The Smugglers Trail is a way-marked
path from Troon to Dundonald. It is supposed to be the way smugglers took their
booty from the sandy shores of Ayrshire to Glasgow and the central belt and is
now a well constructed footpath. The route is approximately six miles long and
rises no more than five hundred feet in its course. This was to be an easy walk
for us today for we had another of our social evenings planned for tonight,
this time bowling at Kilmarnock and the Smugglers Trail fitted the bill nicely.
Six miles long the trail may be but
we, being the Early Ooters, have our own version of it, which extends its
length slightly. And, because we are an awkward bunch, we decided to ‘do’ the
trail in the ‘wrong’ direction; that is from Dundonald to Troon. ‘It’s bound to
be downhill all the way for we are walking down to sea level’, said our eternal
optimist. We would see!
Whether it was the short distance,
the nature of the walk or the promise of a pleasant spell of sunshine the
scribe a cannot be sure, but whatever it was, all fifteen of us turned out
today, including new boy Eddie. And the walk itself was a relatively
straightforward affair notable only for a few incidents.
We
left the car park of Dundonald Castle following the way markers under the
castle hill. Then, much to Ian’s surprise, we left the way-marked path to take
a narrow pad through the trees, a narrow pad that had us strung out in Indian
file over a length of thirty metres or so. Any people we met along this stretch
gallantly stepped aside to allow this long crocodile of auld men to pass. Any
thoughts they might have had, they kept to themselves. Then the path opened out
into a clearing round the ruins of Auchans House (see 23 February 2011) and the crocodile came together as a
bunch to view the ruin.
While some would have spent some time exploring the structure, the head of the
crocodile began to stir and we were off again. A gentle slope brought us to a
gate onto a track of sorts.
At the other side of
the gate those who should know the route turned right and those who knew better
followed them thinking that there was another alternative route. There wasn’t!
A few hundred yards along this track and we all realised the error. Not that we
blamed the leaders and not that we questioned their intelligence in any way. Oh
no, well not much anyway. We just turned on our heels and retraced the step to
the gate. This time we took the left hand way and followed the track upwards to
the lip of Hillhouse Quarry. This we did examine, looking down into it from the
height. But the itch-footed were all too ready to move on so move on we did.
When
we left the lip of the quarry we dropped down through the wood to find the
way-marked track again and followed this to Collenan Reservoir. Now coffee
called and we settled down on the grassy bank of the dam for a break. And here
we posed for Robert’s classic photo.
We
took to tarmac for a bit now, probably the least interesting part of the route.
This brought us down to the main road for Loans along which we turned for the
village. Through Loans we walked, still on the tarmac. Then we turned off the
road and the walk became more interesting again. A path took us to a track and
the track took us to where Fullarton House once stood. We stopped here for
there were picnic benches to sit on, and more importantly for some of us, a
toilet. While some made use of the facilities, the rest waited on the picnic
benches.
We
might have had lunch in the sun on the picnic benches here but some had other
ideas. We should walk on and have lunch on the beach, it might be the last time
this year that we could do this. So we walked on. The route took us to Crosbie Kirk but there
was no stopping here to examine it. We walked on. Across the golf course we
came. That’s where we first felt the breeze. A cool breeze it was and
freshening. When we reached the beach we found an old tree trunk on which we
could sit and have lunch. And we felt the breeze, the cooling breeze. But did
we remind those responsible for this lunch stop about the calm, warm air and
sunshine at Fullarton? You bet we did! And did! And did!
As
we sat there minding our own business and bothering nobody, a woman of our age
approached us. ‘I know who you motley crew are’, she said,’ You’re the Early
Ooters’. We looked at each other: Yes she was right, so we are. But motley,
madam? Us? But we could hardly take offence at this slight for her sheer
delight in meeting us after all these years of following this blog overcame any
insult and, if truth be told, we are rather flattered to be recognised. But,
madam, this is not the Sunday Post and you don’t win a tenner. Getting her
picture taken with the most handsome (well the least motley of us) only added
to her delight before she left us having had her day made. And soon after she
left us, we left our lunch stop as well.
The
sands of the beach were firm beneath our feet and the walking was easy. We came
along the shore into the town where we expected to take a bus back for
Dundonald. But buses are awkward things and run to schedules. We had just
missed one and had another hour to wait for the next. How to spend this hour?
We could only think of our usual way - we would go to the pub. McKays provided
the venue for a rather unexpected FRT today.
When
we eventually arrived in Dundonald, Malcolm invited us to his place for he had
laid on some refreshments. Most of us partook of his hospitality and we thank
Malcolm for this. It rounded off another good Ooters walk.
That
evening some of us gathered at Alan’s bowling club in Kilmarnock to try our
hand at throwing some woods. For some it was a success, for some it is best
forgotten but it was an interesting insight into another sport. Thanks to Alan
for arranging this.
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