Walk 294 -- Kirkcudbright to Dundrennan

Ages:  Colin was 70 years and 9 days.  Rosemary was 67 years and 152 days.

Weather:  Steady light rain all day.
Location:  Kirkcudbright to Dundrennan.
Distance:  16 miles.
Total distance:  2964 miles.
Terrain:  Some very muddy paths and tracks.  Some stony tracks.  A lot of concrete roads and lanes.
Tide:  (Didn’t get near the sea!)
Rivers:  No.356, Abbey Burn.
Ferries:  None.
Piers:  None.
Kissing gates:  None.
Pubs:  None on the Walk.  But we did visit the Sulwath Brew Pub in Castle Douglas several times while we were in the area.
‘Historic Scotland’ properties:  No.40, Dundrennan Abbey (which we visited on a different day).
Ferris wheels:  None.
Diversions:  None.
How we got there and back:  We were staying in our caravan in Dalbeattie.  This morning we drove to Dundrennan, parked the car, then caught a bus into Kirkcudbright.  (We had to pay our fares today!)
At the end we walked a mile along a lane from Fagra Farm to Dundrennan where our car was parked.  We drove back to Dalbeattie for tea, biscuits and a lie-down. 
  

No free bus fares today!  Unlike two days ago, we had to pay for our bus ride this morning.  It rained practically all day, so we embarked on a pretty soggy Walk.  We didn’t take many photos because we didn’t want to risk the cameras getting wet.  Those we did manage to take, we were huddled under Colin’s umbrella trying to face away from the wind so they aren’t very good.  They were bunched in groups, and occasionally we got drips on the lens.

We walked alongside the river in Kirkcudbright until we had passed the harbour, then we had to go inland a little because buildings blocked our way.  We came out at the marina.  From there we walked through a park — all this in the rain.  At the other end we merged into a housing estate, trying to keep as close to the river as we could.  We wondered if we would be able to get out at the other end because we have been ‘trapped’ in housing estates before.  But we found an unofficial path, obviously much used by the locals, which led round the end of the perimeter fence into a marsh.  It was a bit boggy underfoot, but we coped.  We carried on along the edge of what was once a wood of fir trees but was now cut down.  We came out on a track which led all round St Mary’s Isle — only it isn’t actually an island, just a long thin peninsula.

Now if it had been a sunny day with the sunlight dappling through the trees, the next part of our Walk would have been truly beautiful.  But it was a grey, drippy and gloomy day — despite that it was still beautiful!

I love trees, I love woods in the springtime with their pale green new leaves and the assortment of wild flowers on the woodland floor.  Added to that, we had glimpses of the river, now an estuary, through the trees on our right.  It was boggy in places, but we didn’t let that spoil our enjoyment.

There was the all-pervading scent of wild garlic which was prolific in the woods.  As a child, Colin used to call them “stinking nans”, it was a local name in Derbyshire.  We recalled the time when our own children were young and we took them for a picnic in woods at this time of year.  Maria was about six at the time.  She came trotting back to me and said, “I’ve just been running through the smelly grandmas!”  Ever since then, these lovely Spring flowers have been known as “smelly grandmas” in our family!

We came to the end of the ‘island’ where we could see an extra bit of land, detached, through the trees.  Near there we found a log where we could sit without getting too wet, so we stopped to eat our pies — in the rain!  The path curved round and followed the other side of the peninsula, almost back to where we had started.

We merged on to a potholed road, and further on some workmen were filling the potholes with stones.  Eventually we came out on to the proper road which had recently been retarmacked with those horrible little stones which are not properly embedded in the tar.  We thought we were going to get splattered with tarry grit, but we didn’t because the traffic was light.  A sweeping lorry came along, supposedly picking up the surplus stones, but it was quite inefficient.  The road looked just as bad after it had passed by.  There was a pavement for the mile we had to walk this road, so we didn’t need our bright yellow waistcoats.

The road went inland so we turned off along a lane.  Further on the lane went inland so we turned off along a track.  It was a well made-up track as far as the turnoff to the lifeboat station. After that it was a bit muddy.

We were alongside the estuary, and had glorious views of it through the trees — at least they would have been glorious if they hadn’t been so uniformly grey.  But we remained in good spirits because we were surrounded by wild flowers and trees with their new leaves, a lovely green even in that dull light.

We also found an unusual coloured snail sliding across the track.  We sat on a log to eat our sarnies — in the rain!
Further on we passed a car stuck in the mud.  Two men had given up trying the drive it out, they had only got themselves stuck in deeper with their efforts.  The track had narrowed to footpath width long since, so we don’t know why they were there.  We could only conclude that they drove on too far after the track had deteriorated into a muddy footpath — but where did they think they were they going?  They had tried to turn round by driving off the side, and got themselves into even deeper mud.  They seemed to be quite cheerful about their situation, they said they had phoned for help and a Landrover was on its way to haul them out.

The path emerged from the trees at Torrs Point, and there it became a narrow cliff path around the Point.  At last we were at the mouth of the estuary and should have had views across the Solway Firth — but not on a rainy day like today, we could barely see back across the mouth to the peninsula we were on during the last Walk.

However we did have views ahead along the next bit of rocky coast.  Little did we realise that it would be the last view of the coast on this Walk, of which we had so far completed less than half.  There were several stiles to get over, one of which presented me with a lot of difficulty because the steps were much too high.  Or is it that I’m getting old?  These days I find I have to look at a stile and plan how I’m going to climb over it before starting to climb up.  My back problem limits my flexibility in twisting over a stile, and my thigh muscles are not strong enough to haul myself up huge steps nor to lift my legs very high to get over the top.  Far better to have a kissing gate!
We climbed up to an entrance to the military ranges.  Way back on our last Walk we had stopped to chat to a local man who was sitting on his garden wall.  He gave us lots of tips as to how we should proceed, and had asked if we knew that the MOD had now opened a footpath through Kirkcudbright ranges.  He told us that if we wanted to walk there (we did because it is nearer the sea) we should ring up beforehand to make sure they were not shooting on the day we wanted to walk through.  So yesterday we had called in at Kirkcudbright Tourist Information Centre where they furnished us with a leaflet.  So we had a sketchmap of the open paths through the ranges and I rang the number on the leaflet to be assured we could walk through today quite safely because they had no plans to shoot.

Once inside, the paths were well waymarked and we were warned not to wander off them on pain of death!  (I don’t think they know themselves how much unexploded ordnance lurks in the undergrowth, they have been shooting there for so many decades.)  We walked through woods at first which was very pleasant, and we admired the many wild flowers we passed.

We came to a building with toilets, but it was completely locked up.  Colin needed to change his pad — yes, he still has to wear small ones, and on wet days like today his artificial sphincter does not work as well as it might.  There was no one about, so he did it outside!

From there the route across the ranges was quite zigzag and rather like a roller-coaster.  We were disappointed that it was not footpaths, but unforgiving concrete roads for miles and miles.  And warning notices were everywhere about the dangers of wandering off these roads.  We only saw the sea from a distance, we never got up close.  Altogether it was quite tedious, especially in the rain.  There was nothing much to look at, except the odd rusty tank.  We sat on the wall of a bridge to eat our apples — in the rain!

A white van was buzzing about and passed us twice on our journey through.  It didn’t seem to be going anywhere in particular and I’m positive they were keeping an eye on us, making sure we were genuine hikers sticking to the route and not up to any mischief.  I expect they had us on their radar — I felt a little spooked.  (We have experienced this before when walking across military land, both at Shoeburyness in Essex and Thorney Island in West Sussex.)  There were warning notices everywhere about the dangers of wandering off the concrete roads.  But sheep and cattle were grazing all over the place, don’t they ever get blown up?

Colin worked here for a few weeks back in the 1970s.  He was working for Plessey at the time, and most of their contracts were for the MOD — he often worked alongside the Army.  All these years later he couldn’t remember much about the work he did here, but when he saw the Sergeants’ Mess in the distance he exclaimed, “That is where I was introduced to Glayva!”  (Of course, it is only the important things in life that stick in the memory!)

Soon after the bridge where we ate our apples, there was a fork in the road with no waymarks.  Help!  Are we going to be blown to smithereens?  We made an educated guess as to which way we should proceed — and got it right, thank goodness.  A bit further on the concrete road turned into an ordinary track which was much easier on the feet.
We passed a ‘Portaloo’ which was not locked, but it was dirty and didn’t flush.  But there were fresh tissues and toilet paper in there, so it was obviously intended to be used.  We didn’t — I’d rather hide behind a bush than use toilets in such a state.

The track led us on to a tarmacked road which turned down a stream valley.  It was very pretty, there were carpets of smelly grandmas….er, sorry — wild garlic!  This was the best bit of the whole ranges walk.

We came to an exit gate to the ranges where we sat on the wall of a bridge to eat our chocolate — in the rain!  Then it was uphill, uphill, uphill, higher than we’d been all day — a real sting in the tail when we were so tired.  At least the rain ceased and gave us a break.  We were amused by the cows rushing along next to us in adjacent fields — this happened in several fields.  At last we emerged on to a lane near a farm called Fagra.  The way on was to turn right, but we didn’t do that today.

That ended Walk no.294, we shall pick up Walk no.295 next time in the lane by the farm called Fagra.  It was five to six, so the Walk had taken us nine hours exactly.  We turned left and walked down into Dundrennan where our car was parked.  We drove straight back to Dalbeattie where we had our tea and biscuits in the caravan.

Dundrennan  Abbey

We visited Dundrennan Abbey on a different day, but it was still pouring with rain.  Or it was until just before we arrived, then it stopped but it was still very drippy.
The abbey was founded in the 12^th century by Cistercian monks from Rievaulx Abbey in Yorkshire.  It was connected to Glenluce Abbey, which we have already visited, and Sweetheart Abbey, which we shall pass by soon, because they were all founded by the same monks.  Also this abbey was where the tragic Mary Queen of Scots spent her last night in Scotland, the land of her birth, before she fled to England where she mistakenly believed Elizabeth I would protect her from her enemies.

There is not much of the abbey left, but enough to show it must have been very impressive in its time.  Colin was much more interested in a swallow’s nest he spied inside one of the arches.

To tell the truth, Colin would far rather have spent the day at the Sulwath brew pub in Castle Douglas which we did manage to visit several times when we were in the area.

Walk 293 -- Cardoness Castle to Kirkcudbright

Ages:  Colin was 70 years and 7 days.  Rosemary was 67 years and 150 days.

Weather:  Sunny intervals with the occasional very short shower, one of which was hail!
Location:  Cardoness Castle to Kirkcudbright.
Distance:  17 miles.
Total distance:  2948 miles.
Terrain:  Main road for only a hundred yards, then down a bank.  Lots of tracks, lots of very quiet roads, lots of sun-speckled bluebell woods and some tiny bits of beach.
Tide:  Going out, coming in.
Rivers:  No.354, Water of Fleet.  No.355, River Dee.
Ferries:  None.
Piers:  None.
Kissing gates:  No.304 at Bar Hill.  Nos. 305 & 306 at Brighouse Bay
Pubs:  ‘The Selkirk Arms’ in Kirkcudbright where Colin stayed when he was working on Kirkcudbright Ranges in the 1970s.  We quaffed two Sulwath beers, ‘The Grace’ and ‘Galloway Gold’.  Both very nice!  (We did this on one of our ‘rest’ days, but we didn’t have lunch there, as planned, because it was too expensive.  We went to a local café instead, where we had a superb meal at a much more reasonable price.)
‘Historic Scotland’ properties:  No.39, MacLellan’s Castle (which we visited on a different day).
Ferris wheels:  None.
Diversions:  None.
How we got there and back:  Yesterday we had driven up from home and booked our caravan into a site in Dalbeattie.  This morning we drove into Kirkcudbright, parked the car and tried to catch a bus to Cardoness Castle.  Colin asked the driver of a bus parked up there if he was the correct bus — he said “No!” but he would take us if we wanted because he was going that way.  He refused to take any money for fares because “I haven’t got a machine!”  We were the only passengers, and he dropped us at the exact spot we wanted.  Thank you!
At the end we were at the car.  We drove straight back to Dalbeattie for tea, biscuits and a lie-down.

Today started well with a free bus ride!  (We think it was a school bus returning to base.)  We walked eastwards along the main road from Cardoness Castle and crossed the river using the main road bridge.

A few yards further on we found that people before us had made an unofficial path down the bank to a track where we wanted to be, so we scrambled down it.  We had left the A75 forever!  We were so relieved!  We went through a gate on to the track which came from under the main road, and we marched southwards. 

It was so quiet!  The sound of the traffic faded the further we walked, the sun was shining, we had views back to the castle and everywhere was so green.  It was heavenly!  There was a bit of a cold wind blowing across from the river, but soon we entered woods where it was much warmer.

The sun was filtering through the new leaves, there were wild flowers everywhere, we had views between the trees of the estuary, we loved the mossy walls, the bluebells — it was all just breathtakingly beautiful! 

Woodlands are exceptionally wonderful in the Spring, especially woodland bordering the coast.

We reached a caravan site.  It seemed to be residential but it was mostly deserted.  Perhaps it was holiday lets.  There was a nice beach attached, and that was completely devoid of people on this lovely day.  We walked a bit of the beach, crunching shells, and sat on a rock which was out of the wind to eat our pasty / quiche.

We would have liked more beach, but we had to exit at the main caravan site entrance where there was a phone box without a door.

We walked a short bit of a very quiet road past some cows who seemed to be admiring the view.  Then we followed a twisty potholed track past holiday chalets where a notice told us pedestrians have right of way.  (I liked that!)

We passed a couple of nice beaches, and there were a few people about now, mostly exercising their dogs.

A notice told us we were at Carrick Foreshore which is agricultural land with a path to a coastal viewpoint.  Cattle are excluded during July and August.  (No camping or overnight parking.  Please take your litter and used barbecues home.  Dogs are your responsibility.  Together we can all enjoy this special place.)
We then found a new path (not marked on the map) which followed the coast instead of twisting back inland through a farm.

We could tell it is normally blowy in these parts when we came across a dead tree which had bent in the wind so much it was practically horizontal!  There is a derelict concrete harbour at Knockbrex Bay, and we surmised it was something to do with the Second World War — it looked that old.  There were very neat stones in the harbour wall.

Colin found a gravestone, but we both failed to make out the inscription on it — except that it was 19^th century.  The wind was still too cold to be comfortable, so when we found a grass bank behind a gorse bush which shielded us from the draughts, we sat down and ate our sarnies.  After we got going again, we came across an ‘arbour’ with a seat in it which was perfectly sheltered and would have been much nicer.  Sod’s law!

The path connected up with a track round Bar Hill, and saved us about half a mile of walking.  It started to rain, but not for long.  We saw lots of orchids on this patch, but we had already put our cameras away to avoid them getting wet so we didn’t photograph them.

A derelict building reminded me vaguely of my Grandad’s house in Arundel where we used to holiday every year until I was eleven.

I don’t know why, perhaps it was the stone it was built from or the pseudo battlements round the top.  What purpose did it have?  Some kind of fancy pillbox?  Colin pretended to be a sentry outside his sentry box.

We came out on to a quiet road and immediately it started to rain again — only this time it was hail!  Only for a few minutes, thank goodness, because it hurt!

We passed an extraordinary building.  At first we thought it was another ‘castle’ of the tower-type because that is what it looked like.  But then it revealed itself as an enormous Edwardian dairy, absolutely derelict but still a beautiful building.  It was HUGE!  It was for sale, Grade A listed.  Who is going to buy that with all its restrictions and responsibilities?  Very neat stones in the outer wall — this seems to be a feature of this area.

We stopped to chat to a man sitting on his garden wall.  He was very keen to tell us about a ruined castle up ahead, but admitted, “There’s not much to see!”  (He was right about that, so we didn’t bother to divert to see it.)  But he also told us about some new coastal paths we shall come to which are not marked on the map — useful information for which we were grateful.
The road was dreary and always seemed to be going uphill — was this our imagination because we were tired?  But it was very quiet, hardly any traffic so we shouldn’t complain really.  Eventually we turned down an even quieter lane, then took a track across towards a farm.  It turned out this is an official public footpath, but they didn’t tell us that until we were half way along.  Good thing that the man on his garden wall had told us this was the way to go, otherwise we would have stuck to the road.

We could hear cows mooing and as we approached the gate where they had gathered, the noise got very loud.  It was as if they were desperate to escape, and some of them were trying to mount each other!  There was a quad-bike working in the next field, spreading fertiliser or something, and we think the noise of this had upset them.  They certainly were not happy cows, or were they bullocks?
We carried on to Brighouse Bay which is a very nice beach.  We sat on a rock and ate our apples.   We wished we could walk along the beach, but the road led away from it so this was only possible for a few yards.

We decided to follow the man on the garden wall’s advice, and go and look for the path through the wood he had told us about which wasn’t marked on the map.  So, after about half a mile of tarmac, we turned up a concrete road which led towards some cottages.  Before we reached them we turned right into a field and marched towards the woodland on the other side — followed by a herd of cows!  We lost the path, and I was convinced we were on a fool’s errand.  But Colin was determined — he stomped on and found a sort of gate into the woods.  It didn’t look as if anyone had been that way for a long time.

A faint path led deep amongst the trees, so we tried to follow it but lost it.  Would we have to retrace our steps and walk along the road?  We were just about to do so when we came across a well-trodden path leading across in front of us from right to left!!  This path was not marked on our oh-so-new-and-expensive OS map, yet there it was, clear as a bell and obviously well used.

We were so relieved, I can’t tell you!  What’s more, we were in a wildflower heaven.

We were surrounded by carpets of wild garlic, bluebells, even orchids all in brilliant flower.

With the sun filtering through the new leaves and views of the estuary through the trees, it was just perfect! 

We followed this path for over a mile, revelling in all the beauty which surrounded us.

We thought we were completely on our own, but towards the end we could hear talking ahead.  It was an elderly woman, who was very chatty, out with her grand-daughter.  They were collecting moss to make flower baskets, so they told us.  What a delightfully old-fashioned thing to be doing!

It was shortly afterwards that we noticed the odd rhododendron bush amongst the wild bushes.  We emerged from the wood into a posh housing estate, and exited to a beach picnic site through a gate which said “Cottage Only” on the other side!  They were certainly keeping the existence of that lovely path a secret, and we would never have found it if we hadn’t stopped way back to chat to a man sitting on his garden wall.  Thank you!

We were at Nun Mill Bay, time was getting on and we’d both had enough of this Walk.  We sat at a picnic table to eat our chocolate, hoping it would give us enough energy to tackle the last three miles which was all along a road.  Colin amused himself by taking pictures of a black-headed gull, and I had a look at a plaque on a stone plinth which read: 
The ships timbers lying due east in the bay are all that remain of the schooner MONREITH, of Wigtown, wrecked in Kirkcudbright Bay on the 12^th of November 1900. 
Interesting, but we were just too tired to even look for the wreck even though the tide was out.

We took a deep breath, then route-marched the three miles along the road to Kirkcudbright.  There was not much traffic so it wasn’t too bad.

The road ran alongside the estuary, so we were treated to magnificent views across the sands in the evening light.  We had to walk north ‘past’ Kirkcudbright, which we could see in the sunshine across the way, before we reached the bridge over the river.

We passed the official town sign before the bridge.  There were some youths on the bridge being loud and showing off, so we ignored them and barged past — I didn’t teach youths like that for sixteen years, plus a further six years part-time, without learning a thing or two about coping with this type of behaviour.

As we walked towards our car, parked next to MacLellan’s Castle, we passed a plaque about a town cat set into a wall.  It gave a website, but when I tried to look it up on my computer later it came up with 334 million websites about Las Vegas!  So we never did find out what happened to ‘Ceasar’ except that he was the town cat from 1990 to 2004.
We also passed a rather soulful wooden sculpture dedicated to ‘Loved Ones lost at Sea’.  A mother hugging a child, I thought it was very meaningful.

That ended Walk no.293, we shall pick up Walk no.294 next time outside MacLellan’s Castle in the centre of Kirkcudbright.  It was twenty-five to seven, so the Walk had taken us nine and a quarter hours.  We drove straight back to our caravan in Dalbeattie for tea, biscuits and a lie-down.

MacLellan’s Castle

We visited MacLellan’s castle on a different day.  It is more of a luxurious town house than a castle, built by Thomas MacLellan in the 16^th century in the centre of Kirkcudbright.  It was built in a grand style to display the family’s wealth, and they even entertained royalty there.

However, by the 18^th century the family fortunes had completely disintegrated leaving nothing to maintain such a grand residence.  It was stripped of its roof, emptied of its contents, and  the resultant ruin passed into the hands of the State in the early 20^th century.