Around Britain

The story behind the North West Castle Hotel was set out in a book left in my room. A local couple, Hammy and Janet McMillan, went to Canada to work and might have stayed there. A local newspaper sent out to them told them of the proposed sale of a well known house in Stranraer. They acquired it in the early sixties and, Hammy, being a builder, converted it into a 12 room hotel. They made a big success of the project and developed a chain of seven hotels. The couple, now in their eighties, are both still alive. The hotel has 73 rooms and was the first hotel to have its own curling rink. This attracted much new business to the hotel after its trade was effected by the troubles in Northern Ireland. These had reduced the number of people travelling to Ireland via Stranraer.

The day was so perfect and backed up by such a good forecast that I left my waterproof behind in the hotel. Since I also had no need of my rucksack, I was walking quite unencumbered. I left the A75 just as I emerged from Stranraer and proceeded on a minor road which was once the old military road.

I joined the Southern Uplands Way (SUW) just before Castle Kennedy. The path went through woods. I looked up at the sound of squawking geese as they flew westwards. The tree tops partially obscured them but I could see that many were flying in half wing formation and the sound was constant. Why were they making so much noise? Could it be an expression of joy at such a marvellous day? I liked to think so.

At Castle Kennedy I crossed the A75 and followed a drive which led to the Castle Kennedy Gardens noted for its rhododendrons, azaleas and the variety of its conifers. After a gentle ascent away from the main road, the White Loch and the grand house built in the 18th century were revealed as I came to a crest in the drive. An earlier house had been destroyed by fire.

As I came up to the entry to the garden, the SUW turned east and soon joined a minor road. I turned off the road to pass Chlenry (a house and farm) and then climbed through woods up a steepish path which doubled as a stream. This fine day had been preceded by days of frequent rain. I emerged from the wood into a field. The SUW now became hard to follow in a sea of mud upon which tufts of grass sat uneasily. Each step involved a decision as to which direction was the least awful. I was soon covered in mud up to my knees. My earlier idea of tucking my trousers into my socks to keep them clean became laughable. Occasional posts sporting the acorn sign confirmed that this, remarkably, was still the SUW. If only I'd stayed on the road that I was shortly to rejoin. Soon afterwards a short spell on this road (leading to New Luce) brought modest relief.

I left the road on a track suitable for vehicles and reached an extensive forest. The SUW, now a grassy path, skirted the northern edge of the forest. Just as I was drying out, I encountered ankle deep stretches of unavoidable water. This happened to me twice. Later on the path entered the forest. The trees were tall conifers closely packed, the high canopy almost shutting out the light. With the sunlight behind me, I was in a midday darkness. The path was on the top of a heavily wooded incline that descended to a raging torrent that I could hear but not see. The SUW suddenly left the main track and descended towards this invisible river. To my relief there was a stout bridge over the water that turned out to be a modest stream falling precipitately toward the Water of Luce. I crossed over the single track railway to Stranraer and then over the wide, black, fast flowing river with white crested rapids. I reached the road to Glenluce and turned south towards that town. The SUW went straight over the road so we parted company.

The countryside was now farmland occupied mainly by sheep. There was ample evidence of recent rain in that several of the fields were partially covered by water and this had been colonised by water birds. I passed Glenluce Abbey, a Cistercian monastery built in the 12th century, used as a resting place by pilgrims on their way to a local shrine. Just after the Abbey there was a wood on a slope next to the road. Ivy had covered all the trees in this wood. The sun reflected off the water drops on the ivy leaves. The Water of Luce swirled close to the road and I looked down on it from high above.

Glenluce was a big anti-climax after the scenery I'd walked through. I learnt later that the town had been damaged by the construction of the A75 by-pass about 15 years previously. All the traffic that used to pass through the town had been diverted. The Crown Hotel was the only survivor that I saw of five pubs. It looked so uninviting that I walked away from it. The Bistro/Coffee Shop had closed and was up for sale. The Kelvin House Hotel, which had ignored my three messages asking whether I could stay, looked as if it had entirely given up. The door was open and a curtain flapped through an open window. Had it been abandoned?

Fortunately there was a shop where a kind woman made me some hot chocolate at a drinks machine. The only thing I found to eat were a couple of fruit scones in a packet. The same woman took them to the back of the shop and buttered them for me for an extra 10p for which I was very grateful. The taxi soon arrived to take me back to the same hotel in Stranraer. The driver was a fan of the Stranraer football team whose greatest achievement was to spend one season in the Scottish second tier. This was no mean feat as the players were part timers earning £200-£300 a week competing against professionals.

Distance today 12.97 miles; total 2387.48.

The plan was to walk along the Old Military Road (OMR) from Glenluce to Dumfries in four days. This was by no means demanding but the first day went very badly for me. Although the OMR was shown as more or less continuous on the map from Glenluce to Newton Stewart, I discovered this to be very misleading. I should explain that the OMR was not built by General Wade whose military roads were designed to open up the Highlands to swift troop movements to combat the Jacobites. The purpose of the OMR, built by Major Caulfield in the 1760s, was to facilitate access to Ireland for the British Army from Stranraer.

I'd stayed at a hotel in Dumfries on Sunday night and caught the Stranraer bus on Monday morning. This deposited me in Glenluce at 11.20 a.m. Almost immediately I joined the OMR as it left Glenluce heading east. My first insight was that a 250 year old road was only likely to have survived if it was of use to a farmer or, alternatively, if it had been adopted as a road suitable for current use. The track I followed out of Glenluce led me to a field gate. Beyond the gate the OMR had completely disappeared whatever the map may have shown. The farmer didn't need the OMR beyond the field gate so it had been ploughed up or otherwise obliterated by the process of time. I clung to the false hope of the OMR re-appearing but this it failed to do. After ranging over farmland for a while I reached the road to Carscreugh where there's a sizeable wind farm. The OMR was shown as continuing on the far side of this road near the point at which a line of pylons also crossed the road.

To my relief the OMR did resume on the far side of the Carscreugh Road. It was little more than a track but it was clear enough to follow easily and my spirits revived. The pylons marched in the same direction and I thought the OMR might have been used for access by those maintaining the pylons. The remains of a dismantled railway also headed in the same direction as did the Lady Burn. The next setback occurred when the OMR crossed the burn. There was no bridge but there were large stones protruding just above the water level which invited one to walk over without getting wet. This stones were very slippery. I lost my footing and fell backwards into the water. I recovered quickly and clambered out onto the far bank. No damage was done apart from a few cuts to my hands. When I resumed I noticed that the path was losing conviction. I reached a small wood on the other side of which ran the A75, the main road which travels all the way from Stranraer to Dumfries. At that point the OMR had again completely disappeared. I walked in the general direction indicated by the map into lower lying land. This was boggy and I soon went in up to my knees, saving myself by falling forward onto a bank. I could see no sign of the OMR ahead. I'd made only modest progress and spent a lot of time achieving very little. I didn't see any alternative to walking along the A75 if I wanted to reach Newton Stewart and enjoy a meal in my hotel that night.

The A75 could have been worse. There were plenty of lorries. Probably most of them were travelling to and from the port of Cairnryan near Stranraer. Fortunately there was a substantial stretch of pathway for use by cyclists and walkers which more or less coincided with a section of dual carriageway. That offered much needed relief from the traffic. I was hooted at twice by motorists who possibly thought walking along this road was illegal.

I'd almost reached Newton Stewart when I suffered the worst setback of the day. The rubber sole of my left boot suddenly flapped on the road, remaining attached to the boot only by the toe. It was impossible to walk with the boot in this state. I changed into my sandals, tied the boots to my pack and entered the town to find my hotel just beyond the bridge over the River Cree.

Once I was in my room, I examined the boots. Clearly they had to be discarded. Was I now to rely solely on an ancient pair of sandals? Perhaps there was no choice.

Distance today 15.62 miles. Total 2,402.1

When I inspected my boots this morning, I discovered that the second boot had also shed its rubber sole, leaving it attached solely by the toe. It was fitting that, after long service, they had expired at the same time. I unthreaded the laces which might have some use in an emergency.

After breakfast I went to Cunninghams, an outdoor leisure shop, in the main street of Newton Stewart. Shoes were displayed in the window. The manager took great trouble to supply me with the right shoes for my needs. We settled on an American walking shoe (Odzi). The manager was wearing a pair himself and said they were very comfortable. I wore them out of the shop and they proved to be excellent. I was very fortunate as this was the only shop selling walking shoes this side of Dumfries. The old boots had timed their demise to my maximum advantage.

I followed the cycle route all the way to Creetown. This kept me clear of the A75. I passed through Blackcraig and Stronord. Near Muirford I joined the course of a discontinued railway now asphalted over. I was high on the side of the hill looking down on the A75 and, beyond, to the wide course of the River Cree. Not one walker or cyclist did I meet all the way to Creetown.

Creetown did not immediately impress. Few places could have so well reflected the grey gloom of this cloudy day. I walked all the way down the main street without sight of a cafe. There was a pub which looked as it had closed its doors for the last time years ago, a small general store and a Museum. I entered the Museum to ask whether there was anywhere I could get a hot drink. The elderly attendant did not hurry to notice me. That was a bit of a surprise as I was probably the closest he came to a visitor all day. However, when he got round to it, he did tell me that there was a cafe at the back of another museum, the Gem Rock Museum, on a side road uphill from the Clocktower. This cafe turned out to be the beating heart of Creetown society. A large room was well patronized by customers and staff. The young woman who served me soup and sourdough bread said I shouldn't pay until I'd decided whether I wanted anything else. A healthy flow of custom kept the staff well occupied. I took back everything I'd thought about Creetown earlier.

The cycle route now went to Rusko on its way to Gatehouse of Fleet but that was 12 miles. I decided upon a more direct route along the Old Military Road (OMR). Most of the next section was on a graded minor road up Cambret Hill passing near the radio masts. It was steep but cut miles off the distance.

Soon after leaving Creetown I encountered a hiker walking towards me with a small pack on his back. I prepared to compare notes but, as I greeted him, the man mumbled and looked away from me without slowing his pace. This disconcerted me and, for the next few miles, I frequently looked back to ensure that this person had not turned round to follow me with evil intent. This was quite irrational but, as the miles unfold, one's mind does wander for want of its usual preoccupations.

Shortly after passing the hiker I came to Balloch Pond. This had been used for curling by a club formed in 1838. Since freezing could not be assured the club abandoned the pond and practised their sport on an ice rink in Ayr.

Beyond the radio masts the road began a slow descent along a section called the Corse of Slakes. Eventually the made up road diverged from the OMR at a fork in the road. Again I adopted the OMR as the more direct route heading for the hamlet of Anwoth.

At first all was well as there was a house which needed serviceable access. After a junction with a graded road this changed. At first the OMR continued as a grassy track. There were no more houses until Anwoth so the track was not maintained. Suddenly I was confronted by a padlocked gate across the track. It seemed quite wrong that such a useful path should be blocked. I climbed over and continued. Now the path deteriorated. There was plenty of mud and water making some sections unpleasant. As houses announced Anwoth I faced another padlocked gate. There was no sign on either gate to suggest the land was private.

In Anwoth there was a roofless church in a burial ground. A sign indicated a public path to Gatehouse. I took this but soon turned back at a quagmire just beyond the church. The route by road was a bit longer. At one point I passed a flooded area of trees next to the road covered with a yellow marsh plant growing out of the water. I stopped to take a good look and a couple of runners went by. They weren't surprised that I'd stopped to take a closer look.

Shortly afterwards I reached Gatehouse of Fleet and, by way of a bridge over the Water of Fleet, I reached the Murray Arms Hotel.

Distance today 16.41. Total distance 2418.51

I set out at 9.30 a.m. from Gatehouse of Fleet. I rejoined OMR on a section now used as a minor road and this took me to the A75. Shortly after crossing it I reached Twynholm. As I entered I heard someone hammering on metal in a ramshackle shed. Wrecks of old machinery were littered about outside. The village had a haulage contractor and some accommodation. The A75 roared by just to the north. I was keen to find a cafe as I needed a hot drink to warm myself up. Just as I resigned myself to failure, I saw that the Post Office and General Store sold coffee. Another customer monopolised the only table so I sat on a separate chair with my cup of latte. As I left Twynholm a couple of elderly women sitting outside a hotel wished me 'Good morning.' This cheered me as I was feeling the lack of human contact.

On the way to Tongland I crossed a major works project. Huge black pipes had been lain across farmland but there was no current activity. When I joined the A762 I took a path running between the road and Tarff Water. I looked out over a large area covered by reed beds. The path took me to Tongland Bridge at the confluence of Tarff Water and the River Dee. Nearby there was a hydro-electric Power Station next to the River Dee.

After crossing the Dee on another bridge, I followed a minor road which climbed well above the Dee Valley. I passed an active works site for the laying of pipes similar to those I'd seen earlier. It looked like a significant operation. The pipes, for carrying gas, stretched into the distance over the fields.

I reached Rhonehouse which, despite the number of dwellings, had no shop, no cafe, no pub or any business of any kind that I could see.

On the final approach to Castle Douglas I passed Carlingwark Loch set in parkland. The town looked lively with Artists' Studios, cafes, restaurants, a second hand book shop and hotels in the long main street.

Distance today 15.16 miles. Total 2433.67 miles

My day began badly. There's a stretch of road leaving Castle Douglas to the north that I covered three times. It was the correct road and I was looking for a turn onto the Old Military Road (OMR) to Haugh of Urr. I encountered a roundabout which I thought, misreading my map, to be the roundabout giving access to the A75. I walked back to Castle Douglas but couldn't find the OMR. A less cursory study of the map showed me that the roundabout at which I'd turned back was an intermediate roundabout. The OMR lay just beyond it and well before the A75.

This stupid error galvanised me to adopt a faster pace to compensate for the lost time. I quickly reached Haugh of Urr but any hopes of an early coffee were quickly dashed. On the whole length of this long road to Dumfries I saw nowhere to take refreshment. However, this was no quiet backwater now as it might have been for most of its life since the redcoats marched this way in the 18th century. There were HGVs using the road, JCBs at work and small service vans running back and forth. I had caught up with the great gas pipeline project again. These works have zigzagged across my route for the last two days. At my last encounter I spoke to one of the workmen. He confirmed it was a gas pipeline but he was part of a team patching up the road. All this traffic was damaging so the road needed constant repair.

After Haugh of Urr the only hamlets of any note were Hardgate, Milton and Footloch. At Burnside of Urr there were a few cottages near a big house. In this remote spot, equally far from both Castle Douglas and Dumfries, an old woman struggled with her washing on a line as it flapped in the wind. I prepared to greet her but she never looked my way and I didn't want to startle her. How did she manage to live so far from the closest shops?

I reached Dumfries and stopped at the end of a cycle path which ended near my hotel. A cyclist arrived there at the same moment. “Am I blocking you?” he asked. This sparked my first decent conversation of this trip. When he heard I was staying at the hotel opposite he described it as posh. He'd only been there once at a wedding twenty years ago. “It isn't that posh,” I retorted. “The shower didn't work.”

I then talked to the hotel receptionist who'd been very helpful when I stayed at the hotel on the previous Sunday. She thanked me for the marvellous review on Trip Advisor which had been signed by 'Coastal Walker.' When I told her it wasn't me she was embarrassed. She'd responded to the review and referred to the places which I'd told her I was visiting.

In the central square of Dumfries there's a statue of Robbie Burns, Scotland's national poet. Association with the poet is claimed by many places in this region. He was a farmer who died at the age of 27. Whilst working his farm he inadvertently destroyed the nest that a mouse had built for protection against the winter. After expressing regret that the mouse should be so terrified of a human that meant him no harm he concludes his poem with this verse:-

'Still thou art blest, compared wi' me

The present only toucheth thee:

But, Och! I backward cast my eye

On prospects drear!

An' forward, tho' I canna see,

I guess an' fear!'

Distance today 18.13 miles; total 2451.8