From Doonfoot to Deil’s Dyke.
Linda Brown
It is a sweltering, sunny Saturday in July. There is barely a whisper of wind. Camera in hand, essential water-bottle in my backpack, I’m standing on the sands at one of my favourite coastal locations – the River Doon Estuary at Doonfoot.
Looking along the hazy shoreline, stretching towards the harbour, Ayr beach and the Esplanade pulse with life. Families, youngsters and holidaymakers soak up the late afternoon sunshine, enjoying a traditional day beside the seaside. The distant beat of dance music throbs through the still air, mingling with the sounds of laughter and shrieks of gulls.
My attention is grabbed by a streak of iridescent teal and amber flashing beneath the Millenium Bridge heading as if to sea. Like a feathered missile, a kingfisher skims the Doon’s calm surface. I watch, transfixed, as the little bird veers sharp left and disappears from view into the sheltered inlet known as Doonfoot Lagoon. Naturally, I decide to follow him, taking the track which skirts the lagoon. With luck I’ll catch him in action, diving for his dinner. But I’m too late. By the time I spot him, he is already perched on a twisted branch jutting from the water, a tiny silver fish, still wriggling, clamped in his long beak. What a perfect photo opportunity. I snap a few images, then, leaving the kingfisher to feast in regal solitude, retrace my steps to the beach to begin my walk.
Doonfoot beach is normally quiet when I visit, but on a glorious day such as this, it has had its fair share of sea and sun-worshippers. Some are already packing up, shaking sandy towels and wringing out damp swimsuits, to head home. But there are still kids splashing around on bodyboards, dogs chasing balls and mums and dads, tongs in hand, hovering over disposable barbecues. The warm air is permeated with the briny tang of seaweed, the coconut, sweet scent of suntan lotion and the unmistakable aroma of burnt burgers. I can’t help but hope, bearing in mind the spate of wildfires experienced over the hot spring months, that the barbecuers take great care.
Dodging abandoned sandcastles, I plod across the soft sand to firmer damp ground along the water’s edge. A few redshanks and oystercatchers, giving the boisterous bodyboarders a wide berth, wade in the shallows, patrolling the shoreline in their relentless pursuit of worms, small crustaceans and molluscs. It is so hot. I’m tempted to kick off my walking shoes and join them for a paddle, however, I doubt they would appreciate my company. I stride on until I reach the rocky headland at Greenan Castle. The stink of rotting seaweed is strong here. Towering above, the ancient castle ruins cling to the cliff face. Years ago, when I was a wee girl, I always imagined Greenan Castle as the perfect spooky place to find Enid Blyton’s Famous Five on an adventure, hunting down dastardly smugglers or kidnappers. Not much has changed. Even with blazing sunshine and a shimmering blue sea, the ruined castle appears foreboding and eerie.
The headland’s rocky beach can be treacherous underfoot. Stones, slimy with algae and moss, could easily cause a reckless walker to slip, stumble and twist their ankle – so I choose my steps around the base of the cliff carefully. Movement near the shoreline catches my eye. I expect to see a rock pipit darting between the stones, but instead spot a stocky little greenfinch, his olive plumage helping to camouflage him against his surroundings. He pecks and tugs at strands of seaweed covering the stones and ignores me as I fire off a few shots on my camera – he is far too busy enjoying his tasty vegan supper.
Moving on, I allow myself time to scout Greenan beach looking for sea glass – broken shards of ordinary glass tumbled in the surf and weathered by saltwater and sand over decades to be transformed by nature into special frosted treasures. I recall as a child finding a sliver of glass the colour of seafoam on these very sands. But this afternoon, all I find are pebbles, cockle shells and delicate spiralled periwinkles. Beautiful just the same, of course.
The turning point of my walk is Deil’s Dyke, a natural whinstone rock formation stretching from the headland out into the water. Before retracing my steps to meet my other half and get a lift home, I stand on a big rock and gaze out to sea. Another childhood memory is sparked. I picture myself here with my dad, taking turns to peer through his prized binoculars – ordered from Mum’s ‘club book’ (mail order catalogue) and paid up by affordable weekly instalments. Together we scanned the waves, hoping to zoom in on the telltale fins of basking sharks feeding far offshore. I still remember the excitement of spotting a dark fin protruding from the sea.
Basking sharks, the second largest fish in the world, growing to around 30 feet long, are our oceans’ gentle giants. They pose no threat to us humans; their wide gaping mouths are toothless and their diet is purely plankton. These days, basking shark numbers are in decline, however, if you are lucky, they can still be spotted during summer months feeding in the Firth of Clyde and off the Ayrshire coast.
Regrettably, today, without the benefit of my dad’s old binoculars, I’ve no chance of catching sight of a big fish. Or have I?
Later, my husband arrives, bang on time (not like him) at our agreed rendezvous – Ayr Beach car park. He surprises me by bringing with him two piping hot fish suppers from our favourite chippy. A squabble of beady-eyed, scheming seagulls circle overhead, obviously planning a fishy heist. So, we opt to eat in the car, looking out towards Arran, while the sun slowly sets.
Dressed haddock. Salty, vinegary chips. A bottle of chilled red kola. And a view fit for kings. Simple pleasures to end a guid day oot!
