A mere 9 months since my previous outing (they’re getting less and less frequent, but I’m still going) I find myself driving up to south-west Scotland again on a Friday afternoon after finishing work at midday. Following a period of magnificent warmth and sunshine, the approach of the Bank Holiday weekend sees a predictable decline, and sure enough the heavens open driving towards Dumfries. Driving away from Dumfries things improve though, and by the time I park up in Carsluith it’s almost sunny. Almost. In a Scottish sort of way.
Here’s Carsluith bus stop, it’s lovely.
I’ve arrived with 50 minutes to spare before the No 500 bus takes me back down the A75 to Auchenlarie holiday camp, where I last dragged myself up from the shore with blood dripping from my hand, like a zombie from a B-movie. Wonderful memories.
A sea mist has come in, cloaking Wigtown Bay and the tops of the hills, leaving the A75 as the filling in a sandwich of clarity. Hmm, not my favourite flavour.
Still, it’s not raining. Directly opposite the holiday camp, a lane heads north past a collection of holiday cottages. I was going to research the Right To Roam legislation before this weekend, but forgot. I know you can’t go through gardens, but are private lanes OK? Too late now, and no-one’s about anyway.
I divert off the track into a field, heading directly uphill, with patches of gorse in full flower. Auchenlarie Burn trickles down through the field, babbling as it goes, all the more intimate due to the mist both reflecting and deadening the sound.
At the top of the field is a little lane that runs parallel to the A75, but much higher up. Previous coastal walkers said this gives dramatic sweeping views over the bay…
Yeah, amazing.
The lane heads westwards, hemmed in by old dry stone walls. It’s nice, but without any long views, I only have the wildflowers and occasional wildlife for interest.
These three little huts are available for rent… they seem way too small to me, but each to their own.
Peeping through the trees on my left, I get a view of Barholm Castle, a tower house dating back to the 1400s, although it was rebuilt in the 17th century. It looks quite modern to me though, like a Playmobil fairytale castle.
It was the stronghold of the McCulloch family, who were protestants and regularly feuded with their Catholic neighbours, the Browns, of nearby Carsluith Castle (which I’ll visit later), even to the extent that John Brown was charged with murdering a McCulloch.
Just beyond Barholm Castle, it’s just half a mile to Cairn Holy, which other walkers have strongly recommended. It’s not that I’m uncultured at all (well, perhaps), but it’s uphill, so it’s a “no thanks” from me.
Just beyond is Kirkdale bridge, which carried the original A75 across the Kirkdale Burn.
It was built in 1787 based on designs by the renowned architect Robert Adam. The original design had swags and sphinxes and all sorts of decorations, but by the time it was built all that was cut to save cash. Shame. It was initially 6 meters wide but was widened to 13 meters in 1857.
According to local legend, the ghost of a woman appears at the bridge at midnight. The story goes that a gypsy killed a woman near the bridge, and her ghost, with half of her head severed and dressed in white, is said to glide silently along the road before disappearing into the wooded pathway leading to Kirkdale Bank. I read that on the internet so it must be true.
In 1986 the bridge was bypassed by a straightening of the A75, so the woman no longer has to dodge the artics and can haunt her old bridge in peace. However, I do have to join the new A75 here, but only for 100 metres or so until I can take a track heading down to the coast, past a private house.
The bank next to the track is flooded with wild garlic, which looks beautiful, but smells not quite so wonderful.
A less welcoming sign announces the beach…
…although the sight of all those pebbles and boulders is far less welcoming.
If I turn left here, I could go and find “Dirk Hatteraick’s cave”, according to the OS Map. Now I’m not cultured enough to know who Dirk was, but apparently he’s the Dutch smuggler in Sir Walter Scott’s “Guy Mannering”. Here he is…
Apparently, the cave is difficult to get into…
A rough walk over a boulder strewn beach and round a rocky point brought us to a nook in the high bank above the shore in which some 35′ up was visible a small aperture which gave access to the cave believed to be that immortalised by Scott in Guy Mannering. So narrow is the aperture that a full grown man can only with difficulty squeeze himself sideways between the opposing rock faces, and the entrance is further rendered difficult by the steep talus of soil and stone filling the lower part of the chasm and down which an intruder has to “slither” to reach the floor of the cave some 14′ below.
The cave is not easy to enter. It begins with a narrow slit in the rock shaped like an isosceles triangle, the floor is somewhere about twenty feet below, and you look down from the opening into deep darkness’. ‘For the first yard or so you can keep yourself erect, but must then stretch yourself on the earth and slide or wriggle down the chimney until you are able to rise without knocking your head against the rock.
From Dirk Hatteraick’s Cave – Scottish Cave and Mine Database Site Details
Probably best to turn right. I get into enough scrapes on these walks as it is.
Strolling along this beach might be child’s play compared with getting into Dirk’s cave, but it’s very uncomfortable to walk over. Small boulders that roll when you step on them, deep gritty sand, and flat stones that skate forwards under my feet, means my ankles and feet are suffering. Oh well, only another mile and half of this to go…
I spot some sand down near the water, but the route to it is across larger boulders covered in slippery seaweed – it just isn’t worth it.
I sit down under a tree for some lunch instead – breakfast bars and Fruit Shoot. I made up a couple of bottles of Vimto before I left, but they seem to have gone missing somewhere – can’t beat Manchester Wine! Fruit Shoots definitely can’t anyway.
Finally I reach a little wooden gate and a pathway leading me up off this arduous beach. It heads past some holiday chalets and up to Carsluith Castle, once home to the Brown family (or “Broun” as they used to call themselves in their local accents) who used to party so enthusiastically with the McCullochs of Barholm, whose humble abode I passed earlier. The Browns got on so well with their neighbours that they decided to emigrate to India in 1748, and the castle has not been occupied since.
The castle is closed, as is the cafe next to it unfortunately. My planned route takes me down to the beach again for a few more hundred yards, but as the A75 is so quiet this evening, and the turn off to Carsluith is just 200 yards along, I take the more direct (and much flatter underfoot) route.
After the turn off to Carsluith, it’s less than half a mile along the pre-1980s A75, over the Carsluith Burn, and to the Carsluith Community Hall where my car is parked.
That takes my walks in Kirkcudbrightshire to 14, the most of any county so far, with one more tomorrow. It would have been a whole lot more if I hadn’t split Dumfries & Galloway into three.
This walk was completed on Friday evening, 1st May 2026, and was about 4.8 miles long. Here’s the annotated map of this walk:
And here’s the real-time recorded map of my route, which you can pan and zoom around:
Ah, I see the mistake you made. Should have taken that emu and ridden it on the beach for a much easier time of it. Assuming, of course, your emu-wrangling skills are up to it, otherwise a much more exciting time instead. But then again, is it really a walk if you’re not bleeding at the end of it?
Ha ha yes, good idea!
I have completed several walks without bloodshed actually, but it seems they’re becoming the minority. The one after this includes blood again 😕
Well done for getting out of the house 😊and lucky you spotting a hare – I’ve just read two books about hares – becoming slightly obsessed …..