6.99 miles 3h 37min ascent 208m
Maidens-Dunure
Be ye Man – or Bairn – or Wumman,
The Ayrshire Coastal Path
Be ye gaun – or be ye comin,
For Scotland’s Pride – no Scotland’s shame,
Gether yer litter – an tak it Hame!
Beaches, two castles, an archaic doocot and Victorian limekilns, a summerhouse, walled garden, alpacas, swans, a ringed plover and a willow kraken, standing stones, sunshine, a race with the tide, and no main roads. What a day.
The sun was shining as we set off from Maidens. We were full of energy but decided to forego the path side exercise machines to save our energy for the ACP. A colourful sign encouraged us to “leave nothing but footprints” as we made our way to the sands.
Maidenhead Bay offered wide sandy beaches, a gentle breeze, great views and easy walking. I thought at first there were sheep on the beach but as we drew closer it was obvious they were rocks.
A mown track took us from the beach, around Ardlochan House, and into the grounds of Culzean Gardens.
We left the exploration of Culzean estate for another day, but our route on the ACP took us by the walled garden (we peered in like excluded peasants from the days of yore), a summerhouse and remnants of the castles fortifications. There were alpacas in the Deer Park and Audrey pointed out a eucalyptus for me.
From the castle itself there were steps down to the gas house and then the beach. The poem at the top of this post was at the top of the steps. An octopus, woven from willow, guarded a recycling bin above Culzean Bay. The sign beside it claimed it was a kraken and encouraged you to feed it plastic bottles.
We were then back on the beach again with views back to therein castle on the clifftop. I did wonder where we would have walked had the tide been in.
Walking along the sands of Culzean Bay was definitely the best part of the day. Sunshine, a light breeze, firm sand underfoot, with Arran just across the water.
As we approached Croy, we could see Crane Dyke jutting out into the sea and it was becoming noticeably less prominent. I began to wonder if the tide was turning. I was also worried how flat the beach was.
We were ready for a break and might have sat on the rocks at Croy but we still had another kilometre of beach to go. The day had grown warmer and we were tired but we needed to both press on and pick up the pace. Beyond Croy we lost the expanse of nice wet sand, swallowed by the tide, and were forced back up onto the higher stony beach. The spur where we would leave the beach was up ahead and we strode out for it, catching up with a walker who had been ambling ahead of us for quite some time. He told us he was walking the coast from Maidens to Ayr that day. We left the beach to make our way up the cliffs, he continued over the rocks on the beach.
We reached the grassy path off the beach with a sigh of relief and slowed down. The path was freshly mown giving us an easy way through what would otherwise have been dense bracken but it was a steep climb. We were ready for a break but pressed on hoping for an either a seat or a shaded spot. Sadly we found neither no “dedicated to…” benches, or any shaded spots.
The extra height allowed us to see Ailsa Craig, Arran, the Mull of Kintyre, and also Bute, Sanda and the hills of Antrim.
Katie Gray’s Rocks stood below us, on a small flat area above the beach. This was once a settlement and the name refers to a woman who lived in a small cottage here. From a distance I thought the stones might be standing stones but they actually look to be natural rock formations. They are overlooked by David Bodan’s Loup. “So named from a man of that name who fell over the cliff a number of years ago. A small circle of stones mark the spot where he fell” according to the OS names book.
The cliff top walk took us along the edge of barley fields, with large stands of dog roses to our left. We were ready for a break but after a mini-halt we pressed on hoping for a little shade in the trees we could see ahead.
Those trees lined the deep gully at Aucheninch and the path followed took us on quite a detour to reach a small bridge. But beware, the bridge is guarded by a boggy area masquerading as grass. We didn’t notice until we had stepped into it. On the far side we found the shade we sought but being near water, as attested by our muddy boots, there were too many insects to stop there. We pressed on again this time in search of a wee breeze.
There are a great many named rocks on the coast here, but these were out of sight. We made our way towards a WW2 lookout tower at Eggknock, then turned uphill towards the aerial/mast. A gate allowed us onto a path that was mostly downhill, a welcome relief, and soon in woodland and much cooler, another relief.
There were several benches on the path so we could sit down and enjoy the views while finishing our lunches.
The path brought us out to a small park by the castle at Dunure. Dùn Iubhair means the fort of the yew tree but those yews are long gone. Mary, Queen of Scots, visited Dunure Castle for three days in August 1563, but was described as wholly ruined by 1694. When I took the photograph of the castle (above) the smell of a barbecue wafted by which is perhaps relevant given one of the castles more infamous events.
A dispute arose between the earl of Cassilis and the Commendator of Crossraguel Abbey, over the ownership and rental income of some lands. The earl and his men caught the Commendator in Crossraguel Woods and tricked him into traveling to Dunure. Once they arrived at the castle, the earl had the commendator’s horse and weapons taken away. For two days, the commendator was left to consider his fate. When he refused to hand over the lands, the earl resorted to more gruesome tactics: roasting and basting him over a brazier in the Black Vault. After undergoing two rounds of this torture, the commendator signed over the lands. The commendator survived this inhumane treatment, and was rescued from Dunure Castle, but he never walked again.
Atlas Obscura
A beehive shaped building just beyond the castle is the “Doocot”, a 15th century dovecot, with spaces for 200 nesting boxes. Pigeons seem to have moved in.
The path down to the village passes a pair of kilns sitting below a house. The older OS map has these marked as limekilns. How old they are I don’t know. They were in use in 1856 but derelict by 1894.
The harbour sports a tree adorned with hearts, and the harbour wall has two 5 foot tall sea horses, a legacy of the Seahorses Project, a partnership between the young people, a local artist, school and the Harbour Association, using traditional willow weaving to create two giant seahorse sculptures as a lasting visual legacy for the community.
Electric Brae
