Irvine Valley Walk

Starting off near Crookedholm

A rest by the riverside (Actually waiting for the slowcoaches to catchup.)

Robert leads the way along the riverside.

Loudoun Kirk

Let us Pray. Grace before lunch?

In the Burn Anne Wood

Climbing up the valley side near Threepwood

Leaving our lunch stop on the lip of the Irvine Valley

The Darvel 'mast' on the Ga'ston Muir

Alan, Allan, Davie C, Davie Mc, Gus, Jimmy, Johnny, Malcolm, Rex, Robert

Most of us met at the Bowling Club in Hurlford where we awaited the country cousins. They, however, parked on the road and anxiously awaited the arrival of the rest of us. You couldn’t write the script, well you could but no-one would believe it!

Nonetheless, sanity prevailed, we found each other, and we were on our way on the Grougar Walk following the River Irvine. Most of this was thankfully on tarmac as the off road part suffered from the previous night’s rain i.e. it was muddy. The weather today was to be bright and reasonably warm in the shelter but, when exposed to the snell wind, it was decidedly Baltic.

We passed by Ladyton Loch and coffee was taken at our usual stop at Loudoun Kirk before crossing the A71 into Galston. Now, some of the company, names are not needed, but can be guessed, hoped and assumed that we would take the low, shorter route along the river up to Darvel, but our leader for the day, when will we ever learn?, decided that we would take the high road and head up towards the Burn Anne (or Burnawn) Walk. Through Burnhouse Wood we went and across to Cessnock Wood before emerging at our normal lunch spot. The benches here had deteriorated and were not fit for purpose so someone was heard to say there was a wee spot round the next corner. Now, have we not heard this before?

We continued on the Burn Anne Walk up to its highest point near Threepwood where lunch was taken. Allan eventually arrived extolling the virtues of this more scenic, hilly route!

It was too exposed to wait long here so we made our way to the road and turned left up past Cairnhill before turning off left again and making our way through the plantation and up to the Gallow Hill road. Here we turned right and headed up towards Eastfield where we turned left and headed down towards Lanfine Estate, taking a few minutes to observe the wild boars. The Black Bull in Darvel was a very welcome sight indeed.

This had been a long walk, five and a quarter hours, and the bodies were weary when we eventually arrived back at Hurlford (by bus of course).

For more information on the route google ‘Irvine Valley Walks’ and choose ‘Ayrshire Paths – Walking from Hurlford to Darvel’. There is also a description of the Burn Anne Walk available.

1 December The Best Laid Schemes Part Two – The Irvine Valley in the Snow

When it snows, ain't it thrilling,
Though your nose gets a chilling
We'll frolic and play, down Darvel way
Walking in a winter wonderland.

Alan, Allan, Davie, Ian, Jimmy, Johnny, Malcolm, Paul, Robert, Ronnie

There are times when, it would appear, that the thing called organisation is just a figment of a collective Ooters’ imagination. So it seemed when ten of us gathered in Davie’s place in Darvel. A fortnight ago in the warm comfort of Poosie Nancies in Mauchline we thought to be organised for the next four ‘ootings’. Today was to be a trip through to Lanarkshire for the Falls of Clyde walk. But the Siberian blast that gripped the country in an ice hand and hit the north and the east of the country with the heaviest November snowfalls in living memory, extended a snowy finger into the south-west overnight and left us with a couple of inches of the white stuff. And as we drove to the gathering place in Darvel, it seemed that more was on its way. Then, as we sat in Davies and watched great flakes of the stuff add to the lying whiteness, a re-evaluation of the plan was called for. We would now walk from Davie’s and have another day in the Irvine Valley. Somehow, in the general babble of the morning, Jimmy (Surprise, surprise - Ed) never caught the end of the plan, something that was to prove costly later in the day.
Around the nine-thirty mark the snow went off and, with a little reluctance in some quarters, we set off for another walk in the valley. Ranoldcoup Bridge was crossed and Davie asked as if giving us a choice, ‘Will we go up through the estate or stick to the road?’ before moving off in the road direction. We followed for we didn’t really care so long as we got out for a walk.
The snow shower swept away to the westward and the sun did its best to break though the heavy cloud, leaving us with a soft diffused light and some dramatic moments in the sky as we walked up towards Dyke farm. In a field by the farm, just as we left tarmac and took to the footpath, stood two long horned, black highland cattle with the last snow shower still on their backs. The cameras were out again despite the lack of sun. We look forward to seeing the results. But the itch-footed were ready for the off again even before the cameras were safely stowed away.
We moved on up the footpath on an old track, climbing high on the side of the valley. At one point Loudoun Hill appeared away to our left but only distantly and greyly as the tail-end of another snow shower cleared its face. And the sky above it was threatening still more snow. Yet away to our right the sun was showing as a bright peachy-pink streak on the horizon; the coast seemed to be in sunshine. We had hopes for a brighter day.
The old track took us up into the wood and what a winter wonderland greeted us there. The bare grey branches of the beech, and ash and the almost black of oaks held an edge of new-fallen white. The floor was carpeted with virgin snow and it seemed such a shame to spoil the scene with footsteps. But this is exactly what we did. With no sense of the aesthetics we followed the footpath, climbing gradually through the wood to our highest point of the day at Keilands and leaving a wreckage of broken and trampled snow behind us.
Now we were pretty close to the Darvel TV transmitter, only a couple of hundred yards away. The cloud that hung over us was lower than we thought for when we looked at the mast of the transmitter, it rose to disappear into the clag. Yet, once again we could look under this and see the sun as a bright streak to the south. We still had hopes of a brighter day though it didn’t look like it at the moment.
We found tarmac at Keilands; not that we could see it for the road was as white as the surrounding landscape and could only be distinguished by its flatness, straightness and parallel hedges. But we took to this flatter, firmer whiteness, turning right towards the brighter sky. And it looked like the brightness was coming towards us for now more of the sky had a peachy hue to it. We wandered along the road enjoying the ease of the slight downward slope and the crispness of the snow. The brighter sky wasn’t the only thing coming towards us though. A car was struggling to make headway up to meet us, occasionally sliding sideways but crawling ever upwards. The driver stopped the vehicle as we came to meet it just in case it slid into us. He was a chatty soul and wound down a window for a blether. It turned out that he was making for the mast to carry out some technical stuff, too technical for our simple minds. But standing still, even for these few minutes, encouraged the chill to seep into the bones. So we left the technician to continue his slithery crawl towards the mast and we continued our downward progress towards the ever brightening sky. That our driver had difficulties on the slope was evident from the zig-zag nature of his tyre tracks in the snow. ‘Did anybody smell drink from him?’ asked one, staring at the drunken nature of the tracks. While we were inclined to believe that this zig-zagging showed that he was a very experienced driver, the question was re-asked as we followed the drunken tracks down the road.
We were down past the Middlefield road end when the sun found us. It was to stay with us for the rest of the day. It was also near here that we left tarmac and took a sign-posted footpath down a row of trees to the headwaters of the Burnawn (Burn Anne). It’s amazing what a blink of sunlight does to a snowy landscape. What was once a flat white expanse was now crisp with every bump and hollow picked out by the low angle of the sun. Each snow crystal reflected the light sending back sparkles that changed colour as we passed. View stops were called frequently and cameras clicked constantly as we crossed the burn-head and found tarmac again near Cairnhill Farm.
Though this was not quite our highest point of the day, it was high enough and the views in front of us were much more extensive than on the Keilands road. Across the west end of the valley, a snowbound Ayrshire stretched from Mauchline to Stewarton and from Galston down to the coast at Irvine. Craigie and Dundonald Hills prevented us seeing the coast in this direction but Ailsa Craig still managed to pop its head out. Arran that looked so clear and sunny and inviting earlier was partly obscured as another snow shower swept down the firth. And the view would stay with us changing subtly as we dropped down the road towards Threepwood.
But Threepwood was never reached. We found the path that we had come up back in April (April 21st to be exact) and followed this to find a picnic bench by the t-junction of the paths. Stomachs were telling us that it was approaching lunch time so snow was scraped clear from table and chairs and we sat down for lunch.
It was during lunch that Jimmy became aware of the rest of the plan. We would walk down to Ga’ston and take a bus back from there. Choice and loud were the expletives Jimmy aimed in our direction for he had deliberately left his bus pass back in Darvel expecting to walk all the way round, as we have always done, and claiming no one had told him of this plan. Not only that but he had left his money with it. (Now there’s a surprise! – Ed) Despite his annoyance, we were unrepentant – the daft auld so-and-so will have to learn to listen in future. Then, just as we thought Jimmy’s spleen was fully vented, Malcolm announced that he didn’t have his bus pass either. That set Jimmy off again. Now it was Malcolm’s turn to get it this time for allowing the rest of us to abuse Jimmy for his forgetfulness. But Jimmy’s ire lasted only as long as his coffee and he was restored to calm before we set off again.
Whether it was because we had been sitting in the cold for as long or whether the temperature really had taken a drop, we couldn’t be sure but when we set off again it was cold. We met a light easterly as we left the picnic table, an easterly that blew the powdered snow into mini drifts across our path. Exposed cheeks burned with the frosty blow and fingers fairly nipped even inside gloves, and it took a wee while for us to warm up again. Down the slope of the valley side we came, down past the pond where the tadpoles used to be, down past East Threepwood where James Smith ‘dayed’ in 1685, and down to the valley of the Burnawn. We turned a corner into the shelter of some trees and immediately the temperature changed. Now with the protection of the trees and the valley side, the day was quite pleasant again.
We followed the Burnawn down through the wood into Ga’ston. We were just in time; the bus had just arrived at the bus stop. Jimmy cadged enough from the kitty to pay his fare in the understanding that he would pay it back when we reached Darvel. (Serves him right – Ed). Malcolm at least could pay his own fare. But they weren’t at all chuffed. ‘Two pound forty-nine! Nearly fifty bob! I only wanted a hurl in the man’s bus, I didnae want tae buy the b***** thing’, was Jimmy’s comment much to the amusement of the other passengers.

With Jimmy’s wallet retrieved and the kitty reimbursed, we repaired to the Black Bull for FRT.

20 August Killie to Darvel - The Long Way Round

Davie, Jimmy, Johnny, Peter & Robert

‘With you, dear Jenny, I would pass some hours,

Amongst its shady walks and fragrant bow'rs.’*

This was the day we welcomed Johnny back for his first outing since breaking his femur in April. And the walking wounded of last week were not fully recovered either. So this was to be a short and easy walk. It suited Peter for he had appointment to keep and was cutting the walk short anyway and it suited the rest as well for we were in the mood for a short walk .

It was raining when we met at Bob’s place in Kilmarnock. Not that it mattered at that time for Bob had prepared a slide show of his Canadian adventure and Peter had pictures from Australia. And Bob made coffee so we didn’t care whether it rained at that time so long as it dried up for us going out. By the time we had been to British Columbia and Alaska, Perth and the west of Australia it was the back of eleven and the rain had dwindled to a steady spit. Still, we waterproofed just in case and set off for a short walk.

Bob led us through the houses on a road that only he among the group had travelled. He was to lead us for the first part of the walk, into the Irvine valley, and Davie was to take over from there. So, through the houses he led us, over the busy A77 by a bridge and into a wee country lane. Too early yet for the brambles which hung in orangey-green clusters in the hedgerows but we now know where to get them. And too early for the scribes growing on stunted trees beside the old Crookedholm school. Our indignation was raised again to see how this substantial Victorian building was being allowed to decay. It had obviously been used as some sort of council department until recent years but was now abandoned and showing signs of wear. We wondered how long it would be before it was demolished and the land sold off to housing developers. Sad.
Peter left us when we reached a path for Crookedholm. A couple of locals blethered at the end of the path and we stopped to blether with them and to remove the waterproofs for the rain had now gone. They pointed Peter in the right direction. He took the path through the wood and we carried on along the road. We were for the Old Loudoun Kirk so stuck to tarmac.

Past Templetonburn we went. Jimmy suggested an association with the name and the Knights Templar. Paul agreed. Then it was past Grougar Row, still on tarmac. And we would have stayed on tarmac but Davie wanted to show us Burnbank Loch so we diverted along a footpath. He promised Jimmy that he would point out a comfortable chair along this path. Johnny thought this was a good thing for Jimmy might not recognise a chair, comfortable or otherwise. Its good to have him back with us. We stopped beside the comfortable chair which overlooked the loch for Davie also said that, in winter, this was a great place for watching wildfowl. Today there were only two swans on the far side of the water. Not much to hang about for so we walked on.

We came back to tarmac and to the ancient Kirkyard of Loudoun Kirk (founded 1415 said our dates expert). Jimmy related the story of Janet Little (1759-1813), ‘The Scottish Milkmaid’, who is buried here and Davie told of Lady Flora Hastings (1806-139) who also lies here. But Robert and Johnny heard none of it, they were off in search of a comfortable seat on which to have lunch. So we all took lunch here, sandwiches eaten between throwing sticks for Holly. This might have been to stop her looking for bones.

Davie led the way after the peece. Waymarkers pointed us down a track towards Galston and this is the way we went. The way marker pointing to the left after a few hundred yards was noticed but it was assumed that Davie knew a better way since he strode on past it. We followed him. We have done this before and with the same sort of result. We came to a barbed-wire fence separating us from the main road. There was no sign of a path. We looked but there was no path. Surely Davie wasn’t lost? Not a bit of it, he just wanted to show us the new Irvine Valley flood defences. And they were well worth the seeing, weren’t they? But there was no path. We climbed the aforementioned barbed wire fence carefully, clambered up the bank, walked along the verge of the busy road and came into Galston.

A quick conference was held to decide our way back to Darvel with Davie offering the options and the walking wounded being given the casting vote. We opted for the high road.

Galston was left by the Sorn Road. A few spots of rain were felt and, by the time we reached the entrance to Burnhouse Brae Wood and the start of the Burn Anne walk, it was getting heavier. We walked up through the wood, the steep slopes catching out the infirm who hobbled their way to the tops. And the rain came seriously. Even in the shelter of the trees it was serious. Waterproofs were donned.

The trees of the ‘Burnawn’ were left, tarmac was regained and we started the climb of the valley side in the rain. Up by Middle Third and Moorend we went, and up towards ‘the mast’. The day wasn’t particularly cold and the climb was steep and heat built up inside waterproofs. It was a sweaty climb. Johnny (he of the broken femur who was having his first outing for a while) upped the pace on this climb. He was to suffer for it later but he upped the pace now. And this was to stay brisk as we climbed by the Galla Hill path-end and on towards the transmitter. Johnny started to flag. A halt was called to divest of the outer garments. ‘Meh beck is sooming’, said Jimmy and the rest said likewise for it had been a long, fast and hot climb and sweat had failed to evaporate in the damp air. A breather was also called, for Johnny‘s benefit.

At the smallholding of Keiland we left tarmac and turned downward into the valley. Then came a Davie diversion. Instead of sticking to the track like sensible folk would do, he turned right on a path. Certainly it was signposted as a part of the Valley network but it was narrow and wet. And, as we came into the trees it turned mucky as well. And slippery. We all slid at sometime along this part. Johnny slid. He cursed for now the fast pace was telling on recovering joints and a jar was the last thing he needed. Jimmy slid. He cursed more silently than Johnny. He had jerked his back and was reduced to a painful, slow progress. The rest waited to give him a rest but he preferred his slow progress and gradually, as the downward slope eased, he recovered. We reached tarmac again and the wounded were recovered sufficiently to make a slightly faster pace but still lagged behind, each sympathising with the other. We waited for them in Darvel and we all returned to Davie’s together. We changed out of sweat-wet clothing and felt more human again.

We retired to take refreshment in the Black Bull where the suffering sat and were waited upon. Such is our concern for our fellow Ooters. We hope the b*****rs are recovered for next week as we cannae keep this show of concern going for too long.

*Janet Little. From 'Epestle to Nell, Wrote from Loudoun Castle'