Some images of the walk between Lochs Doon and Riecawr

Images and video of the walk at Loch Doon featuring Alan McQ, Allan, Davie C, Davie Mc, Dougie, Gus, Hugh, Jimmy, Paul, Rex and Robert

Ness Glen 14 March

Alan, Allan, Davie Mc, Dougie, Gus, Ian, Jim, Johnny, Kenny R, Kenny T, Malcolm, Paul, Rex, Robert

On the week of the Cheltenham Festival, a field of fourteen geldings paraded in the paddock at the football ground car park for the Ness Glen Novices Stakes. Runners and riders (see Gus for the name of Winona’s sister) were well versed on the track as we would be repeating the route as detailed on the 27 December 2017, so we set off at a trot, in dry overhead conditions, on ground which was to be, officially, good to soft. The Promised Land was soon passed and the road up to Dalcairney Linn was taken at a canter. As is our norm now, we decided to have coffee at the benches at Barbeth, with this viewpoint arrived at after an hour. The track down to the Craigengillan road was mercifully quite dry but there was a chill wind on the exposed sections. Good views were had of Fort Carrick and the Dark Sky Observatory as we approached the stables, but the rain started to fall, a disappointment since the forecast had indicated no rain until around 2pm. Nevertheless, the start of the gorge was reached at noon and, after another twenty-five minutes, we were at the dam.

Lunch was taken in the shelter of the dam as the rain was unrelenting, not pelting but just steady, and we had to assume that Loch Doon was still there, as we set off on the return journey without going up to see it. A first for the Ooters doing this walk?
The high road was chosen for the chase down to the footbridge over the Doon, now resplendent with a new deck, and, with the conditions now miserable, the final gallop back to the cars was made in forty-five minutes. Use of the whip for the final straight had been banned, and it appeared that Holly, the only filly in the race, had won by a nose. Dougie, who was odds-on to fall at the first fence, managed to make it round unscathed, whilst Paul managed to avoid the water jump!
The whole walk had taken three and three-quarter hours, matching the quickest time previously recorded by your scribe in September 2016. It was difficult to get a good rub down as the rain was quite heavy by the time the paddock was reached and, since our grooms seemed to have disappeared, getting changed was the hardest bit of the day, being wet from the outside in, and the inside out.
FRT was taken at the Dalmellington Inn where the locals, well in control of the remote, were watching the aforesaid races at Cheltenham. Special mention goes to Alan, whose gallusness procured Kit-Kats for those taking coffee.
The legs had been well stretched, the only real hurdles had been the wet conditions, and the time in the pub was well earned.
Footnote. When the Irvine guys got home, the streets were bone dry.

Coffee stop

The water jump

Bridge over troubled water

Dam provides shelter for lunch

Some images of the walk through the Ness Glen featuring Alan McQ, Allan, Davie C,
Davie McM, Ian, Jimmy and Robert.

    Setting off alongside the Muck Water on a cold and frosty morning

 

    Footbridge across the River Doon near Bogton Loch

 

    Holly at Dalcairnie Linn

 

 

     Cold out of the sun

 

 

    On the main drive to Craigengillan House

 

 

    In the Ness Glen

 

 

 

    View down Loch Doon

 



    Heading back to Dalmellington



 

 

    Robert unwraps Alan McQ's Christmas gift to the Ooters. What could it be?

 

    It's a wee book detailing 40 walks within Ayrshire!

Ness Glen 17 February

Allan, Davie Mc, Gus, Jim, Johnny, Kenny T, Robert

Dalmellington had a fair smattering of snow as we met in the car park next to the football ground. Overhead conditions were dull, but dry, as we set off just before ten o’clock following the path next to the Water of Muck for our figure of eight walk. Underfoot conditions were tricky in places with melting snow lying on mud, but we made good progress up the Straiton road, deciding to stay on it rather than taking the shortcut over the footbridge to the road up to Dalcairnie Linn. We didn’t stop for coffee at the Linn but continued up to the bench at the top of the hill for our elevenses. Soon we were off again heading for Craigengillan and then for the gorge itself.

We had wondered about whether it would be passable today but our passage up the path was trouble free although caution had to be observed with the slippy rocks. Some erosion had taken place since our last visit but nothing dramatic. Lunch was taken at the bench at the Round House Café at Loch Doon. Up until then the only overhead moisture we had had to contend with was the melting snow falling off the trees above us, but, as we lunched, we got some sleety rain, and hence, by twelve forty we were ready for the return journey by the ‘high road’.
The steepish descent beyond Tracy’s bench had to be taken with care but before too long we were at the footbridge over the Doon which was now closed due to its dangerous state, not surprising since the last time we crossed it there were many planks missing. Crossing at the road bridge, we reckoned that we would be back at the cars in forty-five minutes and this is what we achieved in what, by this time, was lovely winter sunshine.
FRT was taken at the Dalmellington Inn which seemed to have had a wee bit of refurbishment, but was bereft of the usual punters following the racing, although, of course, it was on. We were given three bowls of crisps with our drinks and when some coffees were ordered, they came with shortbread and Kit-Kats. Well done to the owners for their hospitality although Ranger Jim got the idea he wasn’t welcome when the juke box started playing a variety of traditional Irish songs including ‘Forty shades of green’ and ‘When Irish eyes are smiling’!
One of the topics of the day was the news of tragedy of the missing walkers down in the Southern Uplands. Little did we know at the time that the area concerned was Durisdeer, one of our favourite haunts.
This had been a good day out in generally very decent overhead conditions. According to him that knows these things, it had taken us four hours and seven minutes, with the last stretch along the tarmac giving his hip a real pounding.

The path next to the Muck had been badly eroded at this point

Easier going up than coming down

Traditional view up the glen

Slip-sliding down the path

It's freezing in there, but see if Holly cares!

10 February Ness Glen Again

The day dawned crisp and clear. An overnight frost left the sky cloudless and the air still and crystal in its clarity, a perfect day for a walk. And we had the perfect walk for such a day. We would visit one of our old favourites, Ness Glen at Dalmellington, for the fifth time as a group.
Loch Doon looked superb when we gathered at the dam there, dead calm and reflecting the blue sky. Ice round the shore gave a white edge to the water separating it from the yellow and orange winter-dead grasses. The mountains to the south rose yellow and brown into the clear sky. And on the heights, many white patches of snow, still lying from Christmas time, gleamed in the morning sunshine. A magnificent starting point for our walk.
But, we turned our backs to the view and dropped down a path by the face of the dam, a path that would take us into the Ness Glen.
In keeping with our new philosophy of not doing things the same way all the time, we opted to do the walk in the reverse of our usual way, for the first time ever. So, when we reached the first split in the path, we took the higher route along the top of the gorge. The walk through the woods was an absolute pleasure this sunny morning. The ground was frozen solid, making the walking easy. The low winter sun shone through the canopy to dapple the ground, light the trunks of the pale beeches and dark alders and limes, and filigree the frost-rimed branches against the blue sky – an absolute delight. The first snowdrops of the year were spotted, showing white bells through the brown woodland grasses. And we, in light spirits to match the mood of the morning, walked along the top of the gorge to where Tracy’s bench once stood.
There was some dispute about whither this was really the spot of Tracy’s achievement but ‘he who knows’ was adamant and the doubter soon conceded. This was the very spot. Ronnie, the Ness Glen virgin, was told the story of the bench and was equally as taken with it was we all were and looked forward to meeting Tracy, as we all would like to do some day, if only we knew what she looked like. For five minutes we stood there discussing this and enjoying the winter sun on our backs. Then we moved on.
From Tracy’s bench the path dropped to the riverside again, and the estate road for Craigengillan. We turned up the road and approached the house. This is where Holly disgraced herself again, running and barking at the horses being fed by two women and totally ignoring Davie’s call back. When she eventually came to the call she was put on her lead, the ultimate punishment for a dog that always has the freedom to run, and she knew she was in disgrace. Now, with the errant dog on her lead and her tail between her legs, and with Davie’s blood pressure slowly returning to normal, we walked on down the main drive.
Halfway down the drive we took a left turn and came up through the trees onto the open moor. The track – ‘The old turnpike from Newton Stewart’, said the historian - continued to rise, and we continued to rise with it. On a knoll high above the home farm and overlooking the Doon valley, we sat down for coffee. The morning was pleasant, the sun warming and the views good. We settled down and took our time over coffee, a long time over coffee. But this is still February and the air is still cool. Eventually the cold drove us on.
We came down off our knoll, found the old turnpike track again and came to the ruined house of Barbeth. The reason for stopping here has been forgotten by the scribe but stop, we did. Perhaps was just another opportunity to have a blether and take in more of the sun. Or perhaps, which is more likely, it was a call of nature that caused the halt. Whatever the reason, the scribe spent this time taking photos over the Doon and Bogton Loch to Ben Beoch and Lethanhill. But five minutes later we were on our way again
Another stretch of open moor brought us to another ruin, Nether Barbeth. This is where we left the old turnpike, it to run westward and we to turn down towards Dalcairnie.
Dalcairnie Linn is one of Ayrshire’s hidden gems. The Dalcairnie Burn drops thirty feet into a rock-walled caldron surrounded on top by mature beech and ash trees. Today, the falling water was cold and splashes solidified as ice on the boulders strewn at the bottom where the sun failed to reach. And in the gloom of the cauldron the water gathered darkly before rushing out the narrow open end. The spray of the falls was back-lit by the sun and misted the far bank and the bridge above. Ronnie was impressed, as impressed as the rest of us were, and still are by the spectacle of the Linn.
A new path running away from the low end of the caldron needed exploring and remembering our new philosophy, we explored it. It took us down the side of the burn, below Dalcairnie Farm across a field and brought us to tarmac near to Bogton Loch. The first of the deer was spotted by Jimmy who halted everybody including the couple coming in the other direction for a sighting of it. The couple pointed out another three nearer the loch edge. Jimmy, the nature lover, would have spent time observing the deer but the rest walked on and he was forced to follow. That didn’t stop him spotting buzzard soaring in the thermals above Dalnean Hill, nor the kestrel flying over the road to hunt the rushes by the waterside. He does like to see this kind of thing, does Jimmy.
By the time nature had been pointed out to us, well to some of us, we had come along the Dalcairnie tarmac and were approaching the Straiton Road. The path to the Doon footbridge is now complete (see 7/11/07 & 1/10/08) and we took it to come onto Tarmac once again. And once again poor Holly had to be leashed for this is a busy road and narrow. Despite a suggestion that we should take the path to the west of the road where Holly might be freed again, Davie insisted we stick to tarmac. We think he was getting tired and needed the dog to help him along.
However, we weren’t on the road too long, just long enough for us to get to the Muck Bridge and turn onto the burn-side path. Davie asked the question. It was the same question he has asked before and he got the same response as before; no, we didn’t know what this bit of countryside was called. We were informed it was called ‘The Promised Land’ and commemorated an escapade by one McNab during the Wars of Independence. And how did the knowledgeable one know this? He learnt it from the information board we were now approaching. The ability to read is a wonderful thing. Well done Davie.
It was nearing lunch time when we walked up Craigengillan main drive. The pace was quickened by those at the front. They knew that the place chosen for lunch had only one bench and that held only four bodies and only the fleet would get a seat. It was a quick march the four hundred metres or so up the drive to the chosen place. That place was beside the nature ponds under Bellsbank. As we sat and ate, we were passed by many people out to enjoy the sunny day, some we had already seen on the other side of Bogton Loch. Many pleasantries were exchanged for it was a day for such things and we were in no hurry to leave our lunch spot. But some ‘had promises to keep and miles to go before we sleep’. So, somewhat reluctantly we packed up and took to the road again.
The woodland of Bellsbank was every bit as delightful as that of earlier for the sun hadn’t risen too high in the sky and the soft light filtered through the branches. Holly enjoyed herself by finding sticks, more accurately in this instance, tearing up half tree trunks, and cracking the back of knees with them. We enjoyed ourselves just wandering up the tarmac road through the woods.
We left the main drive as it crossed the river for we were to take the track on the east side of the water and come under Bellsbank to the bridge at the foot of the Ness Glen gorge. We almost made a mistake here for some were for taking the high road, the way we always go. But sense prevailed and we turned our steps towards the gorge.
The gorge was as spectacular as usual, another one of Ayrshire’s hidden gems. Not as much water came down the river as the last time we were here but there was sufficient to impress Ronnie. The water roared in the narrower parts and the echoes resounded off the rock walls of the gorge. Icicles hung from the rocks above the path dripping water on to us as we passed. The inner vandal showed in one or two of us who took delight in breaking off these icicles and dropping them into the river. A few fallen trees and landslips threatened to block our path, but somebody with a chainsaw had cleared most of the wood and the landslips were easily climbed round. So, while it is always interesting in the gorge, it presented us with no danger and we came safely through.
The gorge stops abruptly under the face of the dam of Loch Doon and it was here that we rejoined the path we had come down this morning. A hundred metre saunter brought us back to the cars around one.

Fluid Replacement Therapy was taken in the Dalmellington Inn.

Four Lochs, Two Adders, Half marathon walk

First Stop

First of the two adders to be seen.