Snow was falling as
he headed towards Longtown to avoid the busy A74 cross border route. It looked
set to keep on snowing through the morning, but the clouds stayed where they
were whilst he walked out from underneath them. Gaining his first view into
Scotland, he could clearly see far-off hilltops of the Southern Uplands
decorated with a dusting of white. Situated just outside of Longtown, Arthuret
Church made quite an impression on him. Built from a striking red sandstone, it
was not dissimilar to the first church in England he'd passed, all the way back
in Shotwick village. After passing the military munitions storage area, just a
brief road walk west was needed to reach Gretna. By the M6 motorway bridge the
view opened up south, back to Blencathra and other Cumbrian fells. The whole
area that he'd recently hiked through now lay deep under fresh snow.
When Alex stormed
onto Scottish soil he slowed just long enough to take a photograph of the
famous First House; shoving his blue spoon, that always travels with him, into
the frame too for a personal touch. He stopped at the post office first to send
some maps and receipts home, then followed his nose into the bakery, where a
long overdue scotch pie was waiting for him. The sudden abundance of Scottish
accents all around was marked. Especially so because he had been away from the
crowds for the past few days.
Leaving
Gretna in weak sunlight, he could see great black clouds still dumping sleet
and snow upon the vicinity of Carlisle. They threatened to catch him up as he
went along to Eastriggs, but he only received a brief sprinkle from the
fringes. Finding a rare waymark for a cycle route to the Inner Hebridean Island
Iona fixed up on a post left him excitable about the rapidly approaching
prospect of touring such an amazing place himself.
He called in for a
piping hot mug of tea costing only 50p at the cafe in Eastriggs. It was very
homely there as he watched the end of Dickinson's Real Deal. When he found out
it was filmed in Llandudno he blurted out 'That's where I'm from!' to the old
lady behind the counter. Soon after, he found himself naughtily entering a
sweet shop in Annan. For the first time since he was a child he had cravings
for Dolly Mixtures. After gorging half the goody bag on a bench, a young girl
came up to him asking for money for some 'fags', which did take a bit of the
fine gloss off his day.
There was a cycle
path he could follow next to get across the River Annan and then through
Newbie. Whence, a very pleasant track and beach walk alongside the Solway Firth
proved extra special that evening. Leading him forward to witness a golden
sunset over Criffel, beyond nearby Powfoot, bringing an end to his first day
north of the border.
*
There was to be no
more snow fall, but a bitterly cold morning walk saw Alex reaching the mouth of
the River Nith. After an all too short period in Glencapel's warm general
store, which felt tropical to him, he just had to cook up some soup for himself.
He sat in a shelter opposite the Nith Hotel clutching the hot pan to his chest,
with the heat slowly radiating through his two fleece layers. Glad that he'd
braved it outdoors, this was one of those moments when the simple resources he
had upon him made petty discomforts like the cold negligible.
The sun came out on
the way upriver, bringing much welcomed warmth to the air with it. A sign that
spring was now finding its way northwards. At Kingholm Quay a friendly middle
aged man dressed in smart new walking clothes struck up conversation with him.
He wanted to know where Alex had come from that day. He replied that he'd slept
out near Powfoot, and the man's face lit up with a big smile when he then told
him he'd come here by way of Caerlaverock Castle. That seemed to really make
his day, and it put Alex in a chirpy mood too as he prepared himself once more
for the off.
With the sun beaming
down now, he tried hanging his Power Monkey charger from a strap on his pack.
It seemed to work, but he couldn't relax with it swinging around back there,
and so, disconnected it when he arrived in Dumfries. There was a glowing
radiance about the place in late afternoon light as he wound his way through
the town centre, finding a quaint old bridge to cross over the Nith. After
taking a lane, then path, out of Cargenbridge, he ended up in Mabie Forest
overnight; but not with a bed in the bunkhouse there as he had originally
hoped.
*
Heading for the
Colvend Coast, this atmospheric morning brought sightings of deer in the
grounds of Kirkconnell House. After
leaving the western bank of the River Nith, he skirted ruins of Sweetheart Abbey with a mythological glimmer to them in the mist. Wanting to avoid the main road, Alex used a
lane past Overton Farm to return to the estuary. He'd seen on the map that the area was marked
as being sand; however, it turned out to be an unwelcoming expanse of salt
marsh, with many gunky streams to be crossed. Eventually he was delivered onto the promised sands, but not before
Carsethorn.
He had some food near
Southerness Lighthouse whilst several flocks of geese crossed the estuary. Looking across the water back to England, the
elongated view of frostbitten fells was excellent. Further along, on Mersehead Sands the going
was easy with the tide still well out.
The landscape around Sandyhills was so picturesque at sunset that he
found the Solway Coast just kept getting better and better with each passing
day.
*
The coastal path out of the village was a great one, bringing the first sea
cliffs of notable size in his walk. A
few exhilarating miles took him to Rockcliffe, and then Kippford. Most agreeable villages, quite like they
could be somewhere in Devon or Cornwall. An interesting forestry track diverted him away from the road into
Dalbeattie. He then passed through
Palnackie and found a nearly forgotten path south to Almorness House for a
muddy interlude. He faced a glum hour
along the A711, so queued eight long songs up on his iPod, getting to
Auchencairn in a downpour but, entertained nonetheless.
Not sure whether to
keep going to Balcary Bay, he elected to take time to dry off in the Old
Smugglers Inn and then make a decision about what to do. He was informed by helpful locals there of a
nearby bird hide that should be safe to spend the night in. Very grateful of this advice Alex departed
there with the conditions worsening, but fifteen minutes later was settling
down for a peaceful night in the shelter.
Or so he thought ...
He lay cosily,
listening to some relaxing music, and could just about hear a tempest raging
outside his dream theatre. It got very
close all too quickly, and he suddenly became aware of his things flying about
the room. Jumping out of his sleeping
bag, he had a perilous fight with the whiplashed door, needing to use all his
weight to stop the incessant force of wind trying to tear it off its
hinges. He grabbed his backpack and
used it temporarily to block the door; before stopping it fast by wedging a
walking pole against the crossbeam and floorboard. It was a few minutes before his heart stopped
pounding. He shone his torch to find the
screws forced clean out of the latch and decided it would be best to leave a
note in the morning for the twitchers, explaining the storm's ferocity.
*
The route from
Balcary to Rascarrel was another clifftop delight. Made into more of a challenge by strong winds
driving the sea onshore in a great white froth.
He was sat down on a footbridge, debating whether to follow the coast
further or head inland, when a lady dog walker came by to talk. The path would continue to the site of an old
fort, before reaching a thick scrub barrier, so she saved him time with words
of discouragement. Also catching a stray
glove of his that nearly blew into the river, leaving him doubly indebted to
her.
He nearly ended up
back in Auchencairn again as the lane took him over a mile in the wrong
direction, until, he was able to turn west again at the next junction. The extra distance didn't soften him. He just wanted to see as much of Scotland as
he could now that he'd settled in over the past few days. He returned close to the coast once more a
little way on, down car free farm lanes which, half an hour later, brought him
to the village of Dundrennan. He took a
food stop whilst looking about the abbey, prior to reaching the start of the
road to Port Mary. The red flag was not
flying when he got there so he knew he’d be safe to cross the MOD firing range. There was a great waymarked walk
leading through the range, and even on a Sunday afternoon it was still
deserted.
Nearly
off the range, he came across some military buildings with an open toilet block. He was uncomfortably thirsty, and with no
sign of any personnel in the area he headed into the gents with an empty water
bottle primed. The doorway opened as a
plain pitch black rectangle, but sensors immediately detected him and slammed
on a disturbing red light. Initially
startled, thinking he'd strayed onto the set of a Cold War movie, he quickly
assessed there was no reason to panic.
It was comforting to quickly get out of there again though. The short time within was scarily
claustrophobic in an unnatural sort of way.
The
path led him to Kirkcudbright Bay after Torrs Point, and then, onto a decent
track onwards from the lifeboat station. The tide was out as he followed the shoreside road into Kirkcudbright. He kept on until almost as far as the River
Dee bridge, before buying a sausage supper from the chip shop. It would have been more logical to make his
way across the river at this point.
Instead, he made a 180° turn and set off for St Marys Isle. Probably just so he could think he'd spent a
night on an island, even though it wasn't fully surrounded by water.
*
Determined to reach
Minigaff hostel near Newton Stewart that night, Alex set out before dawn. Damp and cold, it was a slog back to the
coast at Brighouse Bay. As the day
progressed, views across to the Machars peninsula opened out and the weather in
turn brightened up. Early afternoon
came, and the delectable town Gatehouse of Fleet was alive with colour in the
sunlight.
Opting out of the
main coast road, he ascended through some wonderfully tranquil moors, headed
towards Creetown. Going along a waterlogged
old military road he crossed paths with one Stuart Smith, the owner of a nearby
remote cottage. They spent an engrossing
half hour talking. Alex giving details
of his current walk and Stuart telling of his own long distance travels,
cycling from Land's End to John o' Groats.
This was the first person he had met along the way who could really
empathise with him about ardours of the road.
He
was duly encouraged across many a long mile, and got to the hostel, albeit well
after dark, to discover that it was closed midweek. About to head on, a stranger across the road
asked if he still needed to stay there.
It turned out that he knew the warden who lived only just up the road,
so together they walked round to see if there was any possibility of getting a
bed for the night. It was with great
relief then that he was allowed the freedom of the place overnight. Only when he'd warmed up by a heater for a
long while did he appreciate the insidious chill he'd developed since
his last night indoors back at Blackpool.
As a special treat he savoured the Cartmel sticky toffee pudding he'd
bought in Cumbria with a pan of custard and planned to allow himself a rare lie
in tomorrow, until seven thirty anyway.
*
The sun was up and
giving off a fair bit of heat as he left Minnigaff. He was in good spirits, and to top it all,
when leaving Newton Stewart a van pulled up beside him. A familiar voice shouted "Sleep well
last night?" The stranger from the
night before. Alex thanked him again and
carried on with a bounce in his step. Here was the clearest view up to a snow capped Cairnsmore of Fleet and
surrounding mountains in the northeast, as well as gentle rolling farmland to
the west. By this point it was warm
enough to roll up sleeves and trouser legs. A change from all the previous bitter weather.
He
stopped for a break to take in the very pleasant county town Wigtown, with its
hoard of second hand bookshops. Then,
after following a couple of 'B' roads he passed right by Bladnoch Distillery,
the most southerly whisky distillery in Scotland, before returning again to
wholly peaceful lanes. By the airfield he had a brief chat with a
lady out walking her dog. She'd left her
car wide open but didn't care. It was
that sort of place.
A fragrant woodland
walk from Innerwell Fishery finished the afternoon in a great way. At Garlieston, with its exquisite bay, the
colourful dimming light brought this memorable spring day to an end. Along the beach there was enough driftwood
for a castaway's blaze, but still feeling clean he knew that again will the
fire burn, some other day.
*
A prolonged rain
shower marred the walk to the isolated village, Isle of Whithorn. The ruins of St Ninian's Chapel and a very
nice bay still made this a great scene even on a dull morning. From here the coast path guided the way along
to Burrow Head. The Isle of Man was now
very close it seemed. Alex could recognise
shapes of the hills on the north part of the island with ease.
Another good stretch
of coast path brought him to Port Castle Bay, where he then returned up to the
main road past Physgill House. Beside
St. Medan Golf Course there was a way back onto the foreshore from the Gavin Maxwell memorial. He just needed to be
careful down there not to drench his feet crossing Monreith Burn. Rock pools swamped by the tide at Barsalloch
Point sidelined him to the road once more.
Which, he followed for the remainder of the day, stopping off only at
the general store in Port William.
*
He began the day at
Barr Point and stayed on the flat A747 for over two hours. He could then follow an involving path around
the coast, at the Mull of Sinniness.
Something brown scurried into view a few metres ahead and paused to
regard him with suspicion. It vanished
back into the grass just as quickly. It
was a weasel, and it cut a cute figure posing a split second in front of Luce
Sands. A beautiful spring scene awaited
further along at Glenluce; where he decided upon a short detour to pass by the
silent abbey ruins.
It
was with a determined step that he pushed on now, aiming to return to open sea
at the west coast of the Rhinns of Galloway.
Firstly passing by the airfield, familiar to him from a previous walk in
the area when he went most of the way down to the Mull of Galloway. Then, a little later, he had a lively banter
at Sandend Post Office with a gent who'd also completed several of Scotland’s
long distance walks. At Portpatrick the
classic sight of an illuminated night-time harbour was the climax to an
extremely rewarding day's walking.
*
The journey about the
North Rhinns was quite bleak through a series of rain showers; becoming more
remote and more exposed than the Solway Coast was, however remaining just as
peaceful. He had a delightful surprise
early on in the day sighting his first red squirrels ever in the woodland by
Lochnaw Castle. He took it as a good
omen for times ahead, seeing two elusive creatures over consecutive days.
Near Corsewall
Lighthouse, outside the B&B, a farmer was waiting for some cattle to be
delivered. He recalled that a couple
doing a fundraising British coast walk had stayed in his caravan. It turns out they were the same people that
Alex had seen featured in the North Wales Pioneer, his local paper, when they
visited Colwyn Bay. He was spurred on by
this, and also, the beckoning of a new landscape around the Firth of Clyde, promised
by a fleeting glimpse of Ailsa Craig rising out of the sea sixteen miles to the
north.
To finish the day, a
short southward turn was called for to negotiate Loch Ryan and the busy ferry
port of Stranraer. Spending the night
bivvying out on the shore of the loch, he observed the ferries coming and going
through the waters with fascination.
Noting in particular how they would create the delayed effect of waves
coming ashore, and then slightly later, waves of traffic rolling along the road
as an after-ripple.
*
Not wishing to share the A77 trunk road with all the commuters, he found
himself a rewarding inland route instead to Ballantrae from Innermessan. A totally deserted moorland road passed
forest and reservoir, before eventually reaching an estate very rural in
appearance. Then, finding a way over the
top of Beneraird on a good, firm and well defined path, he descended into a
quiet valley beyond, spoilt somewhat by the sight of power lines running
through it. Just before the start of the
next road at Kilwhannel he stopped beside a stream and collected some water to
boil up for a well earned cup-a-soup.
After
finally entering Ballantrae itself he joined the Ayrshire Coastal Path and did
the first bit of beach walking in some time.
Coming up from the shore at Bennane Head, the next few kilometres were
along what appeared to be the old coast road, already beginning to be overrun
by grass and bramble. Further along it
was covered ankle deep in manure where a herd of cattle were feeding. It seemed like the countryside was overcoming
its development here with a unique twist.
*
Going from Lendalfoot
to Girvan was enjoyable but uneventful this Saturday morning. After leaving town by way of the golf course
and rough shingle beach, he couldn't locate where the next footpath went to
across ploughed potato fields.
Eventually, he found himself back on the noisy main road. Unbeknownst that the most entertaining encounter
so far this year was now about to play out.
A man across the road
was standing at the bottom of his track when Alex called over for some
guidance. To start off with he gave
pointers on the immediate route north through to Ayr, and then offered further
ranging insights right up the west coast based on his own trips walking and
hitchhiking. Next, he was showing Alex
the whiskey warehouse behind his farm.
Followed up with glasses of fruit juice standing outside his kitchen,
whilst he brought out his U.K. atlas and relived many of the walkabouts they'd
each made over recent years. This was
all mixed in with some quite transcendental observations about living out in
the wilds.
Soon enough, two,
maybe three, hours had passed. They then
spent a little while longer chatting at the roadside, before a tractor pulling
in gave Alex the sign to move on.
Setting out, he had more clarity to his prospective journey, and also a
bit more contemplation about the sense of the moment. In the top of his pack too, a couple of tins
of salmon gratefully accepted, which would later give him some much needed
sustenance.
The afternoon had hurried along, and on the beach at Turnberry Alex was blocked
off by a river and rising tide. There
was nothing else for it but to remove boots and socks, roll up trouser legs and
head on through. Walking a few hundred
metres further, it was odd to feel bare feet sinking into soft sand under the
weight of a heavy backpack. It then took
some careful balancing to rinse and dry off his feet and reinstate socks and
boots. All done without getting any sand
or water in.
The day had been a
welcome change to what was becoming a predictable routine, but was marred at
the end by some important parts of his kit failing. First of all, one of the wires in his solar
powered battery charger came loose as he walked along Culzean Bay trying to
harness some energy from the early evening sun.
Later on, just before settling down for the night south of Dunure, he
broke his Swiss Army Knife opening a tin of salmon. Finally, to cap it all off, as he was
drifting towards sleep his inflatable mattress deflated quite suddenly as
something sharp underneath pierced it.
These were the first set backs of kinds so far on the walk, but the
important thing in his mind as he lay on the cold, hard ground was how he would
get around them in the morning without spoiling his daily mileage count too
drastically.
*
Finding a Blacks outdoor equipment shop in the centre of Ayr, Alex bought one
their ultralite mats to temporarily replace his punctured Therm-a-Rest. The only advice they could give him about his
broken solar charger was to try and find a camera repair shop. There was no time for that now though, so it
could wait a few days until he got to Glasgow. Onwards, across the River Ayr, and a walk through several built up areas
took him to the ferry port of Troon, most famous for its championship golf
course.
A long beach plod
under ashen afternoon skies came to an abrupt halt at a double river
obstacle. The rivers Garnock and Irvine;
both totally impassable, and each needing to be navigated around somehow. He knew that there was possibly a chance to
cross over at The Big Idea exhibition, but the footbridge was raised to let
ships pass. Thankfully the alternative
inland route was well signposted. It
nipped into Irvine briefly and then went along several miles of cycle
track. Determined to put the long
diversion behind him he walked well into the darkness, before finding a safe
place to bivvy down at the barricades.
*
Now well back on the coast route, a gentle beach stroll on the first sunny day
for a long period led him into Saltcoats. He then passed through Ardrossan,
where regular ferries make the crossing over to Brodick on Arran. His preordained plan was to visit the isle
from its far side in just over a week's time, and then walk the whole way
around heading in a clockwise direction.
The views and weather
improved throughout the morning, and just before lunchtime, an unplanned detour
into West Kilbride was needed for a comfort break. He found a beautiful wooded glen nearby to
stop and have a bite to eat in. On such
a lovely day it would have been an ideal place to stay for a good while longer,
however, as always, there was still much more walking to be done.
Leaving town, there
was a glorious view over the water to Arran with every minute detail of its
east coast clear and striking in the bright midday light. Then, a quite memorable stretch of coastline
with ever revealing views of the Cumbrae Islands from Farland Head, was
succeeded by the industrial incursion of Hunterston Power Stations. Both really miserable blots on the landscape;
though the stroll through Fairlie and then into grand Largs quickly redoubled
his anticipation for the upcoming island visit.
Reaching
his first island proper of the season, Great Cumbrae Island, it was a welcome
sight to see signs requesting motorists to drive slowly for walkers. Indeed, it
turned out to be an excellent place to see on foot, with a very good network of
well signposted paths. He soon found himself making for the highest point of
the island, The Glaidstone. A superb viewpoint, given such prime placement in
the Firth of Clyde, and a detailed toposcope there shot arrows in all
directions to each of the many landmarks, including the Arrochar Alps in the
north and Ailsa Craig back to the south.
On the way down he
couldn't help but notice the impressive spire of The Cathedral of the Isles
overlooking Millport. Even though it is the highest building on Great Cumbrae
it is actually the smallest cathedral in the British Isles. He would have
really enjoyed some fish and chips in Millport but couldn't seem to find
anywhere open. The twilight enhanced transit of the island's western side was
most interesting, with the Isle of Bute now having come into view. Completing
the circuit under a black star-filled sky, he got back to the ferry with time
to spare to comfortably return to Largs that night.
*
It was a welcomed
relief when he saw a coastal path sign directing a way out of Largs up a
tranquil hillside lane to avoid the busy main road. However this was only a
temporary respite as there was soon no choice but to follow the primary byway,
the A78. First through Skelmorlie, and then Wemyss Bay, before being able to
find a better way through the village of Inverkip. A postman on his rounds
called him over as he was also a keen mountain walker. He could tell that Alex
wasn't in need of any basic advice, but did warn him that if he's ever on Arran
to not attempt Goatfell when there's cloud down to the level of the plantation.
After a cafe stop for
a hearty bowl of soup he went on along the dual carriageway into Greenock. The
town was busy without feeling crowded and the people out that afternoon were
cheerful characters. He set some time aside to wander around the town centre,
and before long found himself standing in front of a bicycle shop. Undoubtedly
he looked odd going in with full camping equipment, but he wasn't there to
trade his boots in for a pair of wheels. After buying a puncture repair kit for
his Therm-a-Rest he had a quick fun chat with the proprietor about the area. It
was interesting to hear that people had cycled some routes he planned to take
in the coming days, because he'd read that the terrain would be more demanding
across on the Cowal Peninsula.
*
And there the opening
leg of his trek around Scotland concluded. After a day off with family just
outside Glasgow, he would begin a spellbinding expedition with few comparisons
anywhere. A continuous unsupported walk through the Western Highlands and
Islands; as well as the north and east coasts added for good measure. Returning
to the Central Belt after a few shattering months that would either make or
break him as a long distance walker.
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