The light is dull this morning, but at least it’s not raining. I walk out of Newton Stewart along the A714. Wigtown is only 8 miles away, says the signpost, but I know my route will be a little longer because I intend to divert away from the A road as soon as I can.
Today I plan to walk up the River Cree from Creetown, cross over the bridge at Newton Stewart, and continue down the other side of the river to Wigtown. I have a complicated travel plan that involves two buses… but… it’s raining.
What a miserable day! I decide to walk under the shelter of my big green umbrella.
I catch the bus from Creetown to Gatehouse of Fleet (apparently, the locals just call it ‘Gatehouse’) and start off down the street from the Murray Arms Hotel, where I ended my last walk.
Today I have two routes to choose from. The most obvious route, and the one that sticks closest to the coast, is the A75. But, other coastal walkers warned me how awful this road is, with no pavement, and a stream of heavy lorries heading for the Stranraer ferry port. Continue reading
The first bus I try to board is full of people, and is the wrong one. “I’m going to Gatehouse, not Brighouse. You need the council bus,” says the driver, rather sniffily.
The next bus that arrives is empty. The journey to Brighouse Bay normally costs the princely sum of £1. I have my fare ready in my hand, but I must look very down-at-heel because the driver decides to let me travel free of charge.
Brighouse Bay is lovely this morning. I follow the path along the shore.
Kirkcudbright is pronounced Kerr-coo-bree. Who would have guessed? It’s a pretty town with pastel-coloured buildings and a pleasant park in the centre. Much nicer than Dalbeattie, and there’s a buzz to the place.
Today I’m planning to walk to Brighouse Bay – a refreshingly straightforward and pronouncable sort of name! Continue reading
I eat my lunch and enjoy the views over Kirkcudbright Bay. The rocks below me are extraordinary – jagged, twisted and fissured as if they’ve been sculpted by a crazy giant wielding a serrated knife.
My hubby is going home today. He drops me off at Fagra Mill, just south of Dundrennan, and drives away. I’m all alone on a tiny lane, and feel rather abandoned. Silly. I spend most of my time walking alone, and have no reason to feel lonely. Yes, very silly.
It’s Easter Sunday. And so… of course… it’s raining. I decide to go for a short walk today, my hubby will go for a short bike ride, and we’ll enjoy a lazy afternoon together.
There are no obvious paths along the coast, and so I’m staying inland – a mile or so from the shore – and with be sticking to country lanes and tracks. Luckily there is no wind, so I walk under my big green umbrella (Nicholas Crane style). Continue reading
I sit down for a brief rest on Balcary Point and enjoy the view looking eastwards over Hestan Island, with Rockcliffe in the distance. Then I climb further up Balcary Hill. The views from here are even more stunning.
I leave my car in the village of Auchencairn, and my husband drives me to the layby on the A711 so that I can start today’s walk exactly where I ended yesterday’s walk, next to the Screel Woods.
