of taking us through the field to a gate hidden from us at first by the contour of the hill. This gate allowed us out of the field, across a ford in a wee burn and on to a broad grassy track lined with beech trees on its north side. ‘This’, announced our ancient roads expert, ‘is definitely the old coach road’. We took his word for it and continued along it.

Well, some of us took his word for it for less than quarter of a mile later the leading group were for turning off this track as the recently passed tractor had turned off and into another field. But our roads expert was adamant. This is the old road’, said he, pointing across a boggy section to the line of trees still marking the old way. He was right. We crossed the boggy part and found the track of the old road again. We would not get lost again. Huh!

By this time coffee was calling and on a sunny bank we settled down for a long, lazy coffee in the sun. That’s when Johnny produced the cake. It was his fortieth wedding anniversary at the week-end and a friend had baked Helen and him a cake for the occasion. Forty, not out. ‘Well done, Johnny’, was the general comment but whether this was on account of his anniversary or on his supplying cake, the scribe is not quite sure. Still, it is well done Johnny.

After one of our longest coffee breaks ever (please note Mssrs. McGarry and Porter!) we set off, still following the grassy track of the old coach road. Then the grass gave way to a more solid farm track that led down past a cottage. The woman in the cottage garden had the right idea for a day like this; ensconced in a deck chair, sporting both sun hat and sun glasses, she sat reading a book, sipping from a coffee cup and soaking up the, now hot, July sun. We told her in the passing that that was the best idea yet we continued to walk into the heat of the day.

Then the gravel of the farm track gave out on to tarmac, the old coach road still carrying modern traffic on this section. The postman passed in his van and we stepped aside to let him pass for, though the road was tarmaced, it was just as narrow as the old coach one. Then he came back past and we stepped aside again. But when he came back for the third and fourth time we suspected he was just doing this to see the look on our faces as we gave way. Maybes naw, but by the smile on his face, maybes aye. However the fourth time was the last time and we walked on keeping the ever approaching Knockdolian as our reference point.

The road took us to a T junction. A quick consultation with the leaflet showed the right hand branch would take us to Colmonel. But there was no consensus for this today and we turned left for Heronford. This road swung away from the main Stinchar valley and started to climb. A fellow in a tractor worked a field on the slope, summer ploughing and causing a flock of gulls to dot the sky looking for a free meal as the plough turned over the ground. Jimmy saw this as an opportunity to add to his collection of Ayrshire photographs and stopped to capture the scene. The rest of us, compassionate as we are, walked on and left him to it. Half a mile later, as the slope started its descent, we left the road, crossed a burn by a wee bridge and came into a sun-drenched field of short grazed grass. Here we lay down for lunch. Ten minutes later Jimmy appeared and joined us in the field. ‘How often have we been able to lie in the sun this year’, was the question. ‘Gie few’, was the answer. We lay luxuriating in our lunch stop for as long as we have stopped anywhere this year. (Ditto the above note) But that time came as it always does and, reluctantly in some cases, we moved on.

We came to Heronford, a group of houses beside the Water of Tig. ‘There should be a caravan park around here’, said our guide, human consulting paper, ‘and we should go through it’. We found the park, Laggan House, easily enough and went through it down the slope towards the floor of the valley. It wasn’t until we came to the fence at the bottom of the slope on the far side of the park and had another look at the guide that we realised that ‘through it’ meant enter the park and immediately turn left. Time to retrace the steps.

We found the old coach road again near the entrance to the park, continuing as a track through a wood. That the sun never reaches this track was obvious by the wet mud and puddles that we had to avoid on this stretch. And that it had been a public road until recently was obvious from the patches of rotting tarmac that we came across. But that stretch through the wood seemed interminably long. We had lost the sun and though the air was still mild, it was definitely cooler in the trees. And we had lost all views. All we could see were trees and nettles and each other, and our feet as we tried to avoid the worst of the puddles. We tramped on, and on, and on. Eventually the wood gave way and the track turned to tarmac again. And at last we had a view, down towards Ballantrae and the sea, and back to Knockdolian that we had last seen before lunch.

Our road took us to join the main A77 just south of Ballantrae Bridge. Some of us kept to the main road but others decided to take in the old bridge so turned down the old road, now only a footpath. But, no matter which route was taken, we all arrived in Ballantrae in plenty of time for the bus – at least an hour of time.

FRT was taken in the sun-soaked beer garden of the King’s Arms in Ballantrae reflecting on another good walk and planning our next outing in the sun.