It started raining as we left the B&B. We had eaten enough to satisfy Robert the Bruce’s army at breakfast. In the town centre, we ran across the landlord from the Maybole Arms with Loki, and they posed for a photo.
Our B&B hosts had said it was a mile to Crossraguel Abbey. It was longer, a plod alongside a busy highway. The Abbey is closed for restoration work, but Christine climbed the fence and took a look inside.
Later: We walked along a country track (paved, oddly), across a ford (shallow now, but apparently the burn can get a lot deeper), and into Kirkoswald. I stumbled on the track and hurt my knee, so when we stopped at a whiskey shop for samples, I put on a brace that I bought in Spain years ago. Then we wandered into a café for scones and coffee. When we start walking again, we’ll be heading into the countryside again. I’m going to be more careful of where I put my feet.
Later: It was a gentle rain at first, the kind that seems to stop when you put on your raincoat. Then it got steadily worse, and we slowly got used to being wet. We have directions and an OS map, but the directions are sometimes cryptic and they seem to be intended to accompany route maps which we don’t have–they were lost in the mail, apparently, or sent to the wrong address. So we got lost despite following the directions as best as we could. They often referred to places that weren’t on the OS map, which was a problem. Not even on the GPS version of the map, which at least gave us an idea of where we were. That was essential–which isn’t a surprise, I suppose.
Once, the path appeared to come to a dead end at a stone barn. After much discussion and map reading, we found the way forward: an overgrown track. That was a relief. Later, the road we were following ended in a barley field. We were lost. We knew where we were–in a barley field next to an industrial park that was on the OS map. But where was our path? We thought it might be best to walk along the edge of the field. That led us to a ditch filled with brambles and nettles. I could hear the highway on the other side of the ditch, and tried to find a way through. It was impossible: on the other side of the steep-walked ditch there was a fence, covered in more brambles. I turned around and retraced my steps. It was starting to rain hard. By the time I got back out of the ditch I was scratched and bleeding–and soaked. We all were soaked. The barley field was a giant sponge filled with water. In hindsight, we should’ve just turned around when the road ended. But when you’re walking, every step costs something, and it’s hard to lose that effort–the sunk cost fallacy in action, I suppose.
Finally we found our way out and discovered we were close to where we were supposed to be–the Ayrshire Coastal Path, which essentially means the seashore, never mind the terrain or the tides. We had several miles to go and we were wet and exhausted, and without an address, we couldn’t call a cab. So we kept walking. My camera didn’t like getting so wet–it started giving strange error messages–so I put it away. Just as well–it was raining too hard for photography.
Now we’re in a pub in Girvan. My legs and hands are singing from the nettles, but it seems to have stopped raining and our B&B is close by. I’m looking forward to getting out of my wet clothes–although I’m going to be getting back into them again in the morning, unless the airing cupboard works some kind of magic. Even if it does, there’s a good chance of rain tomorrow.
