22 July Ayrshire Coast Part 7 – Alloway to Troon

When the moon is fair and roon,

The fishes swim frae Ayr tae Troon.

But when the moon is roon and fair,

The fishes swim frae Troon tae Ayr.

Jimmy was late again. Not that his lateness bothered us too much today for we sat in Rex’s place drinking his coffee, eating his ANZAC biscuits and watching the rain fall in his garden. After last week, nobody was in too much of a hurry to go into the wet today. Then Jimmy arrived and spoiled everything for us. Now that we were all gathered, we had to go for a walk.
Learning a belated lesson from last week, waterproofs were worn from the start. The rain wasn’t too heavy, just sufficient to be wetting, and the need for waterproofing was felt us all. So, fully watertight we set off, leaving Rex’s place around ten o’clock.

Rex disappeared into a hedge. It is a good job somebody kept an eye on him. None of us would have noticed the slender gap in the hedge that admitted us into a wee wood edging Rozelle Park. But we saw Rex disappear and we followed him through the hedge, through the wood and into the park.
We came through Rozelle and crossed the road into Belleisle golf course where we were all shushed and stood still as some suitably attired hackers drove their balls at an unseen green. This was the first of several golf courses we would encounter today and it set the ball hitters off. Last week’s games were discussed, performances were analysed and scores compared. They expressed their disappointment that Tom Watson, at the age of fifty-nine, hadn’t won the Open at Turnberry, a feeling that even the non-hackers among us could share. However, Tom has struck a blow for all of us oldies and we hope that our own gowfers are inspired by his performance. Watch this space.
We left Belleisle by the north gate, a gate that hasn’t been open to traffic for many years, and came onto the Doonfoot road. The rain eased to a gentle spit and the sky appeared to be clearing from the west. Waterproofs came off. Then, turning down Carnwinshoch View we came to the seafront. The rain went and the day definitely improved. The weather gods smiled on us once again.

The esplanade at Ayr is longer than it looks. From where we joined it, to the harbour is at least two miles; two flat miles, but two long miles for we could see in front of us the buildings of the harbour and they never seemed to get any closer. And the area was too familiar to all except young Davie C to provide any interest. Only the banter of the Ooters provided any form of diversion as we walked along the seafront. Forty-five minutes it took us to cover the distance to the fort. Sometime during these three-quarters of an hour, the sun came out. It would stay with us for the rest of the day.
Now that we were in the older part of the town, the history lessons started. Ian pointed out St. John’s Tower where Bruce held his first parliament after Bannockburn. Then the walls of the fort built by Cromwell were pointed out. ‘Cromwell must have been some brickie’, said the cynic, ‘for the walls to last as long’. We ignored him. The corner bastion with its turret was examined as we walked round to the harbour.
We walked up the South Harbour to the new brig, crossed it and came into The Newton. This was the busiest part of the walk, both with vehicular and foot traffic and we upped the pace to get away from the buzz as quickly as we could. Then we found ourselves in the old industrial part of the town, passing by the shells of former works and abandoned railway lines, the remnants of once thriving industry. Most are closed and abandoned but some are still working and the drones of heavy machinery accompanied us to the sea again.
We left the industry of The Newton and came along the top of the sea wall. Coffee called and, just where the town gave way to the open country again, we sat for a break. Some managed to get room on the bench there but most of us had to make do with the sea wall. Now Jimmy could enjoy Rex’s ANZAC biscuits. But not for long for the keen were already packing up and we were on our way even before Ronnie had drained his cup.
The ‘open country’ was the golf course of Prestwick St. Nicholas. After coffee, we walked alongside this, between it and the sea. The sun was shining and the coarse dune vegetation, complete with wild flower show*, was alive with butterflies. The naturalist was in raptures. The cloud was beginning to break on the peaks of Arran adding a landscape interest as well. This part of the walk was a treat. And it was to stay a treat until we reached the esplanade of Prestwick seafront.
Once again, we encountered the crowds. But they only hung about around the attractions of the built-up area and we were soon into quieter reaches, this time around Prestwick Old Course. Our path climbed the dunes to overlook the course. ‘Look at the length of that!’ exclaimed Ian. We thought he might be boasting again but he was only drawing our attention to a long, straight fairway. The golfers were suitably impressed. The non-golfers shrugged their shoulders and walked on.
Now we were joined by a pup; a pup that preferred our company to that of the two women who followed us; a pup that was determined to accompany us all the way to Troon if we let it. Despite calls from the rear, it stayed with us. Eventually, as it appeared that we were walking away from its owner, Jimmy called for it to be captured. Rex did the necessary and the pup was reunited with its owner. Now we could walk on in peace.
We had to walk round the edge of the golf course to find the bridge over the Pow Burn. A track took us from there down past the caravan park of St. Andrews to a long, sandy beach. Whether it was the thought of the fish supper waiting for us in Troon or just a rush to get off the sand, the scribe cannot say. All that can be said is that the pace was picked up. And by the usual bunch. Even when the ringed plovers were spotted, there was no let up, just a brief acknowledgement then on again. We raced along that sand.
Eventually we left the beach, climbed through the dunes and came to another golf course, the Ladies Golf Course of Troon. Yes, apparently the ladies of Troon have their own golf course. And, to prove the point, two ladies swung freely along a fairway to our left. The golfers admired the swing; the rest just admired the ladies.
The Ladies Golf Course stretches to Troon’s South beach. As we had worked up a fair old sweat on the beach and tongues were hanging out with thirst, when we reached esplanade of the South Beach, we sat for another coffee. Fortunately, this one lasted longer than the first.
Troon Beach was busy with holidaymakers and children enjoying a South Ayrshire Council ‘Fun Day’. (By the expressions on the faces of the supervisors, the weans were enjoying it much more than they were.) This time it was pleasant to stroll among the crowd along the promenade in the sunshine. We came round the Ballast Bank to the harbour, found the Wee Hurry open sand ordered our fish and chips. We sat outside to eat and watch the seals sunbathing in the harbour.

After lunch, we walked back into town, took the bus back to Ayr and took FRT in Smiths on Dalblair road. Then we bussed back to Alloway to the start of the day’s outing.

*Note from the botanist: Ian questioned my assertion that Tormentil was the only four petalled, yellow flower native to Britain. Today he drew my attention to another. Yes, Ian, I have to concede. I was wrong. All the cabbage family (Cruciferae), as the Latin nomenclature suggests, have cruciform, yellow flowers. Perhaps what I should have said was that Tormentil is the only cruciform, yellow flower native to the uplands of Britain. I apologise for any misunderstanding (said he, with his tongue in his cheek). Now that I know some people actually listen to what I say, I will need to be more circumspect when making statements like this.

5 March Carrick Hills from Alloway

Illness and family commitments reduced the group to four this morning but the healthy and non-committed four (not forgetting Holly, the dug) gathered at Rex’s place in Alloway. Not to be outdone by Johnny, Rex provided coffee and Anzac biscuits, a sweet cookie supposedly developed by the Anzacs at Gallipoli. Very good they were, but your correspondent couldn’t eat more than four or five at one sitting. Well done, Rex.

Rain met most of us on the way to Alloway but during coffee a brightness appeared in the sky. This brightness was to come and go for most of the day, the dryness interspersed with scudding rain showers but the brightening sky was sufficient at that time to stir us from our sloth and set us on our way in heartier mood.

Our way was through Rozelle Park where the granite sculptures were commented on, Rex’s comment on the ‘nose picker’ deemed very appropriate. Then it was into Bellisle Park. It’s an absolute rotten shame what is being allowed to happen to this park. Rex said that many of the animals from the children’s corner had been sold off. Davie showed us the boarded-up glasshouse that was once a main feature of the park and Jimmy wondered how long it would be before houses were built on the site. A depressing comment on our local authorities. Then the right bank of the Doon was taken towards The Millenium Bridge and the shore. Jimmy and Davie talked birds as we walked beside the river and the other two showed some kind of interest, especially Paul who used his binoculars occasionally. And Rex mentioned the black swan that frequented the river for a few years.

On the shore we met the strong south-westerly that whipped the drying sand along in mini sandstorms. How Holly coped with this sand-blasting is difficult to say - she seemed to ignore it - but at man height it stung the hands and face and made walking and observing wildlife difficult. Still, oystercatcher, redshank, ringed plover, dunlin and curlew were spotted, especially the large flock of curlew that took to the air at our approach near the caravans of Craig Tara.

We left the shore at Craig Tara and came up through the caravans to the Dunure road. We were to stay on Tarmac for the rest of the day. At the sign pointing out ‘Carrick Hills’ we left the Dunure road and took to the minor one climbing the hill. A large, new house in the ‘Grand Designs’ manner was examined, the opinions being positive. Then the road climbed steeply. A shallow gulley held the first primroses seen this year, a sign that spring might not be far way. And it was hoped by some that lunch would not be far away for hunger came calling on this part of the climb. A sheltered spot beside a line of beech trees was found where we could dine in relative comfort out of the strong wind. And at last came a rest for we had not stopped walking since Alloway. The sun appeared but this was closely followed by the rain, not particularly heavy rain but enough to make Paul don the waterproofs as a precaution.
After lunch the rain continued only for a few minutes but Paul was encouraged to keep his waterproofs on to keep the rain away. This was successful for the next time we were to see the rain we were nearly home. The trees were left behind and the hill opened out onto moorland.

The view also opened out but, in the present weather conditions, this was not as extensive as it might have been. Still it was admired as we climbed the service road to the radio mast. This was as far as most had been on the hill but the top was barely half a mile away and Rex was keen to go to there. So the road was left and the moor taken to. A wet patch cooled the road-hot feet but the top was gained without real incident. The view from the trig-point was limited by the rain skudding up the firth but the coast as far as Irvine was clear and landmarks of Ayr, Troon and Irvine were pointed out. But the wind was beginning to chill and a retreat from the top was in order.

The return was by way of a reverse of the outward journey, at least as far as Craig Tara. As we left the radio mast, Rex and Paul, fifty metres in front of the other two, spotted the hare. The other two thought it was a figment of imagination brought on by altitude but this was to be the highlight of the wildlife on the hill.

The pace was brisk but comfortable on the downward tarmac and it was kept brisk along the road to the outskirts of Doonfoot. The unfortunates being interviewed by the traffic polis were noted in the passing. At Doonfoot the old railway cycle path was reached and this was taken. This was an interesting part of the walk. Paul had not been here before but Jimmy and Davie remembered parts of it from the Auchincruive cycle that we did from Rex’s house last year. The single roe deer standing on the track some twenty metres away was seen by all before it disappeared into the undergrowth. The Doon was crossed on the old railway bridge and gave us a good view of the Auld Brig under the new road one. Then came the tunnel. Rex tried to convince Jimmy and Davie that we had come through it on the afore mentioned cycle but neither of the pair could remember it. Who’s getting senile? Rex or Jimmy or Davie? Or all three, perhaps.

The streets of Alloway, past Burns Cottage, took us back to Rex’s place, the whole return journey being done without a halt. A fairly long walk (17K+) and another good one despite the weather.
Beered at Rex’s.