We gathered at Hurlford Bowling Club in Crookedholm for a walk which, if the blog is to be believed (can there be any doubt -Ed.), the Ooters have only done twice before. There have, of course, been other variations on the Hurlford-Darvel theme .
We followed the River Irvine upstream to Grougar, where we had our first schism. Roughly half the group opted for the scenic route, through the fields close to the riverbank whilst the other half chose to stick to the tarmac.Your scribe was part of the former group and upon rejoining the road this group, caring and compassionate to a fault, waited for their colleagues. When it dawned upon them that their comrades had already passed through (Holly disappearing into the distance being the clue) the latter were cursed for their lack of empathy.
They might have been few in number, but the geese in the field adjoining Loudoun Kirk made one hell of a racket when they spotted us. In such a way was Rome forewarned of the Gallic attack in 390 BC. There might have been a few more geese on the Capitoline Hill though.
We met up in the churchyard of Loudoun Kirk. Coffee was taken and Billy generously provided some stronger stuff. There was once an idyllic settlement at Loudon Kirk which provided accommodation for estate workers. Later, this became home for miners employed by Baird in Hurlford. Facilities were rather limited and the last person had moved out by 1960.
When we set off, Gus formed a one-man schism as he chose to stick to the high road heading towards Loudoun Academy whilst the rest of us took the boggier route past Ladyton Loch. Something to do with his shoes. We met up in Galston and here three of our number chose to call it a day. Not really a schism. Robert's knee had become painful and Allan and Johnny accompanied him on the bus back to Crookedhame.
From Galston the survivors continued along the Irvine Valley trail to Newmilns and then onwards towards Darvel. We paused for lunch at the dam - or where the dam was before it was washed away. The remaining structure provided comfortable seating. This was a relatively busy path and it seemed that just about everyone we passed knew Gus (or George, to give him his Darvel name) or Billy. Ance a lang tooner, aye a lang tooner.
Darvel was soon reached and FRT was taken at the Black Bull where we received the usual warm welcome. A pleasant hour flew by and all that remained was the bus journey back to our departure point.
The weather had been on our side too. In all, a good day out.
A distance walked of 9 miles was the consensus.
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