11 July Maybole to Dunure and Back

Andy, Allan, Davie Mc, Jimmy, Malcolm, Paul, Peter

Serendipity: The act of making fortunate discoveries by accident.

They say that God is good to his own. Which of us would regard himself as God’s own is open to debate but He certainly smiled on us today. Given the weather of the last week and the twenty-four hours of persistent rain and drizzle, we could be forgiven for preparing for the worst. Yet the morning dawned bright and dry with crystal clear air and by the time we gathered on the Green in Maybole the sun was warming the morning nicely.

Only seven of us gathered in Maybole for what was to be a new walk for us all, one that Davie had found in a leaflet. This would take us from Maybole by an old pathway to the sea at the picturesque wee harbour of Dunure and back. And Davie had the leaflet so we couldn’t go wrong, could we?

Davie’s leaflet directed us over the railway bridge and up the delightfully named Gardenrose. This road rose steeply and took us past the equally delightfully named Gardenrose Primary School, silent now that the holidays are on us, and out into the open countryside. And it continued to climb, even after we had crossed the minor Culzean road at Ladycross. Halts were called to examine the view behind us, a view that was continually expanding as the road climbed, views that took in most of Carrick and a good bit of the Kyle hinterland. Our ‘expert’ was able to point out Blacksidend near Sorn, smoke or steam from the Egger works at Auchinleck, Cairntable, The Glen Afton Hills, Cairnsmore of Carsphairn, The Rhinns of Kells and The Awful Hand still holding their morning covering of fog, Haggis Hill and Rowantree Hill above Barr, and the wind farm on Hadyard Hill above Dailly.

We came across a sign near the top of the hill, a sign telling us that Dunure was five and a half miles away and pointing us along a grass track towards the abandoned Howmoor Cottage and the quarry beyond. Without even thinking that this might be the wrong road, we took to the track and came to the quarry. A white van was parked in there but nobody was to be seen so we turned our attention to the contorted strata of the quarry face. In one place these strata were so contorted that they formed an almost perfect bull’s-eye. Our many theories for this failed to find an explanation to satisfy us and we can only hope that an answer will be found through these scribblings. Then we climbed out of the quarry and back onto our track.

The track climbed gently over a sward of fine grasses and wild flowers and we delighted in this part of the walk. Then it sort of petered out and we crossed the sward towards a marker post on the horizon. This post wasn’t much use to us for the direction arrows had been removed and there was no sign of another post anywhere around. Despite our careful scanning of the hillside there was no other post to be seen and we had to make up our own minds where to go. There was a gate in the drystane dyke some quarter of a mile in front of us and this is what we made for. We found the old track again going through the gate. But this is all it did for on the other side of the dyke there was no sign of it again. So we climbed towards the top of the hill in front of us. At least from there we would be able to work out where we were and how to get to Dunure. And we could stop there for coffee.

What a pleasant happenstance this turned out to be for our hill turned out to be Knoweside Hill and what a magnificent view greeted us when we arrived on its summit. Below us, above Pennyglen, farmers were cutting hay and a patchwork of green and yellow fields sloped down to the sea. Culzean castle, bathed in sunshine, sat on its crag above the sea and Turnberry lighthouse gleamed white beyond this. Paddy’s Milestane stood out brilliantly clear in the firth and behind this the coast of Ireland was visible. Another gleaming white lighthouse stood out on Pladda Island to the south of Arran. And the larger island appeared close in the clear, warm air, its northern mountains looking particularly grand this morning. ‘See that ridge to the west of Goat Fell’, said our intrepid mountaineers of three weeks back, ‘That’s the one we were on’. We admired their effort, boosted their egos and returned to our coffee and appreciating the present view.

There was no path off Knoweside Hill, at least none that we could find, and we made our own way down towards Dunure. Sheep tracks eased our way through stands of bracken. A wee burn had to be crossed and some fences had to be clambered over before we found another track by a wee  un-named lochan. Had we known at the time that this was just above Drumshang it might have eased some, now growing concern. But we didn’t know and couldn’t see for the plantation in front of us. We trusted to our instincts, and the track that now appeared to be going where we wanted to be going. And we were right to do so for this brought us to tarmac at Drumshang. Now we had just over a mile of tarmac to Dunure.

We sat at a picnic table at the harbour of Dunure and took lunch enjoying the summer sunshine for a change. And now Davie read the leaflet. We should have come into Dunure by way of Fisherton School so we decided that this must be our way back.

The school was just as quiet as Gardenrose. We were amused by the friendship encouraging signs posted around the playground and the ‘Buddy Bench’ tucked into a quiet corner. We were amused because the roll of the school couldn’t be that high that all the children didn’t know each other. However ‘buddies’ they must be.

A sign beside the school told us that we were on the right road now and directed us uphill on the farm track for Dunduff Farm. Just before the farm another sign pointed us uphill on a forest track. This section was taken rather faster than Malcolm could cope with - he had been ill with a stomach upset through the night - and lagged behind. We waited where the road entered the Blacktop Forest. Just as we started off again we were met by three gentlemen of a certain age coming in the opposite direction. One was recognised by Davie and we stopped for a blether. What was strange about the trio was the bracken fronds strategically placed so that they wafted above their heads. Other fronds were held in hands and used to swat away they occasional fly. We thought that with the amount of camouflage about them they were trying to blend into the landscape but, no, they were trying everything to escape the flies in the wood. We thought that they were exaggerating but we were to find out otherwise.

We left the trio and entered the wood and immediately knew why the bracken was used. Flies by the hundreds buzzed around heads and into faces tormenting us. There was no stopping, no conversation, no enjoyment on this section in the trees. We marched on, left the forest road where a sign told us to take to a path, a wet path with squelchy peaty section, and came out of the trees a mile or so later on How Moor. And, what was a greater relief, out of the flies. We were glad that we hadn’t come along this way this morning or perhaps we would have thought twice about returning by this route. But the underfoot conditions barely improved as we came alongside the trees and it was not until we came to a stand of whin above Glenalmond that things improved.

Now we were on firmer footing we could look around. Above us to the right was the shell of Howmoor Cottage with the quarry behind. And below us lay the road back into Maybole. We made our way down onto the road and followed it back to a sign saying Dunure 5 ½ miles and pointing uphill towards Howmoor Cottage. This was where we had gone wrong this morning and weren’t we glad we did. Otherwise we would have missed some good walking and some special views of the Carrick countryside. Serendipity! We would recommend this route to anybody thinking of doing this walk.

We came back down Gardenrose and over the railway bridge to the cars having had a good day with only the section through the trees to mar the day. Our usual Maybole howff, The Greenside, provided FRT for the day.

20 kms