Some images from the walk between Dunure and Culzean

     Setting off from Dunure

    Holly leads the way

    Lookout! Here come the Ooters!

    One dog and her stick

    Can you see Malcolm's hat? It's not on his head.

 

      Approaching Culzean

    Ready to start the walk back from Culzean

    Down to the shore past the old gas house

    Along a short wooded section to Segganswell cottage

     Back on the beach

 

      There's that man and his dug again

    Reaching the end of another great day oot

29 February Knockdolian and Ballantrae

Alan, Allan, Davie C, Davie Mc, Ian, Jimmy, Johnny, Peter, Rex, Robert & Ronnie

We knew there was a reason for having Ian in our group. Despite the fact he keeps winning our competitions – our sloe gin contest being the latest – there is one good reason we keep him; he knows some good walks in the extreme south of our county having spent many long boyhood summers in Lendalfoot. Today’s was another of Ian’s walks.

Jimmy and Peter were late. Not that this worried them particularly for they were ensconced in a nice warm car, but we stood shivering by the cars in the car park at Bennane Head, backs turned to the chill February breeze blowing off the sea, cursing the tardy pair. (Silly auld buggers might have waited inside the cars – Ed) Eventually they arrived and we could start the walk in what was new territory to many of us.

Though the morning was lightly overcast, there was the promise from the met office that at the very least it would get no worse and there was the possibility of some sunshine later so we anticipated a decent day as we set off southward along the A77. Ian set a cracking pace along the side of the road, partly to generate some body heat and partly to get off the busy drag as quickly as possible. And at an Ayrshire Coastal Path sign pointing across the road, we did just that, taking an unclassified road past Little Bennane Farm. This took us across country to a junction with the B734 at Liggatcheek.

Now we had a decision to make; should we turn left and come to the shoulder of Knockdolian that we could see on the skyline, or should we leave tarmac and take the grass track directly opposite that would take us to the old lime kiln that we could see barely quarter of a mile away on the side of the hill. We opted for the latter.

The track took us directly to the limekiln – a stance for shooters by the looks of the heap of spent cartridges that lay in the angle of the wall. But a few minutes examination of the kiln was enough and we set off again, up past the abandoned limestone quarry, now filled with water and forming a small lochan. For some reason known only to them, Robert and Jimmy then made directly for the steepest part of the hill and, like sheep, we followed. This was a mistake for, when we had all cleared the rusting barbed-wire fence without damaging the fence or ourselves, we were confronted by a grassy slope that rose ominously steep in front of us. But we were assured by those in front that it was a shorter climb than it appeared and that the slope eased off after that. Ha! Some fifteen lung-bursting, leg-burning minutes later we topped the steep and, though the slope did ease, we found that it was still rising. However those in front took pity on the rest of us and, in the lea of a crag, on a spot that offered a great view up the valley of the Stinchar, we collapsed for a well needed cuppa.

We were now on the craggy volcanic outcrop of Knockdolian itself and after coffee we continued the upward progress, coming round the foot of our present crag to a fence we could see on the skyline, a fence that we thought we could follow to the summit. Wrong. The fence ran out against the crag. But there was a gap in a lowish section of the rock and we clambered through this to find an easier, grassy slope that would indeed take us to the summit.

Rex and Davie (who else?) reached the summit trig point first with Ronnie and Allan acting as ‘lanterne rouge’ and the rest somewhere between. And what a view greeted each one as we reached the trig point even under today’s overcast sky. The three-sixty degree compass included: Below us was the Stinchar valley running eastward to the hills around Barr and Rowantree, hills that were still clothed in hill-fog: To the north Byne Hill sloped down to the sea: the northern hills of Arran were smothered in clag but, as is common, Holy Isle stood out and the south end of the island was clear: Ailsa Craig stood out like a sair thoom in the near distance, the lighthouse showing white: to the south the moors of Wigtownshire and the hills above Glenluce were clear, Beneraird standing proud above them: altogether a superb viewpoint. ‘And for so little effort’ said Davie Mc.

A wee while was spent on the summit admiring the view and taking pictures. The Belfast ferry steamed its way out of Loch Ryan, turning Corsewell point as we watched, giving Ian a chance to try out his new binoculars. But the wind that chilled us at the car park also chilled us here and the time came to move on.

We came off the hill to the south, avoiding the crags and the steeper slopes. The tarmac strip of a road could be seen below us. Down a grassy slope and through a stand of flowering whin we found a farm track. But this appeared to run too far up the valley for us so it was decided to cross the field directly for the road. Easier said than done for between the field and the road was a wee copse of hazel scrub. Robert found the ground here to be both slippery and extremely wet on the backside. Ian found the barbed wire to be stronger than his skin. And all of us found some difficulty coming through that copse. Still we made it and found ourselves on a road heading for Ballantrae.

Rex and Jimmy, well to the front, found a sign pointing down towards the river and indicating a ‘Riverside Walk’. This was the way we went. And we were glad we did for the pad took us down to a delightful, sheltered riverside picnic spot complete with table and seats. This is where we chose to lunch. The sun made an appearance now making the lunch stop even more delightful. We hoped that this was an indication of Wednesdays to come for the rest of the year. In the field across the river some dozen or so whooper swans grazed, adding to our wildlife count for the day - two buzzards, one raven, a brown hare, a single rabbit and two roe deer already. Delightful though the picnic spot was, we had to move on.

We followed the riverside walk down to Ballantrae Bridge and on into the village. Now we would pick up the Ayrshire Coastal Path and follow it back to Bennane.

A strange thing about the human mind –at least the strange minds of the Ooters – is that it tends to blank out bad memories. We had forgotten just how bad this part of the coastal path this is. It goes on to the beach, a shingle beach here. The tide was high and there was no alternative but to take to the shingle, shingle that moved under the feet, shingle that gave no purchase, shingle that exhausted already tired legs. And shingle that stretched in front of us for the best part of a mile. Conversations dried up as each retreated into his own private hell, got his head down and slogged his way along that blasted shingle.

Welcome relief came when we crossed the Bennane Burn and found the old road at Snib’s Cave. (See www.geograph.org.uk/photo/1715945) A short break was had here to allow legs to recover from the travail of the shingle and allow those of that kind of nature to investigate the cave. Then we continued up the old road, the road that was abandoned when the new stretch was opened over the Bennane in the last years of last century. Conjecture was made as to the possibility of keeping this section of the road are a tourist only route with parking areas and picnic sites. If anybody from South Ayrshire is reading this, it shouldn’t involve too much money for parking areas already exist here and the road is still in good nick. And it was up this road in good nick that we came. This was easy enough going until near the top. The farmer obviously uses the old tarmac as a place for feeding his cattle and the area around the feeders is inches deep in wet slurry. We had to take to a field to avoid the gunge. Still, this was only on the last fifty metres or so before the main A77 again. Then we had only fifty more metres to the car park at Bennane.

There was a pre-walk suggestion  of a visit to Sawney Bean’s cave just underneath the car park but the shingle had taken its toll and such was the energy left at the end of the walk that not one of us considered even more exertion with a visit to the cave. ‘Next time’ was the consensus.

This was a good walk – highly recommended except for the shingle – and a great suggestion, Ian.

FRT for the day was taken in the Harbour Bar in Girvan where the welcome was somewhat different from we are used to.

APOLOGY: At the sportsman's dinner last night it was drawn to the scribe's attention that when he was at the front, head down and slogging along the Ballantrae shingle, a drama was being enacted behind him. Robert and Allan thought that the best plan of action to avoid the slog was to step over the fence into the cow-muddied field. While Allan negotiated the fence without incident, Robert put his hand on the top wire only to find it was electrified. Oyah! The scribe is sorry he missed this incident.

Maidens to Dunure 22 Sept 2010

'A tidey day'

Allan, Davie, Johnny, Peter, Ronnie and Robert met at the car park in Dunure and surveyed the overhead conditions. The weather forecast was poor with wall to wall rain threatened but it was almost dry with patches of blue sky at the time and it was agreed to undertake the walk as planned. Leaving Peter's car behind we travelled to Maidens and set off.
The tide was in!
'Did anyone check today's tide times? We'll be walking on soft sand.' No reply. Anyway, the first part of the walk was reasonably uneventful with just the odd stream to cross before we left the beach to head up towards Culzean. So far, so good weather wise, dull but warm and dry. Let it be known that we did not stop for coffee at our usual halt at the top of the cliff but continued into Culzean and headed for the coffee shop. We sat inside as the seats outside were still wet and there was now some moisture in the air. However by the time we had been fed and watered it was perfectly dry and was to remain so for the rest of the day. Not for the first time was the statement made 'We've won a watch with the weather!'
The route from Culzean along the beach provided us with obstacles; none of them insurmountable, but challenging nonetheless. The streams were wider and deeper, the burn at the caravan park was too deep to cross hence a wee detour into the caravan park, and there were rock outcrops we had to clamber over, one in particular being nasty due to the slippiness of the rocks. However, we are the Ooters and we made it beyond the last outcrop before stopping for lunch. By this time the sun was breaking through and we enjoyed the late summer weather before moving off. It has to be reported at this point that no cameras were brought today* as it was assumed that we would get a soaking and no-one wished to get their prized possessions wet.
Fifteen minutes took us from our lunch spot to the path up from the beach to the clifftops and it was a straightforward walk back to Dunure. Two things of note though. First, sloes were growing beside the footpath, Robert accumulated a nice wee crop. Second, the maize which we noted on our last visit poking through the plastic sheeting had ripened and been left to rot. 'Why fur?' Was the farmer paid to plant it? Was it a trial crop? Could the farmer not be bothered harvesting it? Maybe somebody has an answer.


'3 hours 40 minutes,' reported Davie as we reached the car park.
FRT, as usual on this walk, was taken at the Dunure Inn.

*In order to provide you, dear readers, with some photos, Davie, Holly & Kay nobly returned to Dunure on Saturday in brilliant sunshine!

18 November Irvine to Ardrossan

Nine Ooters met at Johnny's in Irvine for the now legendary coffee and scones. Missing today were Jimmy (an old knee injury) and Rex (attending to building work). Since the weather forecast was dire with heavy rain scheduled to move in during late morning and lasting for the best part of the next 36 hours, a prompt start was made at 9.30am with Johnny leading us down into the town centre before following the path across Irvine Moor and onwards towards the site of the old Ravenspark Hospital ( The Poors' House aka The Pares' Hoose, as the locals refer to it). Building at the new 'Ravenspark Village' stopped months ago when the company went bust and there is little sign of works being resumed any time soon.
The walk then continued towards the Recycling Centre at Bartonholm and from there across to the outskirts of Kilwinning where we proceeded on the walkway/cycle track skirting the industrial estate that borders the Kilwinning bypass. The pace was brisk as usual but after the shenanigans of last week the group stayed together with the unusual sight of the gang stopping en masse when a one of our esteemed colleagues had to make a pit stop. (We'll see how long this will last - remember the motto!). Robert kept using the word 'compassion' - a word not normally in the Ooters' vocabulary.
As we traversed the hinterland between Kilwinning and Stevenston the first of today's wildlife was spotted, first a deer, then a buzzard and then a kestrel, allegedly. Our resident naturalist being missing today meant that it was up to the rest of us to make up what we didn't know. Robert helpfully stopped to alert a local nature lover, at least he had a pair of binoculars, as to the wonderful sights to be seen. 'I've been here before', was the stoic reply. Despite calls for coffee, we marched on past Ardeer and into Stevenston, past the Auchenharvie Golf Centre, noting some coots, swans and mallards in a pond, and back on to the main road for the stretch up to the the boundary with Saltcoats. So far the weather had remained kind, dry but with a wee edge to the wind at times.
On the Stevenston/Saltcoats border we crossed over a wooden railway bridge which looked well past its sell by date and stopped beside the water's edge for coffee/lunch. The border guards insisted on bribes being paid to enter Saltcoats. After some discussion we decided to take their bribes and continued into the Costa Clyde. A few spots of rain hastened our progress but thankfully they came to nothing as we walked along the shorefront between Saltcoats and Ardrossan, avoiding the occasional soaking as the waves broke over the sea wall.
Without any ceremony the bus stop was reached by 12.50 and the big blue no 11 bus arrived to take us back to Irvine cross. This route took us past two schools until recently home to two of the Ooters ( Auchenharvie and Irvine Royal) and through Pennyburn whose quality of building was scorned by the assembled company. Busses have come a long way in recent years - this one had come down from Kilmarnock this morning - no seriously, relatively comfortable and quiet with closed circuit television. It is sometimes amazing what you can see from the top of a bus that you miss when on the ground. We saw ... well...er... some lesser spotted jakeys at the front of the bus. No doubt they would have settled at the back had we not bagged these seats first.
Soon we were back in Irvine and made our way without delay up to Johnny's as the rain was just starting to fall gently. We certainly had won a watch today with the weather. Our host provided beer, crisps and sausage rolls ( 8 for £1 in Aldi's) and as usual the crack was good. Eventually we left just after 3 o'clock wishing Ian well on his Caribbean cruise. However thanks also go to Alan for the wee Black Label to celebrate the birth of his second grandchild, Emma, who, with her mum, is doing well.

This had been a day where finishing the walk before the rains came was a priority. It was part of the Ayrshire Coastal walk but to be honest we did not really meet the coast until leaving Stevenston. Peter suggested that the route was null and void and the walk would need to be redone. Gaun yersel’, Peter!

One for the diary - the annual Christmas walk along the canal path in Glasgow followed by a meal at the Ashoka will be on December 16th.

20 May Ayrshire Coast part 6 – Dunure to Alloway

All’s well that ends well

To paraphrase the poet, ‘The best laid schemes o’ mice and men though aften gaein’ agley, juist as aften turn oot for the best’. Or, to quote yon ither bloke, ‘All’s well that ends well’. So it was with today. The proposed tour of Bute by bike was cancelled in the light of a poor weather forecast and Davie’s reluctance to get wet on a bike. Instead, we opted for the short section of the Ayrshire coast from Dunure to Alloway with the view that if the weather did turn nasty, we would be out of it quickly and into the warmth of a pub somewhere. Oh we of little faith.
We gathered at Rex’s place. Jimmy and Peter would like it noted that, not only were they early but they were first there. But everybody else was early so their glory was short-lived. We left cars at Rex’s and took two to Dunure. Though a cool southwesterly blew as we left the cars, the morning sun still shone and Davie was getting peculiar looks from some who suspected the sun also shone on Bute.

Rex had the book so we were relying on him to set uson the right path. ‘Climb away from the harbour to the railway bridge at Fisherton’ read Rex. So, off we went in that direction. Hawthorn flowers scented the air as we took the road up through the trees, came into more open farmland and climbed away from the sea towards the railway bridge. Concern grew when we realised we were walking too far away from the sea. We halted to re-examine the book. This time Rex read the right paragraph, not the one that had us on the diversion over the Carrick hills.
So back down the road we came, through a field gate, down through the field to the sea and lo, we beheld the coastal path. (Sorry fellows but poetry may well be a recurring theme of this posting.) Now that we had found the path, it was easy enough to keep to it: all we had to do is follow the white paint marks on the rocks. We could ignore Rex’s book now.

The path led us through a machar festooned with spring flowers.
If we thought that last week’s walk was the epitome of ‘flow’ry May’, today was to prove us wrong. Apart from the afore mentioned hawthorn, red campion grew in the hedgerows and the higher parts of the shoreline; blue spring squill, white daisies with yellow centres and red buds, orange-yellow bird’s-foot trefoil and field buttercups decked the drier sward; pink thrift and stonecrop filled crevasses in the orange-lichened rocks while early purple orchids and yellow marsh marigolds grew in the wetter areas. And the flower show continued all along the shore, with white bladder campion, oxeye daisies, green wall pennywort and sea spurges all flowering in their own particular habitat. We all agreed that it was a superb show.

One of those wetter parts took us down to the beach where we were to stay for the next four or five miles. At first, the going was on coarse sand but this soon gave way to shingle and larger cobbles. Peter was in his element, looking amongst the tide-washed boulders for agates and examining with enthusiasm many of the coloured cobbles. Jimmy and Ronnie were a willing audience for his passion. Said Jimmy ‘Isn’t it great, Peter, that we have reached sixty-odds and still retain a childlike interest in the world around us?’ This childlike interest extends from rocks and landscape features to wildlife and history, all of which we would encounter today. Peter loaded his rucksack with pebbles which, no doubt, will appear in a painting in due course.

By this time, we were split into two groups, Davie and Robert in the van some twenty metres in front and rest examining the beach for treasures. There now came a burn to be crossed, a shallow burn and not too wide. There should be no problem here for we didn’t have Paul today. But there was a problem. The advanced pair cleared the stream and walked on. Rex cleared it and waited for the others. Jimmy could see the boulder in the middle was dry and provided a safe stepping-stone. Jimmy was wrong. His foot slipped on the wet algae and in went the left foot. Not content with this, when he tried to retain balance his right foot slipped. It also went in. Now both feet landed on the slippery bottom and gave way. Doon went Jimmy with a resounding splash and a yell. He emerged form his unexpected bathing drookit from the waste down, torn breeks, a might graze and bruise where his shin hit the offending boulder, a gash dripping blood on one hand and a staved finger on the other. A sight to behold.
This was when Rex displayed his well-honed first-aid skills, applying the plaster to the cut on Jimmy’s finger. For this act of mercy, we have awarded Rex an honorary doctorate. Henceforth he shall be known as Doctor Porter and never again as that wee Aussie b******.
The advanced pair walked on oblivious to the drama being played out behind. But, being hailed from a hundred metres back, they halted to let the rest catch up. We were now at a point where the beach gave way to a rocky outcrop and behind this, sheltered from the breeze we sat for coffee.
Many were the words of sympathy offered to Jimmy.
‘If you had two walking poles, you could have kept your balance’
‘Mair like twa crutches he needs’
‘Better wear a cycle helmet next walk just in case’
‘He’ll no damage onything if he hits his heid’
‘I wish I’d seen it. It must have been funny’
‘Did ye get the video, Rex?’
‘Can I put this sticky plaster on your hairy leg?’ asked the sadist.
Jimmy declined the offer. While he accepted the sympathy, he would have preferred drink.

Post coffee we continued the walk (or hobble according to who you were). We came onto the flat sand again under a low crag and the walking was easy. The day was turning pleasantly warm and we hadn’t too far to go so the pace was casual. The birders enjoyed themselves, the stone gatherers enjoyed themselves and the novice botanists enjoyed finding new plants. We all enjoyed that section of the walk. But it was now approaching twelve-thirty and lunch was called. Again, we found a sheltered spot behind a crag and sat for lunch, a long lunch as the day warranted.

We came under a high cliff, the start of the Heads of Ayr, where ‘the raven soars and the seabirds nest’. There were some shallow caves beside a waterfall. The adventurous climbed to examine the caves while the timorous and the lame waited for their report. ‘Shallow caves, barely twenty feet deep and not worth the effort to see’, was the comment. So we continued along the shore. 

The sand and shingle gave way to boulders and rocks around the cliffs at the north end of the Heads. Care had to be taken here. Somebody offered to take Jimmy’s hand just in case. Jimmy asked for a carry but this was refused so we all took our own degree of care in crossing the boulders. But the rocks were soon passed and the sand was regained.

Greenan Castle now came in view, perched on its crag at the far end of our sandy bay. Daviesuggested we cut the corner by going straight across the bay. ‘The tide’s out and the sand’s firm’ said he. We followed Davie (Again?). The tide was out but burns, broadened to river width on the flat sand, ran across our path. There was no option but to wade through. ‘I don’t mind’, said he of the torn breeks, ‘My feet are wet anyway’, and off he strode through the flood. We were forced to follow, picking our route carefully. But we all reached Greenan with relatively dry feet.

Greenan castle had to be explored. We climbed up the steep grass beside the crag to get to it. The door of the castle is bricked up but a hole has been punched in the brickwork and, with sufficient wriggling, it would be possible to gain entrance. None of us tried it.

From the height of the castle, we could look over the sea to Arran bathed in sunshine and right up the Ayrshire coast to the Clyde islands. ‘What a great day this would have been for a cycle on Bute’, said somebody. Davie ignored the comment and recounted his Greenan Castle tramp story instead. Then we turned our backs on the castle and walked on.

Not only did we leave the castle but we also left the Coastal Path and the shore and turned inland. We came by Greenan Farm and the road by High Greenan to find the cycle path along the old railway. On the flat tarmac amongst the trees, the pace was gradually increased to our usual rate. We came to the Doon and stopped on the railway bridge. Here was a superb view upriver to the two brigs o’ Doon, the auld one seen through the arch of the new. Photos were taken.
Immediately on the left of the north end of the old railway brig is the well made famous in Tam O’ Shanter as the place ‘where Mungo’s mither hanged hersel’’. This was examined by some though others missed it and marched on past.
The old railway was left and we came into Alloway near ‘the auld haunted kirk’. But we didn’t visit there today. Instead, we turned our footsteps along past the ‘auld clay biggin’ and on to Rex’s place.
This was another superb section of the walk, probably made so by the weather. None of us was too unhappy to have cancelled the cycle on Bute.

But we had to get back to Dunure for the cars left there. And while we were there, we partook of a small refreshment in the same place as we did last week.

Photos by Bob.

13th May Ayrshire Coast, Part 5 – Maidens to Dunure

Sweet is the morn in flow’ry May,
And sweet the e’en in autumn mild,
When roving through a garden gay,

Or wand’ring in some lonely wild.

The Bonnie Lass o’ Ballochmyle
Robert Burns

What the autumn mild has in store for us we will need to wait to see, but it was certainly a sweet May morning that greeted us when we gathered at Dunure for our next leg of the Ayrshire coast. The sun shone early, the air was clear. The only thing that sopped this being the perfect morning was the cool westerly that greeted us when we left the cars but the forecast was in our favour and we expected the day to warm up nicely as it progressed.
And there was to be no lonely wild for us today. There would be ‘gardens gay’ though, both formal, as in the sunken lawn and borders at Culzean Castle, and informal as we walked through the ‘Pleasure Garden’ of the Culzean woodlands and the flower-decked machar of the coastal fringe. The botanists amongst us anticipated it eagerly. And the birders anticipated some excellent spotting.

Leaving Maidens

We left Maidens in two groups with the first ambling along the beach to allow the other to catch up. Davie had turned to the north car park and the rest to the south one some half mile away so we left in two groups. But the first group enjoyed the speed of the amble; it was a day for taking time. The sand was firm and the walking easy. The second group set off at the usual speed and we were all together by the time we approached the caravan park. They were reduced to the speed of the first bunch. Somewhere along the beach we lost the wind; we came into the shelter of the Culzean cliffs and lost the breeze altogether. Coffee was called for, but Davie suggested we wait until the top of the headland where we would get a great view seaward. This is what we did.
A flight of sandy steps rises from the beach to the scrub-covered headland some fifty feet above. This should be no problem for any one of us but Johnny had us stopped. Not that he had a problem; it was just for one of his photo-shoots. We posed dutifully as directed and then continued up onto the scrubby cliff-top. Davie led us through the shrubbery to a grassy clearing overlooking the sea where we settled down for coffee.


Off the beach into Culzean

Heading for Culzean

Davie was right, this was a superb place to stop. We were in the sun and out of the wind and the view seaward was first class on a day like this. The sky was azure, though high altitude cloud trailed the southern horizon adding creaminess in that direction: the sea reflected the blue of the sky but turned it cobalt and ultramarine: the greens and yellows of cliff-top whins added colour to the scene while orange lichens and thrift tinted the rocks below. The Ayrshire coast was visible all the way from Turnberry lighthouse in the south to the crags of Portincross in the north. The Clyde islands and the hills of Cowal formed the northern horizon. Arran filled the north-west skyline and, west of this, the blue-grey line of Kintyre ran southward to its Mull. Paddy’s Milestane stood proud in the southern sea. And Gannets, dive-bombing for fish, entertained us as we took coffee. Bob said ‘The Med would be goin’ some to beat this the day’. Nobody argued.

Ailsa Craig

We spent some time over coffee, just lazing in the sun. Surprisingly, Peter made the first move. (Robert would like it recorded that he didn't move first - this time.) Reluctantly we raised ourselves from the sun-warmed, springy turf and followed Peter.
Culzean’s swan pond was through a wood of more mature trees. When we reached it, we turned right for there were some who wanted too visit the aviary. What a disappointment. A notice on the door informed us that the aviary was now closed. The PC brigade has triumphed again. It seems that it is unacceptable now to keep birds in cages so all the Culzean birds have been given to local breeders. Eh! Do these breeders have bigger cages than Culzean? We very much doubt it. But the birds are gone now and NTS are looking for a new use for the aviary.
The path on the east side of the swan pond was taken. This took us into more mature woodland, a woodland that was alive with birdsong and decked out in spring flowers. Here was ‘flow’ry May’ in all its grandeur. Bluebells, red campion, wild garlic and a yellow flower Jimmy identified as Doronicum coloured the ground level under a canopy of fresh spring green. And, once again, we were sheltered from the breeze. This really was an enjoyable part of the walk.

The battery

But the wood ended, too soon for the naturalist who was still tuned into the birdcalls, and we came out into the immediate environs of Culzean Castle at the Battery. We were now into the more formal part of the park. Davie spoke of the Orangery and this was our first port of call in the formal garden.
A collection of different varieties of oranges and lemons grew in pots under the protection of the Orangery. We had to watch Rex for, as an Aussie his natural inclination was to pee on the lemon trees. But he managed to contain himself and the lemons avoided urination.

Oranges and lemons

The sunken garden, with its lawns and fountain was a suntrap today and heat built up as we wandered by the formal borders and up to the castle itself.
Culzean Castle is such a well-known feature of Ayrshire landscape and history that it needs no description here. We halted for a few minutes on the mortar terrace to look over the sea to Arran and see the Ayrshire coast run northward. The naturalist was disappointed not to see any seals on the water, which he assures us, is the usual case from this terrace. But Peter and Ian had other interests apart form wildlife and landscape: Peter for the gashouse and Ian for the caves underneath the castle.
Down at sea level, we turned left for the caves, assuring Peter that we would return to view the gashouse. The rocks were scrambled over, too much scrambling for Ronnie and Johnny who chose to remain on the sand and await our return. The first cave is nothing more than a shallow opening in the cliff face so excited no particular interest from the newcomers. But the second was deeper and longer and allowed us entry, after a duck through a manmade doorway, into a netherworld, a dark and damp netherworld. While the rest of us were content to remain in the spacious cavern with a chink of daylight reminding us of our own world, Jimmy and Ian were for further into the cave. They were, until Jimmy, in the complete darkness, stood in the mud-slimy puddle. His howls, as the cold water oozed into his trainer and his head hit the roof as he stood up, might have been interpreted by those hearing it outside as some modern day Minator roaring in its labyrinth. But it was only Jimmy with a wet foot and a sore head. The speleologists returned to the company and we all returned to the daylight world.
The third cave was to be the one that provided most interest according to those who knew. More rocks were scramble over to reach it. But it was to prove a disappointment for both entrances are gated and barred now. Health and Safety rules, OK! We could do nothing but gaze into the darkness through the bars before admitting defeat and returning over the rocks to find Ronnie and Johnny and return to the gashouse.
The gashouse was worth the visit and we spent time here examining the information boards. It’s amazing the number of Ayrshiremen who were at the forefront of the social, economic and technological developments of the industrial revolution. (For further information, consult your history expert)
We left the gashouse and took along the shore. The going was easy on the firm sand and the walking was casual. Culzean policies were left when we turned round a headland and came to Maybole Shore. This is a name you won’t find on a map but it is a local name for this part of the shore and Ian told the story of its naming. It is too long to quote here but if you wish to know, the writer feels confident that Ian will relate it again.
An excited cry from one of the birdie folk drew our attention to a pair of birds that Davie identified as whimbrel. They looked like curlew to us but we were assured they were whimbrel and we should consider ourselves lucky to see them. Some of us were underwhelmed.
Lucky or not, we continued the walk along Maybole Shore. Hunger came calling for it was now approaching lunchtime and, on flat rocks at the end of Maybole Shore, we settled down to eat.

Lunch was long and unhurried for we were only a short distance from our destination, the day was turned pleasantly warm and the view over the water to Arran was superb. Again, there was a lack of interest in moving after it. But we forced ourselves reluctantly to our feet and continued the walk. The beach was stony now, multi-coloured cobbles as far along as we could see. But we had time and took plenty of it to find a way through. Peter looked for agates. Some, naughty boys, helped themselves to a brightly coloured stone or two and carried them home. Some just took their time and enjoyed the day. The cobbles lasted for two or three hundred metres but it must have taken fully twenty minutes for us to cover this distance. When we did leave the cobbles, it was not by choice.
We approached another bluff where crags came down to the shoreline and a sign pointed us inland and upward over the head. We climbed with a track of sorts. This ran out though but further signage pointed us down into a wee burn that ran full of last week’s rain. There was a shoogly, four-inch plank across the burn beside a fence but no other way over. We looked forward to the antics of the hydrophobes, Rex even getting the camera ready for the inevitable fall. But there was no fall and we were all safely on the other side. Rex was disappointed.
Dunure Castle

Dunure

Approaching Dunure

The path continues upward beside fields of sprouting corn, towards the road. One of those military lookout posts, the remainders of WW2, stood beside the field. The sensible ignored it and walked on. Those in their second childhood were for into and up it. Was it worth it? The sensible would say no for the view wasn’t improved any. But the boys enjoyed it.
We thought for a moment that the path would take us onto the Dunure road but we were wrong. It took us back down through grass, long even at this time, to the short, springy machar above the sea. Now we had only a few hundred yards to Dunure Castle and it was taken at a very leisurely pace. Here the advanced group waited for the sluggards. We all waited for a while before making our way back into the village and to the Anchorage Bar for FRT.
Perhaps it was the day, perhaps the easy pace, perhaps the way the path avoided roads, but it was the general opinion that this was the best section of the walk that we have done so far. We look forward to more.
Leaving Anchorage Bar

Photos by Johnnie

13th May 2009 - Maidens to Dunure

25 March Ayrshire coast part 4 – Girvan to Maidens

We missed the bus. Peter and Jimmy were late so we missed the bus. We had intended to take this from the finishing point in Maidens to the starting point in Girvan, but we missed it. We had to do a car shuttle from Maidens to Girvan. Considering that there were ten of us today this was not an easy logistical exercise. But then, not a lot is in the Ooters. However we managed and found ourselves ready to start from Girvan around 10:00 (ish).
No shorts today. The fresh north-westerly blowing off the sea kept the temperature low, so low that even Davie refused to wear shorts. (He did carry them as just in case for the sun was shining when he left home and he was ever hopeful. But he never wore them.) And this fresh wind was to be in our faces for the entire walk.
Down the north side of the harbour we came, down to the Rotary Gardens. We came this way despite the way-markers directing us otherwise for some wanted to see the garden. Perhaps it was the wrong time of year but, as public gardens go, this was as good as average. So we didn’t hang around, especially now that we came into the teeth of the wind.

From the gardens, our route took us to the edge of Girvan golf course. The way-markers pointed us down towards the river again but Ian had us closer to the club-house saying that it didn’t matter; it was six of one and half a dozen of the other. And he was right. We came onto the official route beside the river and followed this through the golf course, still on tarmac.
At Girvan Mains farm we left the road before it joined the main A77 and came down a narrow farm track to the sea. Here was another badly planned part of the long distance walk. The track decanted us directly onto the beach, a beach of largish cobbles that slipped and coggled as we walked. Relief from the stones was sought in the grass alongside a field fence and was temporarily found in a narrow pad. But this pad disappeared after a while and the grass was of the course dune type and the walking was hardly any easier here. We returned to the stones. We did this often on this stretch.
A track of sorts was eventually found and many were the sighs of relief for the stones and coarse grasses were taking their toll. This track brought us round a small rise to a series of small ponds at Chapeldonan. Duck flew off these ponds – Scaup, Jimmy called them – and this set the birders off again. Apparently Rock Pipit, Skylark, Curlew, Redshank, Dunlin, Gannet and sundry gulls could be seen today if you were interested enough. And a Goldfinch caused some excitement at one point.
Then we came to our first burn, the first of many, each holding its unique challenge for the hydrophobic amongst us. And for Rex, who chose to walk in trainers today. The water ran deep and many made their way upstream while the brave sought a shallower way near the tide-line and ploughed through. This was to be the case later as well.
With the burn safely crossed and all with dry feet, we made our way past the sewage works still on a beach of cobbles/shingle/soft sand. And the wind was in our faces. It was not the best part of any walk. And the scenery didn’t provide too much in the way of distraction. The wind kept the air clear and the seaward prospect was extensive, as far as Arran and Ailsa Craig. But there is a limit to how much waves running up the beach can keep even the best of us interested. The landward view was uninteresting. Beyond the immediate field ran the bus A77, and beyond this the fields rose more steeply to the skyline barely a mile away. The litter along the shoreline probably held most attraction. And we came to the sewage works. Not the most interesting part of the walk.



We ploughed on along the beach. Another burn was crossed with the same antics as the last. But, again, all were safely over. On this side of the burn was the works of Alginate Industries with a rough track alongside the boundary fence and, on the windward side of the track, some large boulders as a breakwater. As coffee was being called, we lay in as much shelter from the wind as these boulders provided and had coffee. It was then that Rex found his camera to be missing. It must have jumped from his pocket when he jumped the burn. A great search and rescue mission was called into being to find the missing camera, all but Peter and Jimmy (lazy b******s) joining the fun. They were not amused when, after the return to the burn and ten minutes scrounging around, Rex announced that his camera was in his other pocket. What senior moment?
Post coffee, the trudge was continued, on the same type of terrain as before. And the interest was as before.
Some different interest was provided, though, at Balkenna Cottages. The going had been less than easy so far. Now a way-marker was pointing us into a muddy ploughed field. When we spotted a stretch of tarmac along the seaward of the cottages we were for this. It wasn’t until we had come to the end of the row of cottages that our attention was caught by a woman* knocking on a window. Jimmy and Johnny stopped to pass the time of day only to be told in a rather brusque fashion that this was a private road and we should not be on it, there was a path through the muddy field. She was fed-up with us coming in front of her window. How she could be fed-up with us is beyond us for this was our first time here. However, Jimmy was suitable sympathetic (‘Oh dear’, he said) and Johnny was suitably apologetic and offered to fetch Rex for her. The harridan retired into her own tiny, cocooned world little aware that if she hadn’t come out to accost us, we would have been off her private road much quicker.
We were directed by a way-marker on to a sandy beach, a long sandy beach with a build-up of dunes on the landward. Then there came another one of those blasted burns. This time it was too wide and deep even for the adventurous though Jimmy and Ian made an abortive sortie seaward to find a crossing point. No chance. We climb the dune to find it covered with briar and brambles. There was no option but to retrace our steps to find a way to the bridge we could see from the dune top. This bridge carried us over the burn onto the grounds of the world famous Turnberry golf course.
But plebs like we walkers have no place on such hallowed ground and the way-marker pointed us once again onto the sandy beach. It was a long beach, 2Km long. The sand was just firm enough to take the eight but gave way at each forward step. It was like walking in the snow of Lowther Hill (21 Jan). It was interesting to note the drunken route taken by the forward party as they sought firmer footing. And the wind still blew in our faces. It was a case of heads down into the wind and plough on. This is what we did, for what seemed like miles.
Eventually the sand gave out and the way rose onto the golf course again. This time we were allowed to stay on the holy turf provided we remained on the path. But the path offered the only interesting bit of scenery for the day, the view of Turnberry Lighthouse over a small bay. Our designated path curved round the bay and brought us to the ‘half way hut’ of the course. Here lunch was called and was taken in the lea of the hut.

Now we had only around a mile to go to Maidens. It was the most interesting mile of the walk. The path took us across the course, through a bank of whin in full flower and onto an abandoned runway of the old airfield. We might have followed the old runway but opted to stay with the path. It brought us on to the A719. Somebody – we suspect not the planners of the long distance walk – had the sense to provide a pavement alongside this road and we followed this to Maidens.
This was a shorter walk than of late. Unlike the other sections we have done, which had good and bad parts along them; this was only interesting towards the end. Or, perhaps this is only the scribbler’s opinion.

*This term is used for politeness only. It is not what she was being called later.




Distance 14.2 km