Around Britain

There was a Wetherspoons serving breakfast in the same building as the Travelodge where I stayed last night in Fort William High Street. I obtained my newspapers in Tescos and then enjoyed a leisurely start to the day reading the papers over scrambled eggs and latte.

I couldn't face walking along the A82 but fortunately there was an alternative. The 10 o'clock ferry took me across Loch Linnhe to Camusnagaul. It carried foot passengers and cyclists only. There were 17 seats and a chest claiming to have 17 life belts although two of these were for children. On this trip there were seven passengers each paying £1.50. The total revenue of £10.50 hardly seemed adequate recompense for the endeavours of the two man crew even if they did charge extra for the two bicycles they carried on the roof.

It was a good decision to cross the loch as the A861 on the far side was lightly used. Despite the width of the loch, I could hear the roar of the traffic on A82. There were small groups of houses, some holiday cottages, on the way. Trislaig, Stronchreggan and Goirtean a' Chladaich hardly even qualified as hamlets, let alone villages. I passed two clusters of fish farms out in the loch. That reminded me of the announcement in the last week that global production of farmed fish was on the point of overtaking fish caught naturally.

A notice invited me to walk in the countryside inland from the road but asked me first to check whether there was any deer stalking so that I could be directed away from it. That seemed a very fair request. I don't object to people killing deer so long as the venison is eaten. It's useful work for the locals and puts one of the few resources here to good use. That didn't stop me from being appalled when a man told me some years ago that he'd killed a deer every year for the previous twenty years. Shortly after reading the notice I looked upwards and saw a stag, half hidden by the crest of a rise above the road, watching me.

As I approached Corran, I saw a weathered old notice by the road at Cille Mhaodain. This announced that the site of an early Christian church was nearby together with the burial ground of the Macleans of Ardgour, one of the most ancient of Scottish clans.

I reached the Ardgour Hotel at Corran opposite the ramp used by traffic to and from the ferry. I went inside but there was no sign of any staff. I decided not to wait as the ferry was approaching. The ferry took cars and lorries but charged nothing for foot passengers and cyclists. Cars paid £8.20 and the highest charge of £45 was for large lorries (5/6 axles).

I had soup and relaxed at a hostelry on the far side before walking to Onich along a wide pavement shared with cyclists along the A82. I reached the Onich Hotel at 4 pm. My room overlooked Loch Linnhe and I was within sight of the bridge at North Ballachulish. Today was an easy day in fine weather. Tomorrow will be arduous and the forecast is dire.

Distance 13.2 miles; total 2206.54

I breakfasted at 7.30 and was on my way at 8.20. I stopped for a paper at the garage in North Ballachulish and crossed the bridge. The loch side road passed underneath the bridge and there were steps down to it. As I started down I glimpsed a memorial a short way up the hillside. After a moment's hesitation, I thought I'd better just check what it was. It commemorated James Stewart otherwise known as James of the Glen. He was executed in 1752 for a murder he almost certainly never committed.

After the battle of Culloden in 1746, which crushed the Jacobites supporting Bonnie Prince Charlie, the Government set about the forfeiture of lands held by Jacobites. The Campbell clan had sided with the Government so they were due to benefit. Colin Campbell was appointed the Government factor to administer the forfeited estates. James's half brother fled to France and his lands were amongst those forfeit to the Crown. James had been on friendly terms with Colin Campbell before the rebellion. They were both farmers and had met from time to time. Colin was murdered. There was no evidence to link James with the crime but he was arrested. His trial took place in Inveraray. The Duke of Argyll, the Campbell chieftain, had his seat there and attended the trial. The jury consisted largely of Campbells. Despite the lack of incriminating evidence, James was convicted. His body was left to hang at the place of execution as an example to passers by. For eighteen months the body was guarded by soldiers to prevent its removal by the family for burial. There was a failed attempt a few years ago to obtain an official pardon for James.

I descended to the A828 and had an unpleasant spell dodging traffic on a narrow road without a pavement. Then I heard voices but saw no one. By chance I looked down and there were a couple of cyclists on an asphalt path. This was on the route of the Oban to Ballachulish railway opened in 1903 and closed in 1960. I knew there was a cycle path (Route 78) along the old railway line but my out of date map indicated that it began further south. I found a path leading down to Route 78 and walking once more became a pleasure.

I followed the Loch Linnhe shore line. For ages I saw no one except two local men giving their respective dogs some exercise. Then I was passed by a couple on bikes, each towing a trailer containing a small child. The woman sang as she cycled by. Some time later I almost caught up with them. By this time the rain had become incessant and they were sheltering under a bridge. They pulled away as I approached. Much later still I saw their bikes outside the Creagan Inn. Although I spent 45 minuted there over tea and a scone, the family were still there when I left. Soon afterwards they passed me again and I saw them no more.

Before stopping I'd found Route 78 an unreliable companion. For two miles after Duror, I was forced back onto a stretch of main road without a pavement. The road was not especially busy but there were several of the enormous timber lorries that are common in these parts. The trailers are lined with upright metal rods which hold in the load of stripped tree trunks. After Barcaldine I somehow became separated from Route 78 and passed Barcaldine Castle, now a luxurious B & B. When I reached crossroads without a Route 78 sign I asked a passing runner the road to Connel. He told me and said I had 4.5 miles to go. I'd thought I had less than 2 miles to go so I expressed shock and disappointment. Shortly afterwards a van stopped beside me and a man offered me a lift. He said that the runner was his son. I thanked him but explained that I wanted to stick to walking, however tempting the offer of a lift might be.

At Benderloch I rejoined Route 78 and this saw me through to North Connel where I found the Lochnell Arms Hotel. The Dutch owner took me to a room with three single beds and a view over Loch Etive to South Connel. When I went downstairs to eat I got lost in an untidy and unused section of the hotel where I found a small boy apparently hiding from someone. “Who are you hiding from?” I asked. “It doesn't matter,” he replied. I then asked him the way to the bar and he lead me there, holding doors open for me as I followed. He turned out to be the son of the owners.

I recognised the woman who came to my table as the one on the wedding photo standing on the bar counter, standing next to the Dutchman. I praised the behaviour of the boy which went down well.

Distance 28.05; total 2234.59.

There was a group of German motorcyclists staying at the hotel, both men and women. I attempted a conversation with one of the men at breakfast but his English was very limited and I speak no German.

On leaving I told the Dutchman that I thought the atmosphere in his hotel was excellent and I'd enjoyed my stay there. We shook hands and I departed.

In South Connel I found the shop/post office to buy a paper. Twice I got lost in meandering residential streets leading me to areas from which the only escape was to retrace one's steps. Eventually I found the right road which led directly south to Kilmore, avoiding Oban and the main road. I had a pleasant 7 miles through farming country interspersed with woods and moorland, passing Loch Nell near the end. The traffic was minimal. This interlude came to abrupt end at Kilmore where I joined the A816.

Route 78 had ended in Oban and no further provision was made for cyclists and walkers. I faced the unpleasant and unavoidable prospect of many miles of main road. It wasn't too busy but I was hooted twice by angry motorists who clearly thought I'd no right to be there.

My body began to protest at all these miles. My left shin ached, my right heel started to blister and my legs stiffened up.

Initially I was walking alongside Loch Feochan but, after the turn off to Kilninver, the road climbed away from the coast up Glen Gallain into a heavily wooded region, reaching a height of 129 metres. There was then a long descent to Kilmelford where there was a hotel and a shop. Behind the shop at a higher level was a cafe called “Room at the Top.” I rested there over lemonade and a scone. When I asked to pay, I was directed down a staircase which led to the back of the shop. I then settled my bill with the woman running the shop.

I walked the last few miles to Loch Melfort Hotel alongside Loch Melfort. My room had a superb view of water and islands. Both the dining room and the bistro were almost fully booked but I was given a slot at 8.45. To call home I was directed to a spot some distance away in the hotel grounds. My call was successful but the midges found me and I had to hurry back inside. The meal was the best I'd have on this trip and I drank a glass of wine rather than the usual pint of bitter.

Distance 21.72 miles; total 2256.31.

I didn't wake until 7.30. I took breakfast with a view of the island of Shuna. The elderly waiter told me that there was one occupied house on the island and half a dozen holiday homes.

I set off at 9.35 in reasonable weather. My pace was a bit slower but I kept going without a significant stop along the A816. The road passed the end of Loch Craignish and climbed into woods. On the descent from the highest point of 166 metres I passed a couple of forts on craggy tops to the east of the road. I reached Kilmartin after 9.5 miles and stopped at the pub just as thunder was beginning to rumble. I took my time over tea and a sandwich as the rain began to fall. When I was ready to leave I waited for a few minutes in the porch and the rain obligingly stopped.

There seems to have been considerable prehistoric settlement around here. I passed Dunadd Fort which might have been established 2000 years ago when the area surrounding the rocky outcrop was marshy. I lacked the energy to walk several hundred yards to the fort and back. However, I discovered that this was an important site between 500 and 800 A.D. Kings were anointed here and part of the ceremony required the king to place his foot on a footprint carved into a slab of rock.

I passed through the village of Bridgend which had a pub but no shop. At Cairnbaan, near the hotel, I joined the path alongside the Crinan Canal. This was completed in 1801 and connects Loch Fyne with Loch Crinan and the Sound of Jura. This saves a long sea trip down Kilbrannan Sound and around Kintyre peninsula. Quite soon after its opening a section of canal bank collapsed and locks were destroyed. Thomas Telford was called in by the Government to carry out remedial works. The canal is 8.5 miles long and has 15 locks. It also has 6 swing bridges and an unusual retractable bridge which is moved away from the water along a rail to allow shipping to pass through.

I arrived at Ardrishaig and soon found my hotel, the Argyll Arms. This provided no food and charged me only £25. There was a small public bar which later became jam packed with customers watching the Champions' League final.

Distance today 19.06; total 2275.37

I caught the Glasgow bus at 7.53 this morning. It started its journey at Campbeltown. I took up position at the shelter at 7.30 in case the bus was early. I didn't pay much attention to a plastic bag propped up against the shelter with the word Lochgair on it. A Scotsman came by on his way to the Co-op nearby. He explained to me that the bag contained newspapers for Lochgair, a small town beyond Lochgilphead. The bus driver would pick up this bag and drop it off to the town to save the inhabitants travelling all this way and back just to get their papers. When the bus came I handed the bag to the driver.

The bus stopped for a ten minute break at Inveraray and the journey took over two and a half hours.

I stayed at the Grey Gull Inn, Ardrishaig last night. I'd been greeted by Kathleen, a New Zealander in her seventies, and we had a good talk this morning. She tried to employ local girls as waitresses in the restaurant but it wasn't easy. Kathleen thought they often gave their social life priority over their work. I'd commented that it was unusual not to see eastern Europeans amongst the staff.

I left Ardrishaig at 8.40. The place was obviously not prosperous but this did have an advantage. Apart from McColls, the chain stores were absent. There was a newsagent, a second hand goods shop, two cafes, one of which was called “Rumblin' tum,” an upstairs pub that indicated in a note on the front door that it welcomed happy people, the Argyll Arms and not much else.

I followed the A83 south with Loch Fyne to my left. At Inverneil there was a new building with a sign “Argyll Backpackers” with a life-sized model of a backpacker at the roadside. He wore a shirt and breeches and carried a small rucksack. He held up one hand to shade his eyes as he looked into the distance.

Later I passed a sign on a side road pointing to Allt Dearg Community Wind Farm. I could see a group of turbines marked on the map but it was a long way off my route.

Tarbert looked a bit depressed as I entered. The first three buildings I saw were a closed petrol station with a for sale sign, an empty pub to let and a building for sale which had been the library. I was pleased to see that there was a library in town housed in a more modern building. At the Information Centre they told me that there were no ferries running from the town except in winter. Seeing a broken line on the map connecting Tarbert with Lochranza on the Isle of Arran, I'd nurtured the idea of taking it to give myself an easier day. Instead I had to stick to my original plan of walking to Claonaig to take the Lochranza ferry. This meant following the Kintyre Way which starts at Tarbert near the castle.

Tarbert Castle is linked to Robert the Bruce in the 14th century. There's an account that survives of expenses incurred on the castle at that time, mostly masons' bills.

Early on the Kintyre Way climbed but it levelled off after reaching a forestry road. Mile markers indicated progress but there were no more after the 4 mile marker. Had the Way slipped off to one side? I'd been expecting this but I'd seen no sign. I'd been aiming for the 5.40 ferry and was reluctant to turn back. A sign on the road said “Skipness” which suggested that the road was headed there. Skipness was two miles by road from the ferry terminal. I met a forestry worker, looking no more than 15, operating a JCB. He assured me the road led to Skipness. I asked if he was local and he said he was. I didn't altogether trust this advice. The boy had the air of telling me what I wanted to hear. I stopped a lorry driven by another forestry worker and he told me he thought the road was a dead end. He said I should check with his colleague who was further down the road. This was a middle-aged man with a more authoritative manner. He said that the road was definitely a dead end. However, there was a possible alternative to turning back which would mean missing the last ferry at 7 pm. Once I got to the end of the road there was what he called a green road marked by a fence which would take me down to the loch side. It was my only chance of catching the last ferry so I decided to do that. It was risky but the alternative was not without risk either as, if I returned to Tarbert, there might be no accommodation.

The fence did seem to follow a gap in the forest, perhaps a fire break, but the going was terrible. The grass grew in great lumps leaving gaps between containing mud and water. Ferns had grown almost to head height and I had to fight my way through. I crossed the fence whenever I thought it looked an easier passage on the far side. If it was better it never lasted. After a while I was forced into a wood where the way was obstructed by fallen trees. I had to crawl underneath the trunk, snagging my rucksack on broken branches as I did so. I was driven on by the hope that I'd reach the Kintyre Way but I never did.

Gradually I descended towards the loch but there was still an ocean of ferns to negotiate. As I entered this I passed a roofless ruin, the only building I'd seen since Tarbert Castle. The ferns were thick and over my head but there was no way round and they kept me from the shore. I couldn't see where I was putting my feet and the thought occurred that, if I went down a mine shaft, I'd never be found.

On reaching the shore I turned right towards the Isle of Arran. Once I reached Skipness I'd be two miles form Claonaig and the ferry terminal.

The beach proved to be far from an easy walk. The rocks sometimes blocked my path and I had to climb past them into woods which might not have seen a human being for a hundred years. Fallen trees had been left to rot. I became increasingly exhausted as I struggled to make progress. I didn't know how far away Skipness was and I was hardly moving at all. I felt that I was losing my sense of balance. This made me ultra cautious to avoid falling amongst the rocks.

For the first time in my life (at least in Britain) I rang the Emergency Services. Shortly afterwards I was contacted by the police. They were coming from Campbeltown to find me. I was doubtful whether they could without a boat and I mentioned that. Taking advantage of my I phone, the police got a fix on my position. I waited for a while but, when they hadn't called me for half an hour, I decided to press on, agonisingly slow though my progress was.

The midges were bad but they seemed like the least of my problems. At least I had some insect repellent. Then the police called. They'd reached Skipness and were moving along the beach assuming that eventually they'd meet up with me.

Above me I saw the roof and chimney of a house. It was probably an unoccupied holiday home but at least there should be a road or track leading to it. The trouble was I couldn't reach it. Each time I got near the ground became too steep and I turned away to seek an alternative. Wherever the ground was less steep it was thick with vegetation which I fought to get through. At last, with a huge effort, I hauled myself up onto the wall of the property and walked round to the front. There were two women sitting inside a glass fronted extension. Instead of recoiling at this intrusion, they welcomed me inside. They'd been half expecting me as the police had visited earlier and given them the description of me that I'd supplied over the phone.

Gwyneth was the owner of the house and Alison a visiting friend. They gave me water, of which I'd almost run out, and a mug of sweet tea. They called the police just in time to stop a helicopter being summoned to assist in the search. I was lucky that the house was there as it was quite isolated and about two miles from Skipness. What a strange place for someone to live all by themself.

Soon after Niall from Lochgilphead Police drove up. He'd been assisting his colleagues from Campbeltown. I apologised for all the trouble I'd caused but Niall brushed that aside and said the police were delighted to help out in cases like this. His two colleagues then appeared having been released from their struggle along the beach. Both were much afflicted by midges, each flailing their arms around vainly. Gwyneth now gave me a piece of quiche and a salad before updating me on Andy Murray's match at Wimbledon.

The problem the police had now was what to do with me. I didn't need to be hospitalised. I'd long since missed the last ferry and my hotel booking on the Isle of Arran. A couple of calls established that there was no accommodation in the area. I suggested to Niall that he arrested me for vagrancy and place me in a police cell overnight. That didn't appeal as he'd have to look after me. The Grey Gull did have a room back in Ardrishaig and it so happened that Niall lived in a police house a few doors down from that hotel. Niall offered to drive me to the Grey Gull. I offered my effusive thanks to Gwyneth and Alison and the Campbeltown police and off we went.

After I'd first rung the police from the loch shore side, I'd rung Polly who was having dinner with a couple of friends in Spain. I said I didn't want her to worry if she rang my hotel on the Isle of Arran only to discover that I hadn't arrived. I'd ring again later to let her know what happened. As we drove off in the police car I rang again to reassure her, saying that I was now in the custody of the police. She was relieved to hear this.

Niall was now going off duty so he had to return to Ardrishaig anyway. He'd worked in Edinburgh for 10 years and had a house there. His ex-girlfriend worked for Standard Life and she didn't want to leave that job. Niall had applied for a secondment to Lochgilphead as his working life in Edinburgh had become a bit depressing. He always seemed to coming against the same people whose lives were blighted by domestic violence, alcohol and drugs. They'd call for help and then tell the police to fuck off when they arrived. The resources devoted to these people by the police and social services were immense. These people were never going to change and Niall wanted a break. This area couldn't have been more different. There were a few druggies and young men came off motor bikes but, on nights, hardly a call was received to disturb the night staff.

Niall delivered me to the Grey Gull. He came in to explain to reception that I'd done nothing wrong even though I'd arrived in a police car. I couldn't thank him enough for even caring about such details.

Distance today 20 miles (estimated). Total 2295.37

Today was spent recovering from yesterday's mishaps and reaching the guest house in Ardrossan that I'd booked for tonight. I decided to forget my plan to take a ferry to Lochranza on the Isle of Arran and then take another ferry from Bodrick to Ardrossan as I'd wasted my booking at the hotel in Lochranza. In view of my record with ferries, it seemed improbable that I'd have time to reach the ferry terminal at Claonaig on Kintyre, catch two ferries one on each side of the island, and walk 13 miles across the island all on the same day. I also felt in need of a rest after recent experiences.

After returning to Glasgow by coach, I caught the train to Ardrossan Harbour from where it was a shortish walk to Edenmore Guest House. I became anxious when no one answered the door. The number supplied for guests to ring was on automatic message mode. After a while I peered in through a window. There was a T.V. switched on although no one seemed to be watching it. After knocking on the window repeatedly for several minutes, the front door was opened. I couldn't show irritation as the elderly woman who asked me in said her husband had been responsible for welcoming guests but he'd died, leaving her to run the business on her own.

Distance today (Ardrossan Harbour Station to Edenmore Guest House in Ardrossan) 1.25 miles. Total 2296.62.

I enjoyed an excellent breakfast of porridge and poached eggs on toast. I began walking at 8.45 am and enjoyed two hours before the rain started. During this brief period I walked through Stevenston, a town that had enjoyed its industrial heyday in the 19th century. Its canal, opened in 1772, was the first commercial canal in Scotland. The railway station was opened in 1840. It was a coal mining centre, although most of its pits were exhausted by the end of the 19th century. An ironworks with five blast furnaces was operational by 1849 but closed in 1931. In the 20th century the town became a major centre for Nobel Industries which provided thousands of jobs in the manufacture of chemicals and explosives. Its closure had a devastating effect on the town's economy.

By the time I approached Irvine the downpour was at its height. I met an elderly woman walking her dog. She spoke animatedly about how good it was that she was not alone in being out to endure this dreadful weather. I reached Irvine shortly afterwards and took refuge in the Rivergate shopping mall. I walked up and down trying to dry out but eventually sat down to enjoy a coffee and tea cake. I dreaded going out into the rain again as my old waterproof jacket didn't seem to be protecting me at all. After an hour and ten minutes I stepped out to find that the rain had stopped. I explored the railway station and saw that there was a half hourly service to Ayr but decided to press on.

So far I'd walked on a bicycle route. It wasn't very direct but it provided fast walking and was well signed. However, the mileages indicated were very unreliable. At Irvine, just after I'd resumed my walk, a sign told me it was 15 miles to Ayr. A few steps on and another sign indicated a distance of 16.75 miles to Ayr. There were stations at intervals if I wanted to bail out.

In fact I kept going through Shewalton, Loans, Troon, Prestwick Airport, Prestwick Town reaching my hotel in Ayr by 6.50 pm.

Distance today 22.81; total 2319.43.

The Z Hotel, where I stayed last night in Glasgow, sits just off George Square. There the statues of English and Scottish notables can all studied with the sole exception of Walter Scott. He's so high up on his column that he can hardly be seen at all. It could be anyone up there.

I caught an early train to Ayr and made for the front and the Ayrshire Coastal Path (ACP). On a large open space preparations were being made for a fair. The area was called Low Green and had been donated to the town in 1205 by William the Lion. I crossed the River Doon on the Millenium Bridge and passed, on the beach, beneath a ruined castle high up on a rocky outcrop.

The ACP was marked clearly on the map but, unhappily, the signage was almost non-existent away from population centres and not enough feet had tramped that way to create a path to follow. I walked in a furrow between rows of potatoes thinking that this was at least in the right direction. After the potato field came a holiday camp. Hundreds of holiday homes with balconies covered a field stretching down towards the beach. Only a few seemed to be occupied. I made for Bower Hill but the path disappeared and I wandered into a farm park. Losing all hope of finding the ACP I headed in the direction of the A719. My progress was impeded by electrified fences. Two large stallions barred my exit via a gate. I attempted to climb over a fence which didn't seem to be electrified. The shock sent me back where I'd come from to try another escape route. When I reached the road, I saw that the farm park was intended to be a big tourist attraction with large areas designated for the parking of coaches and cars.

I left the main road at Fisherton and enjoyed a snack at the Harbour Cafe at Dunure. There was an impressive castle and, near to it, a kiln which seemed to be completely intact. Rennie Mackintosh had holidayed here, when at the Glasgow School of Art, with a group of fellow students called “the immortals.”

After Dunure I followed the course of a dismantled railway for a while until it became overgrown. I returned to the main road at Cory Brea also called Electric Brae. At Humeston Farm I was greeted by frantic barks. I could see a large, stationary, sack-like object with a neck and head that turned abruptly from side to side. This seemed to be the source of the barking. I got closer and peered over a hedge straight into the eyes of a collie. I said “Hello” and the barking started again. The collie was tied to the neck of a heavy bag. As the dog ran up and down the top of the bag stretched back and forth as if it was alive.

I passed through Maidens and then on to Turnberry with its golf course and private air strip. The hotel is called Trump Turnberry and stood impressively on the crest of a hill overlooking the golf course. At my B&B I was told the only places to eat were the Club House and the Hotel. In the evening I walked back up the road. The sound of bagpipes wafted down from the hotel.

I was wearing my walking clothes so I'd checked the dress code beforehand. I found there wasn't one but that “gentlemen might feel more comfortable in jackets.” Although I was challenged at the entrance, I was allowed to proceed to the restaurant on the first floor after the exchange of a few words. The Club House Restaurant had a magnificent view of the course, the sea and Ailsa Craig, a granite island a few miles out from the shore. I was served three pieces of bread in a metal box with the lid folded out on the four sides as if it was reinforced paper or cardboard. The waiter brought me a tray with four different salts and told me what the four flavours were. I don't take salt. Despite these excessive refinements I had an enjoyable meal.

Distance today 16.09 miles; total 2335.52.

At breakfast I met my hostess for the first time. Last night she'd been out and I'd dealt with her husband. Seeing a couple of photos in the dining room, I complemented her on both her daughters getting degrees. She replied that she had five daughters and four of them had degrees. I was the only guest. When she came into the room again I asked whether President Trump had been to Turnberry to inspect his property. She replied that he'd not been since he'd become President but that she'd met him before then as he'd wanted to buy their property. She explained that, in addition to their back garden, they owned land stretching towards the sea next to the golf course. Trump had offered them market price and they had to explain that the property was not on the market and they had no wish to sell. Trump then offered a bit more than market price. They had told him that he needed to offer a life-changing sum of money otherwise they had no incentive to sell. Trump wasn't prepared to do that. Later the Trump Turnberry Hotel was opened after refurbishment and they were invited to the opening party. Trump had come up to them and said “No hard feelings.” He'd also invited them to the opening of the new Club House. She said that she'd not hear a word said against the President. He'd invested £220 million and brought prosperity to the town.

I mentioned that I'd had trouble following ACP so my hosts directed me through their back garden gate straight onto the path. As I left Turnberry behind the ACP became indistinct and without signage. I entered a field with a bull and cows with their calves. I charted a course between these hazards but the bull came too close so I climbed over a fence.

For a while I walked along the beach. I reached Dipple where a vast complex of old buildings, apparently deserted, was surrounded by a high security fence. There was no clue as to their purpose.

For a while I had to follow the A77 until I reached Girvan. There I replenished my cash, bought a paper and stopped in a cafe for coffee and cake. After Girvan I had to stick to the A77 until Ardwell Farm where ACP took me inland off the main road up to a radio mast. I had a good view of Ailsa Craig. This was described to me later as a “granite plug”, uninhabited and an excellent habitat for sea birds. It seemed to rise steeply out of the water. Apparently there was a three hour window within which to land one's boat, look around and then leave the island. Outside that window the rise and fall of the tide made access impossible. I descended to the A77 again just before Lendalfoot. By the road there was a memorial stone, surrounded by a wall, with a metal railing at the front. It commemorated the drowned master and crew of an Arran boat that had sunk nearby in 1711. Inscribed on the stone was a simple poem:-

Ye passengers, who e'er you are,

As you pass this way,

Disturb ye not this small respect

We've paid to sailors' clay.

It wasn't the greatest of poems but passers by for over 300 years had complied, leaving the monument intact into its fourth century.

Just after Lendalfoot a great black cross stood in a car park next to the road. It was the Varyag Memorial but the information was all in Cyrillic script. I guessed a Russian connection but remained mystified until I found an inscription in English. This told the story of a Russian cruiser with a strange history. With one other Russian ship, the cruiser called Varyag was cornered in a Korean port by a vastly superior Japanese force in the Russo-Japanese War of 1904-5. The Russians refused to surrender and their ships were badly damaged. The Russians then scuttled their ships and escaped. Despite being defeated the Russian sailors were glorified as heroes. The cruiser was raised up by the Japanese and incorporated into their own fleet. In the First World War Russia and Japan were allies. The cruiser was transferred back to the Russians. In 1917 the cruiser was left stranded by the Revolution and the British bought it for scrap. Whilst on its way to the scrapyard the Varyag ran aground off Lendalfoot. Such was its reputation that the Russians erected this expensive memorial.

At about 3 p.m. I stopped at a Health Spa/Holiday Park before Bennane Head for soup and a cold drink. In Ballantrae I discovered there was a hotel (The King's Arms) which hadn't appeared on my internet search. Instead I had to walk an extra two miles inland to Cosses Country House. This was a collection of buildings divided into apartments.

I was asked to go to the sitting room for a drink half an hour before dinner (a four course meal) was to be served. Eating was to be at a communal table so the character of the other guests was not a matter of indifference. I was told that the only other guests were a Portuguese couple. If their English was limited or worse we were all in for a tiresome evening. The couple didn't appear for pre-dinner drinks as they might not have understood the instruction. That boded ill. They only emerged from their apartment just before dinner. Apparently they'd stayed the previous night at the Glenapp Castle Hotel, an establishment near Ballantrae, charging £549 for a night's stay. As the couple had only booked for one night they had to leave as it was fully booked for tonight. The hotel had recommended Cosses as an alternative.

The man's English was remarkably good and I suspect his wife's was too although she made little effort to interrupt her husband's flow of conversation. As all three of us were lawyers there was much common ground. He specialised in Competition Law and had been consulted by the EU. His wife specialised in providing legal advice to pharma companies operating in Portugal.

Distance today 19.61; total 2355.13

After two days dry weather the day started with steady rain. This never stopped long enough all day for my clothes to dry.

At last I was able to walk a long section of ACP away from the main road. I was wary of the coastal route so I took the inland (and softer) option. This took me through Garleffin and past farms at Meadow Park, Craigalbert and Low Ballochdowan, and then over moors to the wooded glen through which flowed the Water of App. As I descended I encountered my first serious walker for several days. She walked alone with a heavy pack and was walking in the opposite direction to me. We exchanged information about the country that lay ahead of each of us.

To avoid the main road I followed a track past Finnarts Farm and a gamekeepers's cottage. The map had suggested I'd emerge on a minor road leading to the A77 just before I reached Finnarts Bay. Access to this road must have been blocked off as I emerged from woods in Finnarts Bay to the sight of a Stenaline Ferry approaching Cairnryan. The Water of App was too wide to jump and fast flowing at the narrowest point. I ran across at the expense of one wet foot.

The A77 had been closed to traffic to allow road works. As I approached the barrier, a car was stopped and turned back. I was seen by the man on duty but ignored. After a while I encountered a group of men and machines. Again I was ignored. Later, when I came up to a similar group, a lorry driver told me from his cab window “The road's closed pal.” No one made a move to stop me and another workman said “Hello.” I pressed on until the Ferry Terminal at Craigryan. This is an access route to Northern Ireland and the approach road is called Belfast Way. At this point the road was open again and it was very busy with cars and lorries travelling to and from the port. The traffic became worse after I passed the P&O Ferry Terminal which also provided access to Northern Ireland.

As the rain became heavier, the pavement came to an end and I was sharing the road with vehicles that didn't expect pedestrians. I endured a miserable period and one lorry sped close to me from behind as it came across the road to avoid a cyclist. My situation improved when I reached a pavement again. I pressed on to Stranraer and my night's berth at the North West Castle Hotel.

Distance today 19.38 miles: total 2374.51.