Alan, Allan, Davie, Ian, Jimmy, Johnny, Paul, Robert
Right now they are invisible but I know
that Arran's peaks are over there;
leftward is Ailsa Craig, and then
the tapering Carrick Hills
and Heads of Ayr
Gordon Jarvie
Despite the fact that Rex had just undergone surgery and would not be joining us on a walk for the next six weeks or so, we, eight of us, gathered in his place in Alloway. This was all very well and good, and we thank him for his hospitality, but to walk from his house to our destination and back would have added another hour to our day, an hour of daylight that we could scarcely spare at this time of year. So we motored from Rex’s place to the Greenan Shore car park. Well, most of us did but for reasons known only to them, Davie and Jimmy chose to park at the Millennium Bridge and walk the half mile or so along the shore to join us. Did they even consider that they would have to walk that extra distance at the end of the day? We doubt it. However, they joined us eventually and we set off along the shore towards Greenan Castle.
With the big freeze continuing - the air still and the thermometer well into the negative numbers for nearly a fortnight now - and the snow lying even at sea level, we looked forward to another superb winter day’s walking. And already it was proving to be so with the sand frozen to pavement-like solidity and the grasses and seaweeds of the shore carrying the week’s frost, each blade edged with white hoar crystals and each crystal reflecting and refracting the rising sun. To our right, across the bluing waters of the firth, the high hills of Arran looked splendidly alpine under their blanket of snow. In front of us, Greenan Castle perched precariously on its crag against a cloudless blue sky. And already we were running out of superlatives. On the McMeekin scale of fabulosity the morning was building up through the numbers.
The tide was well out so rounding the point under Greenan Castle was no problem today. The birders were in raptures as we walked along the frozen sand. Taking off from the seaweed litter at our approach were wee black and white things, wee broon and white things, wee black and broon and white things, all of which were named the by knowledgeable two, though sometimes we think they just make up names to impress us. Still, they told us that there were lapwings and oystercatcher and dunlin and turnstone and ringed plover and teal and widgeon and....... As we approached the caravan park of Craig Tara, a group of swans took to the wing whooping and honking. ‘Whoopers’ said the show-offs and we were suitably impressed.
We left the beach at Craig Tara, coming up through the caravan park to the Dunure road. The pavement carried an inch or so of crunchy snow but one person and a bike had been along it before us. We followed the footprints and tyre-tracks the few hundred metres to the Heads of Ayr Farm Park. The camel was easily identified, even by the non-naturalists, standing stock still a snowy enclosure. There then ensued a debate as to whether it was a dromedary or Bactrian camel. ‘A Bactrian has two humps and dromedary has one’, announced one, ‘Or is it the other way about?’ So we are still in ignorance. Whichever it was, it definitely was a camel. But what the small cattle-like animals with the long horns were anybody’s guess for even the naturalists never ventured beyond ‘wee coos’. Anyway the ‘coos’ and camel stood stolidly in the snow and observed our passing with very little interest.
The road was still icy and care was taken, stepping on to the snowy verge when traffic approached for the pavement ran out at the farm park. And we followed the road for the best part of a mile until we came to a junction on the left where a signpost pointed us towards ‘Carrick Hills 11/4’. We took this road, turned directly into the low winter sun and started to climb.
Ian let us down. Normally when coffee is suggested we rely on Ian to tell us when he needs to stop. It was nearly an hour and a half since we had coffee in Rex’s and some were in dire need of a caffeine boost but when we relied on Ian to say that he needed to stop, he let us down. ‘No, I don’t need anything. I had plenty of porridge this morning’, said he. Those desperate for the top of the hill took this as a sign and moved off smartly. Jimmy and Johnny followed on with parched and swollen tongues filling equally parched mouths. (It serves them right when you see what they drink – Ed).
We never halted for coffee. At one point we lost the sun, hidden from us by the bulk of the hill. ‘Too dull to stop here.’ Then we found the sun again but never halted for ‘We’re too close to the top to stop now’. So we never halted for coffee.
What we did stop for was the view. And wasn’t it just spectacular. As we climbed higher the countryside opened out below us. Firstly to the north, Ayr and the Ayrshire coast; then the snowy Ayrshire plain extending to the Renfrew Heights; then eastward to the snowbound Ayrshire hinterland, to Cairn Table at Muirkirk and Blacksidend above Sorn. And always there was Arran, alpine-looking Arran.
The top of the road was gained but not the top of the hill. This lies off the traffic road and is surmounted by radio transmitters. A service road leads up to these masts and this is what we followed, with the ever increasing vista opening out for us as we climbed. Photo stops were the order of the day as the sun lit the snowy landscape accentuating every bump and hollow. The ice-bound whins caught the sun and sparkled against the blue sky. There should be, can’t help but be, some cracking pictures.
As much as some would have loved to stop at the masts for coffee, the advance party had other ideas. Some would argue that the real top of Brown Carrick is not at the masts but at the trig point some half mile across the hill. This is where the advance party of three were heading. But they seemed to the slower group to be taking a long way for a short cut, swinging away to the west, too far to the west, to avoid what might have been a bog had it not been frozen solid. Some of us had a better idea. We would cross the bog and make a direct line for the trig point. That’s how Paul and Jimmy arrived at the trig point five minutes before the rest of us. It was at the trig point that we eventually had coffee; coffee, lunch call it what you will, we sat on the snow-covered top of Brown Carrick and had it.
We couldn’t avoid it on a day such as this; as we took in bodily sustenance, we took in spiritual sustenance in form of the view, almost three hundred and sixty degrees of view. To the westward was the sea and Arran. Behind Arran, Kintyre showed well and behind this the coast of Antrim showed clearly on the horizon. The top of Ailsa Craig just broke the Irish coastline but to the south of this the Mourn Mountains showed that they too held snow. Our hill slightly obscured the south but to the left of this appeared the high moors of southern Carrick and Wigtownshire. The hills of Barr – Hadyard and Rowantree – were pointed out as were the high Galloways, Merrick hidden behind Shalloch on Minnoch from our viewpoint. East of the Loch Doon gap, the High Rhinns of Kells stood out well, visits to these hills being remembered as we sat. Then Cairnsmore of Carsphairn, Windy Standard and the Glen Afton Hills took us round to the east where Cairn Table and Blacksidend showed. The northerly aspect was obscured as our hill ran out towards the masts but to the north-west, the Firth ran up into the white hills of Bute, Cowal and Argyll. And always there was Arran, magnificent-looking Arran.
Allan had a birthday earlier this week. Whether it was to celebrate this or for some other reason we didn’t care; his hip flask of Chivas Regal did its rounds and was gratefully received. The mellow spirit (see, I told you there was something spiritual!) worked its magic, warming us to the very soul. And it was needed for sitting around for so long in the snow fairly chilled the bum.
We followed Jimmy and Paul’s footsteps back to the masts. This was a much shorter way and questions were asked of the leader who took us all the long way. We should know not to follow Davie. And we won’t again. Well, not until the next time. Two fellows stood beside a pick-up examining the masts when we arrived. They were trying to improve the mobile reception in Ayr though how they would do this armed with a pair of binoculars and a walkie-talkie is beyond our comprehension. However, we weren’t prepared to hang about to find out so we left them and took to the down-slope.
It was obvious then that Robert had far too much of Allan’s Chivas for this is where he started the race. The road twists and turns its way down the slope and most were content to twist and turn with it. Not so Robert. He was for a more direct route. That set the competitive off. Now we had Robert and others in full pelt down the hill through the soft snow. The sensible, meantime, kept to a reasonable pace and kept to the road. The racers were eventually found down on the public road, Robert having been first to the bottom.
Together again, we kept the pace sensible for there was ice under the snow. Though one or two did some fantastic pirouetting on the said ice, we all reached the safety of the main road without broken bones.
Now came a split in the ranks. We’d noticed on the way up that a track headed off in the direction of the beach just under the Heads of Ayr. There were some that were for taking this track just to get us off the road. But the traditionalists were for none of this, they would stick to the road. Four rebels, your scribe amongst them, took to the track even though they weren’t confident of exactly where it was going. The more cautious kept to the road.
Because the scribbler was with the rebels, what you read here is a description of their journey. We will await a report from the rest, if anything interesting happened to them.
Anyway, even though we hadn’t a clue where it led, the rebels took the track down past Largs Farm towards the valley of the Carwinshoch Burn. When the track appeared to turn away from the sea and climb the slope of the Heads, we left it to follow the track of the old railway for ‘At least this will take us in the right direction’. A structure, a wooden structure that looked like a farm shed, was spotted down over the field and it looked like there might be a path leading from that down to the burn and the shore. And there was a track, and a ford in the burn and a grassy slope above the shrubbery on the other side. Since it was going in the right direction, this is where we went and found the other end of our original track.
The beasts in the field were not of this land. The llamas, obviously residents of the Farm Park sent to pasture here, stood and watched as four auld geezers invaded there field. ‘Anybody know if llamas bite?’ asked one. So to be sure, we gave them as wide a berth as was possible and still stay on course for the shore. But not before Jimmy had photographed them as evidence. A gate admitted us into another field, ‘The lion enclosure this time’, said Alan. Fortunately for us it wasn’t and another gate some fifty metres across the enclosure allowed us access to the new golf course. Now we could see the shore, and the Ayrshire Coastal Path just below us.
Also just below us and adjacent to the coastal path, was a picnic table. We sat at this and had a five minute break in the sun for we hadn’t halted since we left the top of Brown Carrick. But the sun was past its zenith and the air was turning chill and we had to meet the unadventurous bunch along the shore.
We saw Holly from the distance, waiting patiently at the caravans of Craig Tara for her companions to join her. This they did, coming on to the path some hundred metres in front of us. At the first spur rock jutting into the sea they waited for us. Now that harmony had been restored and the rebels welcomed back into the Pax Ooteria, we wandered back along the shore the way had come this morning, arriving at the cars in Greenan shore cark park around two thirty. Well most arrived at their cars but the silly two still had half a mile to go.
This was a super winter walk, the snowy conditions and clear sky making it a delight. Davie might have to re-assess his top ten walks of 2010.
We felt sorry for poor old Rex, sitting all alone in his surgical discomfort, so Davie was dispatched to bring the old soul to the today’s watering hole. This was The Abbotsford on Racecourse Road, a very salubrious establishment with an open fire ‘and reaming swats that drank divinely’. We may well be back. (No' if I’ve got anything to dae wi’ it. Wi’ the beer at that price ?– Keeper of the Purse)
In the pub Ian gave us the way to remember the difference between the two types of camel; ‘Bactrian’ has a ‘B’ for bi which means two, ‘dromedary’ has an ‘O’ for one. So now you know. Remember it for questions will be asked.
